Years ago, in an unnamed city on the other side of the country, I went to my first BDSM night club. Here are some of my memories from that trip.
I am curious as hell.
In the background, I can hear the low, regular thud of a flogger hitting flesh. I can hear the slight, contained, whimper of someone gagged and happily ensconced in a wire dog crate. On the monitors, an old Japanese film plays with a porno soundtrack over dubbed; music, fake smexy moans and gasps, and all. Even the stilted dialogue.
To my left is a very tall man in a pink PVC maid’s uniform. He stands out in the club, not only because he is tall and wearing stripper heels, but the pastel pink contrasts mightily with the menacing blacks and reds. I cannot figure out how the frilly, head doily thing is attached as he has a gleaming, bald skull. Eyelash glue? Double-stick tape? Spirit gum?
There is a flurry of activity as someone is dragged to the St. Andrew’s cross at the back of the room. This should be interesting…