SG has graced my blog with His presence again to give us His take on our Brighton Fetish Weekend.
At risk of preaching to the perverted, I have to say that in the five or so years since I dipped a toe into the BDSM scene, I have come to believe that the vast majority of kinky people are that bit more intelligent, perceptive and interesting than yer average Jo(sephin)e.
The kinky fraternity has a distinctive social savoire faire of its own, which pup and I, being the careful types we are, have picked up through observation from the sidelines before making our modest presence felt. However, a fair chunk of fet-iquette is founded on the prosaic dos and don'ts of the vanilla world. At a conventional party, for instance, it's generally frowned upon to get arseholed and intentionally barge in on a couple "having a quiet moment" together.*
But I have also come to realise that there is a type of person (mercifully, in a tiny minority) who sees the fetish lifestyle as an excuse to, for want of a better phrase, act like even more of an insufferable bell-end than they are in all other aspects of life.
I mention this only as a postscript to the otherwise excellent experience of which pup has already written: with Tanjian and Bounty at the March of the Perverts party in Brighton.
With the evening in full swing, the small venue was packed and steaming hot, so there was barely room to swing a cat. Obviously, a few of the more “relaxed“ attendees were keen to have a little public session in the titchy play space available in the basement. Some flogging ensued and a crowd built to watch the scene unfold as the thumping music from upstairs discouraged all but the most dedicated yellers-over-the-din from conversing.
I could sense that there was time pressure on the St Andrew's cross, for instance, as other scenesters in the crowd eyed the playing couple impatiently, waiting for their fair crack of the flogger. There was no way pup and I were going to play in this situation. It simply wasn't conducive and we certainly didn't want to stand in the way of people - parents with young kids, say - for whom this might be the only chance to play for months.
A while later, pup wandered off to the loos and Tanjian opened his box of goodies to show me his violet wand and all its weird (wired?) and wonderful attachments. The wand was an electric "sensation device" that I had seen before, courtesy of the evil genius Dr Grimly Feendish and his lovely latex-lovin' wife, thisgirl. But it's a fascinating piece of kit nonetheless and, once an electrical socket had been located (no mean feat in the dark recesses of the basement), Tanjian was giving a demonstration of its powers, applying the arcing, sparking tool across Bounty's bare skin as she pressed herself against the wall forehead first.
It wasn't long before I could tell that they were "having a moment" and Bounty - a self-confessed pain slut - was somehow zoning into an enviable headspace, despite the surround-sound cacophony. I thought it would be a good idea to leave them to it for five minutes, so I decided to find pup, but before I could slip my way through the crowd (hooray for Pjur!), an even better-lubricated bare-chested oik barged his way over, attracted by the shooting purple sparks and the crackle of ultra-high voltage gadgetry.
"Wossat, ven?" he yelled at me, gesturing at the wand. He was friendly enough, but I really wanted him to go away. I explained what it was they were playing with as quietly as possible so that he had to lean towards me to hear my explanation, rather than blundering into Tanjian.
Yeah, that didn't really work.
Too inebriated to care when I indicated that the pair were in the midst of play, he unceremoniously halted proceedings by demanding a demo of the wand's sensation – on his own tongue. BDSM really does not mix well with alcohol, but I suspect he probably would have done the same thing even if he hadn't been three sheets to the wind. I found myself thinking, uncharitably: "I bet he's new – and that he's not going to make too many friends around here."
Tanjian patiently humoured the guy and satisfied his curiosity. Personally, I'd have been tempted in Tanjian's flip-flops (yes, he was wearing flip-flops to a fetish event, the twisted pervert) to crank the wand up to max power and find an amalgam filling to zap in the cretin's mouth, so it was probably for the best that I wasn't in charge of the charge.
Fortunately, the interloper withdrew, largely unimpressed. To her immense credit, Bounty got back into the swing of things virtually immediately after being so rudely interrupted. He could quite easily have killed the, er, buzz right then. I felt obliged thereafter to try and form a defensive circle around them (which is tricky when you're a skinny bloke in a rubber catsuit), while not getting so close as to cramp their style. Tanjian took it all in his stride, thanking me for my frankly ineffectual attempt to deter the drunk and cheerfully showing me the various accoutrements as he changed them around to achieve different sensations. Indeed, he's a very cheerful chap - a real live wire on the scene, you might say (I'll get me SBR coat) - and I hope that we meet him and the lovely Tanjian again soon, because, by and large, we had a blast that evening.
I do realise that you have to make allowances with public play and club conditions are never going to be perfect unless you happen to be an agoraphobic exhibitionist who likes repetitive dance music at deafening volumes, but the risk of unwanted audience participation really shouldn't be a limiting factor, should it?
* Unless they're blocking the only usable khazi in the place, of course - in which case they deserve all they get.