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The online diary of an ethical pervert.

Monday, 23 November 2009

Return of the native

First night out to a BDSM club in I-don't-know-how-long. I am grateful for any number of things. That I had Knight of Wands with me, who was the most perfect gentleman and the best wingman anyone could ever ask for. That the event in question was Crimson, which meant that is was a superb night and a very safe space full of people I know. Who were full of compliments. It was like a run down of almost everyone I have met over the past year or so, which was marvellous strange - part of me felt as if it were a trip down memory lane: Ethical Hedonist, The Collective, Hedwig and Kiss Curls to name but a few and all of them reminded me of things I'd done, places I'd been. Which all in all, was good. There were some sad moments, some points of reflection, but at no point did I feel as if I didn't belong. Quite the reverse. I felt a bit like I'd come home after being away for a while. Which was an affirmation in and of itself. My kink does not belong to The Photographer, it has not ended with the end of our relationship. It is mine and lives in me.

I settled on a pretty flamboyant outfit - plastic pvc mini-kimono with geisha make-up and wig. Part of me wanted to secure those "oh wow!" comments (a big part of me, I'm working on an ego-rebuilding process) and another part of me wanted to be out but still able to hide a little. The make-up is a mask. It looks beautiful and disguises my feelings, it allows me to play a persona rather than simply being me. But I was also out, which meant I wanted to feel like I was out - I wanted to dress up and be a princess.

The club itself was fantastic, everything a play club should be. Plenty of room and lots of pieces of kit, the majority of which is custom made. I was also surprised by what a difference having great music (no Gregorian chanting here) and no dance floor made. This was a play club, you were here to watch or to participate, to socialise. It wasn't a club with a gesture made to those who want to play by shoving a St Andrews cross into a cupboard. There was also a lot of space, at no point did I feel cramped or crowded - I could walk around when I wanted, sit down when and where I wanted. There were no queues for equipment as there was plenty to go around (certainly the best kitted out space I've seen). Most importantly though, was how it felt. Fun, friendly and filthy.
The atmosphere was unlike any other club I'd visited and someone had really thought out how best to use the space - spotlit areas for the exhibitionists, more secluded areas for others. Whilst play was the focus there was no pressure to play, the lack of dance floor meant that there was no division between players and party-people, we were all here for the same reason, it's just some of us weren't currently participating.

As I walked around saying "hi" to people I kept getting little flashes of excitement, little visions of what I could do, what I'd want to do. A girl was having feathers pinned into her back, reminding me of the thrill and natural high that each sharp gives. The buzz when they are all in, holding you up. Feathers were very appropriate, in that case and looked beautiful. The centre stage had a large rigging structure where someone was being secured with lengths of japanese hemp ties. I remembered the feel of that sort of rope in suspension, how it pulls and locks in place - leaving you floating and held at the same time. An empty cage brought up my dominant side, wishing for a moment that there was a naked man to lock inside and torment. A naked girl strapped to a rack being tickled mercilessly (cruel punishment!) brought out my curious side as I wondered idly what her smooth, shaven cunt would taste like as her labia flexed in time to her contortions.

I'm not ready to play yet. That the desire was there, was enough. I'm still me and I still work. I took along some kit which remained in the bag - I had the crop out at one point, but mostly for show and nothing came even close to getting used. I had a couple of offers which were (hopefully) politely declined. I knew I wasn't ready for it, knew that my reactions would be very unpredictable. And I'm not ready to be unpredictable in a public space. That aside, oh it was good to be out and about...

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