Service: *
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Food: * *
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Ambience: * *
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Babe Count: * * * 1\/2<\/i><\/p>\n
My throat’s sore. I’m with Helen at the moot end-of-the-year party. It’s been described in an email as a “play party”, with dress code “black, red, or fetish”. I’m wearing black, and I’m wearing a huge, floppy red hat. <\/p>\n
“Come on! What’s with the hat? Take it off!” says one of MMM’s girlfriends, a sub. I fix my Dom stare on her, and she begins to quake visibly in her stilettos. Clearly, she’s terrified by my extreme fierceness. That’s because I’m Bilbo the Dom.<\/p>\n
(If you’re wondering, the answer is no. She wasn’t ACTUALLY terrified. And I don’t look anything LIKE Bilbo. I look more like a fleshed out Golum, actually. And YES, the big red hat is entirely ironic. I really don’t get much of a kick out of the lifestyle side of D\/s. I’m just into doing it, and not really into looking stupid wearing fungus-ridden leather pants. So my hat is a kinda signal to the BDSM “community” that I can still be a very effective Dom and yet STILL have a sense of humour. One thing I’ve noticed is that most Doms take themselves very seriously indeed. It’s kinda like their egos might not survive a bit of fun-poking. Not ALL Doms. Just SOME Doms. And have you noticed? I’m falling into the horrible habit of spelling “Dom” with a capital “D” and “sub” with a submissive “s”. Makes me feel more powerful, see?)<\/p>\n
Thanks to some or other bizarre zoning issue, downstairs at the dungeon has no music. Nothing. It’s completely dead in terms of ambience. A big fat zero. One of MMM’s girlfriends goes to ask the management if we can’t get some audio action going. Like me, MMM is not into the BDSM lifestyle. He’s been practising D\/s for the last fifteen years or so, but doesn’t feel much of a need to flaunt it. He has four female partners, all of them subs. A harem, basically. What the heck does he need to prove? Nothing. Which is why he’s also not wearing anything leather with tin spikes. he looks like a normal dude. Which he is.<\/p>\n
His sub comes back from speaking to the manager. “We’re not even allowed to bring a boombox down here,” she says. “We’re condemned to an evening of silence.” <\/p>\n
There are gadgets all over the place. A huge wooden whipping cross with a naked babe chained to it, being flogged enthusiastically by Burning Lash. Some medical fetish people drawing blood from each other in hypodermic syringes (not shared), then spurting the blood onto a gruesome picture. Kinda like stream of consciousness painting, but using the bloodstream. Stomach turning shit, man. But hey. Each to his or her own, right? Tolerance, baby, tolerance.<\/p>\n
This spot just totally lacks soul. Feels like a bunch of middle-aged people in leather, talking about football. Not that they’re talking about football, you understand. More like foot fetish.<\/p>\n
My overwhelming sense of the evening is of strangers trying to outdo each other in wearing silly weird clothes, and not really talking to each other. Very cliquey, very “I’m a dom, and you’re only HALF a dom!” <\/p>\n
I dunno. I’m not a LIFESTYLE D\/s dude. I like DOING D\/s, not LIVING D\/s. If living it means looking like a no-hoper with ego issues, that’s not me.<\/p>\n
I do get to kiss Helen though, even though I told her up front that I have a throat infection, and that she shouldn’t kiss me. She’s going away on a month-long holidy overseas, so we’re not going to have much time to “get to know each other”. In fact, tonight’s our only chance before she heads for far shores. So we kiss anyway. She’s been taking loads of vitamin C. <\/p>\n
We don’t get to do anything more than kiss, cos I’m really feeling sick by the time the evening ends. <\/p>\n
So kissing Helen is the highlight of the evening. That and tying up one of the babes in a Japanese karada.<\/p>\n