About three years ago my friend Lou invited me to a Fetish Club. Lou, by her own description, is someone who partakes in “fucking as a sport” and often relays quite terrifying tales of her antics. The girl from the Prodigy’s ‘Smack my bitch up’ video is like Moira Stuart in comparison, so I figured a memorable night may ensue. I was told to meet her and a few of her buddies in a bar close to the club, and that dressing up was essential, as anyone considered un-genuine gets turned away. Being a dedicated dandy I had little in my wardrobe that would sit well in the fetish scene. I’d look a total Pisspaddle in PVC and I flatly refuse to wear drag. I resolved to go as a Kinky Spy. My tailored pinstripe suit, Leather Trilby,Tie and Gloves and Cuban heels. Lou perfected the look with a little Eye-liner upon my arrival. It was a good look; Clean, Sharp…..with a hint of ‘Shag-Nasty’. Her and her friends, (a mix of man and women, some single, some paired-up) all wore Macs or Over-coats. They were a friendly bunch, witty, articulate, welcoming.
Upon entering the club I was apprehensive, half expecting a seedy, pokey, fusty, knackered old pit full of sad old perverts. An outnumbering of men resembling Albert Steptoe, or, worse still, David Cameron. I was so very wrong….
As my associates disrobed at the Cloakroom close to the entrance I realised why they had wholly covered themselves. Suspenders, Corsets, Leather, Latex, Exquisite Lingerie. What a transformation! Some real effort and style had been deployed, and occasionally, humour. One toned chap wore nothing but a miniature cage padlocked to his genitals with a little face drawn on his Bell-end! Grotesque yet hilarious.
There were around 2,000 people in the club. A roughly equal count of gender, all ages, laughing, partying, preening, posing, pouting. A mammoth fancy dress for people who liked feeling saucy and didn’t mind showing it. We all strutted into the main room of the cavernous club. I’d hit it off with one of the crew, a girl called Zoe, her outfit worked with mine (imagine a Fembot from Austin Powers in blue PVC) it was her first time too, so we went wandering together.
Zoe leant over to them, pointed to me and shouted “Please don’t squirt on his suit!” They laughed and we moved on.
The first thing we noticed was a cage on a six foot high raised platform, containing three girls wearing strap-on dildos, banging each other ragged, laughing and slapping each other's arses so hard you could hear it above the club sound system. It was full on, but funny, and fun. A couple stood next to us, also watching the cage show. Both wearing Flintstone style outfits. Both masturbating furiously, holding hands. Zoe leant over to them, pointed to me and shouted “Please don’t squirt on his suit!” They laughed and we moved on.
We continued to what was called ‘The Dungeon.’ Decked out in bondage apparatus, Manacles, Whips, Chains attached to the wall, people happily lashing each other. There were also small stages on which people performed, or prepared human installations, such as Japanese rope tying and body painting.
The club resembled a Warren. Nooks and Crannies with people ranging from Crooks to Nannies hopping round in Bunny girl and rubber Bugs Bunny outfits. All dressed up and having a ball. I remember seeing a woman in a leather Elvira outfit with 9 inch high bondage boots, taking her height to the mid six foot mark, on a lead her own midget servant, wearing just a red leather G-string, carrying her handbag and cocktail on a silver plate. And a heavily tattooed Skinhead Amazonian woman in a see-through mesh Bee Keepers outfit with several skinny boys buzzing round her dressed as Drones. Magnificent.
Soon the activities, nudity and acutely sexual costumes began to seem normal. We returned to our gang for a few cocktails and a laugh and a dance. I began chatting with strangers. All walks of life were represented. There was no ‘type,’ just people, more of a mix than in any other club, I soon found myself having everyday exchanges with Gardeners and Dentists regarding tasty restaurants and the unavailability of decent plumbers. At one point I forgot that the woman I was conversing with was wearing nothing but a Stetson, Cowboy boots and a holster containing two cans of Squirty Cream.
Some people attend these clubs to act out being their own Nemesis. I met Mike, a town planner and his wife Marie, a teacher, both from Stoke-on-Trent. Both in their early thirties, describing themselves as a quiet, almost plaintive couple. It’s beyond the bounds of acceptability for them to express themselves on home turf, nor did they want to. So they shroud themselves in anonymity and go to clubs in other towns, in their White PVC Platform boots, won on eBay, and latex trousers delivered by online fetish stores. They have a wild night, flex the muscles of their sexual imagination and perform, for each other, in a playground of like minded non-judgemental people. Once they leave they are shy professionals again.
Marie let out a Lupine Howl as she had a massive come. I had to stop Zoe from applauding her.
I spoke to a cute Scottish girl, wearing only an Agent Provocateur quarter cup bra, suspender belt, heels, stockings, red nipple tassels and Merkin, about the Gym classes she runs for Age Concern. She ended the conversation by saying “Great to meet you Robin, I feel like it’s time to go put my Butt-plug in, give it a tug when you see me and we’ll have another blether.” Sure enough later that night I bumped into her again, with a red tassel hanging a few inches below her bum, attached to her (now inserted) metal Butt-plug. I tugged politely for a chat, she told me how she’d searched high and low for the plug, to match the detail of her other accessories. Such detail.
Someone had mentioned the ‘Couples Room’ earlier in the night. He had dismissed it as “The room where people just fuck, how boring, there’s so much more to do here.” It was then that it struck me that people weren’t here to have sex any more than they would be in any other club, they were here to be stimulated intellectually, and be part of The Sexy Circus. Still, Zoe and I were curious. As soon as we stepped in I saw Marie the teacher with her legs wide open, her white boots in stirrups hanging from the ceiling, her lying on a bean bag beneath and Mike happily lapping her Lilly. She gave us a polite wave. There was approximately fifty people in there, going at it like Billy O. When the volume of the music intermittently reduced, ecstatic moaning is all that could be heard. Zoe and I sat on a Chez Lounge and chatted. A few others did the same. Marie let out a Lupine Howl as she had a massive come. I had to stop Zoe from applauding her.
As you read this you may find this scenario bizarre, but at the time the shenanigans going on in there seemed no more inappropriate than the lusty consummation of creamy beverages and cookies that I see people indulging in, in the Primrose Hill Teashop from where I write this article. The strangest part of the evening was leaving. Riding in a taxi, seeing the herds of Disco Zombies in the Kebab shops, having probably schlepped along the same route as the previous weeks. They were the ones that seemed weird to my Fembot and I, as they didn’t seem to be enjoying themselves.
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