I have a TON of vanilla friends.
In fact, since no one else has come out to me as being freaky, I assume I am the only one in my social circle. And, of course, me being me, they all know WAY more than they ever wanted to about my life and lifestyle. Apparently, my long suffering wife and the rest of my family are the only ones who I have a Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell agreement with…
So, inevitably, when I mention that I have gone to a play party, someone always asks me what really happens there and what is it “really” like. Usually they then say, “I would love to go and just watch but I could NEVER…” I always offer to escort them, like a good wingman, no strings attached, but so far, no one has ever put their money where their mouth is, so to speak. There are lots of places I would like to put most of my friends mouths…but I digress.
When someone asks me what a fetish party is actually like, I tell this story…I call it “The Most Surreal Experience I Have Ever Had.”
The club that hosts the parties that I usually go to is, in fact, an on-premise swing club. It is downstairs, underneath a pub/sports-type bar. The old guys smoking outside (smoking is illegal in bars in Toronto) are probably used to sharing the smoking area out front with latex and leather semi-clad people but they kinda keep to themselves.
If you go past the bar and through the hallway with the very…interesting…etched glass nude art, you get to the communal locker room. And then past the lockers, you get to the fun. There are three private rooms with beds, a few areas where the racks, crosses, benches, etc are and a grappling pit, which sees a surprising amount of use. And, of course, since fetish play is very much a spectator sport for many people, there are comfy couches to relax and watch from.
Now, I realize that was a lot of intro and VERY little action, but, trust me, it was important to set the scene.
Once you pass through the lockers and into the back room, pretty much anything goes. The more shy or discrete people will jump into one of the rooms to consummate their passion, but some people, as I said, love an audience.
So, that particular night, there was a rather beautiful woman, completely nekkid, sitting bare-ass on one of the couches in the common area. Her legs were spread wide, her feet on her partner’s shoulders as he knelt on the floor between her legs. She was screaming and moaning her pain and pleasure as her lover repeated punched her in the cervix via her vagina. Now, I have seen plenty of fisting scenes in my little existence, but this was hardcore! He was in her past his wrist and was putting a huge amount of power behind each stroke. She seemed to be enjoying it though so I sat on the next couch over and helped them fulfill their exhibitionistic cravings.
It was about that time when, from the locker area, came a very tall and VERY attractive black man. Muscled, bald…yummy. He was clad only in a dark brown leather thong which was almost the same colour as the skin it covered…sadly, he was also wearing brown socks and tan dress shoes. Dude, just say no.
The couple performing caught his attention and after standing and admiring for a few seconds, he took a seat beside them on their couch, partially blocking my view, but that’s ok.
Now here comes the part where I actually snapped out of my lust-fuelled mindset, lost my erection and said “What the hell?
As he sat and watched this really, really intense fisting scene, with the woman thrashing, screaming and coming over and over again, he started eating the small bowl of vanilla soft serve ice cream that he had brought in with him from the bar area. Sitting and eating his ice cream like he was watching a nature documentary on tv…surreal.
I suspect that story is why none of my friends have ever gone to the club with me.
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