In my prior British life, I was a bartender at every lesbian venue in town. There were a solid crew of us who pretty much ran everything. Fiona and Jude were the older solid staples – the rest of us young 'uns, just kept it hopping…Penny and Lynne…Jemima Boot; Peachy Sue; Fraggle; Lisa and myself.
Mad Props to Nic Keleghar – from London – she kept us all in business by drinking 3 square meals a day.
I met Maxine the same year I left for the USA. She started dating Fraggle (Lorraine, an adorable sexy lesbian who had an air of having actually stepped off Fraggle Rock…) and thus, Maxine, became a welcomed member of our little family.
Maxine was an aids outreach worker. Her job was to give out condoms, needles and bring HIV education to the streets of Manchester. In the late 80's, early 90's …. height of AIDS and HIV awareness, there was an exchange program between New York and Manchester for the outreach workers that had the grisly job of working the streets. New Yorkers came to Manchester to work alongside our folks and vice versa.
I was over the moon … a true "Bobby Dazzler" moment; when I heard Maxine was coming to New York… a member of my own little clan was coming to stay!!!
Maxine arrived and worked the streets of Manhattan alongside her American counterparts. It was here she met a group of women, not unlike our own clan from back home. These gals worked the streets by day and ran the New York club scene by night.
I had arrived in America just in time to catch the NYC wave of Lesbian Erotica, S&M clubs, go-go dancers in strap-ons and boxing gloves (kinda hot actually).The Clit Club and Dagger were the places to be… Can we have a moment of silence please for that one go-go dancing androgynous beauty… I believe her name was "SLAM"… Sigh, I was so in love and I would have liked to have known "SLAM" a little better. My girlfriend discouraged the love connection and our ships sailed off into different harbors.
Meanwhile, Maxine had formed fast friends with these colorful ladies and we were VIP'ied into everything – in her final week, we received an invitation to be "special guests" at a private play-party. Not knowing entirely what to expect, we were re-assured that we would not be required to participate and advised that non playing members were usually excluded from such events, which made us very "special" guests indeed.
Fully geared up in a variety of rubber and leather articles of clothing, we arrived in the meat-packing district to a fish warehouse. The smell was insidious. The eagerness to play or party took a hike and was replaced by terror… what the hell had we gotten ourselves into?
We made our way into the warehouse elevator with some trepidation. As the elevator creaked and clanged its way upwards – there was a rhythmical banging noise – no possible idea of what it could be… we all agreed it could not be anything good.
Oddly, as we got off the elevator we realized that the fish smell… in some wondrous way had managed to contain itself to the lower floors and was deliciously absent. The banging noise was loud and intense; it was definitely coming from behind the huge warehouse door… the door we had to pass through….
Ok, Alice… into the Rabbit Warren…
I can only describe it as an assault on all the senses… I didn't know where to look first and was having a hard time taking in everything before me. The Loft apartment was tremendous. Picture an entire floor of an old warehouse with ceilings as high as the sky above, wood floors worn smooth by age and industry, Beams, Nail Holes, Exposed Pipes, Open Plan Rooms, Custom Kitchen… it was my dream home… and someone was handing us money!
It seems we walked right into the middle of a slave sale and the money – while no street value – could absolutely buy you a lot of "services" on this particular evening. A seemingly 7ft Amazon in a red plastic, crotch less, jumpsuit walked by with her slave trailing behind on all fours. The Noise, we realized, was the rhythmic beating of a woman chained to a cross on the far wall, next to the leather horse that was being used for activities I had never had to master in gym class!
Looking back, I'm sure my gym teacher and her friends must have had a good time after hours.... Oh for a leather horse to call me own...ahem! I digress!
The people, the costumes, the accessories… it was a visual wonderment. There was an overall sense of order to the whole thing. The level of trust fostered is incredible… I mean really... if you were about to be shackled to a wall and beaten with a paddle you wouldn't want some little minion whipping out a camera phone and sending pictures to your partners at the Legal Headquarters for Ending Humanitarian Cruelty.
Ok! Ok! A little farfetched, I know….. Of course we didn't have cell phones back then and certainly not ones that would take pictures and play music!
Anyhow, venturing into the throng of activity and beginning to mingle, we were drawn to a group of women assembled around a TV screen. It turns out – the hostess thought of everything!! You could make your own porn, right there. The bedroom was all set up ready for a scene of your choice and the video camera inside fed out to a Television – so if you didn't want to be in the room – you could watch the action from outside! This Lady – should write a book on hostess etiquette… Genius!
The ladies in the bedroom were setting up a scene comprised of a number of Doms, Subs and extras… it all seemed quite intricate. Just as they are about to begin, one of the Doms comes out of the bedroom looking quite harried… "Shit, we don't have an anchor!"
Whoa! An anchor? These chicks are creative with their props… I was impressed! That was until she turned to me…. (True Fucking Story and welcome to my world!!!)
"You… (gesticulates towards me) …Can you be our anchor?"
Let me point out that I am 21 years of age and have no fucking clue what an "anchor" is…. (yet)
"um, I don't really know, um, I'm not really here to, um, I'd like to help but I, um"
She grabs my hand and is leading me to the bedroom… "It's easy, you don't have to do anything. You are just going to be there to make sure nothing goes wrong and no-one gets hurt, if you hear the safe word – it's your job to end the scene- ok?"
Now, there is no way I'm gonna argue with this leather clad, whip wielding dominatrix. Who am I kidding, I was a very willing participant… well, I was up to the point at which my leather clad goddess slapped the face of the unruly submissive and…. Ooohh…ouch… that stupid sub, slapped her back!!
Even I knew, with my limited exposure to the community, that in no circumstances – whatsoever – should the submissive chick do that to a mistress. It was ugly… U. G. L. Y. ugly! Apparently the girl was kinda new into the whole thing and had convinced those around her that she was properly schooled in the art of playing a scene.
My anchor skills weren't put to a good use, I sat with the chick as she cried and told me her life story and how she was from Maine and she didn't have much experience but she really wanted to learn … I rubbed her back and handed her tissues…. Someone called her a cab. The matter was resolved quickly and somewhat quietly.
The party didn't miss a beat. We had a great time. The following morning our hostess made brunch for the houseguests and clean-up crew. As we ate eggs and toast, we were given a hands on demonstration of how to make a variety of sex toys/accessories of saleable quality … it's much easier than you would think. During brunch we realized we hadn't seen Maxine in a while… Hmmm…. Where could she be?
Maxine was embroiled in an athletic threesome on the pull out couch. A thoughtful and quick thinking houseguest broke out the Polaroid camera and proceeded to give us a photographical play by play. It crossed my mind that my girlfriends mother (who already did not like that the big dyke from England that had scooped up her daughter whilst she was busy teaching catechism classes) probably wouldn't approve of Ms. Fairfield County CT, eating her eggs with one hand and shaking Polaroid's pictures, hoping they'd develop faster, with the other.
We took the lesson in homemade saleable goods back to England, later that year and hosted a kick ass club night called "STRAP-ON"… thanks to the New Yorkers we created plenty of items to sell and made enough money to pay for our excursion to the Greek Isle of Lesbos… where Ms. Fairfield County, CT got to sit on a beach with naked lesbians frolicking in the Aegean sun. (Sorry Fairfield County, another one of your flock has been corrupted by the Brits).
For Christmas the following year I got the well sought after Madonna's Sex book. I opened the book to the first page where two S&M chicks are posed with Madonna. All eyes in the room turn to me as I begin to excitedly exclaim
"Look honey.. it's … um,um….MADONNA" .
In my head I'm begging her not to explain to her family - that we don't know these girls, we have never met them, we have no knowledge that such things go on and we definitely have never seen these girls engaged in similar activities....
There's some hard living to be done in New York…. I often wonder if "SLAM" aged well.
Boxing Gloves.... Sigh.....Be Still My Beating Heart
Mad Props to Nic Keleghar – from London – she kept us all in business by drinking 3 square meals a day.
I met Maxine the same year I left for the USA. She started dating Fraggle (Lorraine, an adorable sexy lesbian who had an air of having actually stepped off Fraggle Rock…) and thus, Maxine, became a welcomed member of our little family.
Maxine was an aids outreach worker. Her job was to give out condoms, needles and bring HIV education to the streets of Manchester. In the late 80's, early 90's …. height of AIDS and HIV awareness, there was an exchange program between New York and Manchester for the outreach workers that had the grisly job of working the streets. New Yorkers came to Manchester to work alongside our folks and vice versa.
I was over the moon … a true "Bobby Dazzler" moment; when I heard Maxine was coming to New York… a member of my own little clan was coming to stay!!!
Maxine arrived and worked the streets of Manhattan alongside her American counterparts. It was here she met a group of women, not unlike our own clan from back home. These gals worked the streets by day and ran the New York club scene by night.
I had arrived in America just in time to catch the NYC wave of Lesbian Erotica, S&M clubs, go-go dancers in strap-ons and boxing gloves (kinda hot actually).The Clit Club and Dagger were the places to be… Can we have a moment of silence please for that one go-go dancing androgynous beauty… I believe her name was "SLAM"… Sigh, I was so in love and I would have liked to have known "SLAM" a little better. My girlfriend discouraged the love connection and our ships sailed off into different harbors.
Meanwhile, Maxine had formed fast friends with these colorful ladies and we were VIP'ied into everything – in her final week, we received an invitation to be "special guests" at a private play-party. Not knowing entirely what to expect, we were re-assured that we would not be required to participate and advised that non playing members were usually excluded from such events, which made us very "special" guests indeed.
Fully geared up in a variety of rubber and leather articles of clothing, we arrived in the meat-packing district to a fish warehouse. The smell was insidious. The eagerness to play or party took a hike and was replaced by terror… what the hell had we gotten ourselves into?
We made our way into the warehouse elevator with some trepidation. As the elevator creaked and clanged its way upwards – there was a rhythmical banging noise – no possible idea of what it could be… we all agreed it could not be anything good.
Oddly, as we got off the elevator we realized that the fish smell… in some wondrous way had managed to contain itself to the lower floors and was deliciously absent. The banging noise was loud and intense; it was definitely coming from behind the huge warehouse door… the door we had to pass through….
Ok, Alice… into the Rabbit Warren…
I can only describe it as an assault on all the senses… I didn't know where to look first and was having a hard time taking in everything before me. The Loft apartment was tremendous. Picture an entire floor of an old warehouse with ceilings as high as the sky above, wood floors worn smooth by age and industry, Beams, Nail Holes, Exposed Pipes, Open Plan Rooms, Custom Kitchen… it was my dream home… and someone was handing us money!
It seems we walked right into the middle of a slave sale and the money – while no street value – could absolutely buy you a lot of "services" on this particular evening. A seemingly 7ft Amazon in a red plastic, crotch less, jumpsuit walked by with her slave trailing behind on all fours. The Noise, we realized, was the rhythmic beating of a woman chained to a cross on the far wall, next to the leather horse that was being used for activities I had never had to master in gym class!
Looking back, I'm sure my gym teacher and her friends must have had a good time after hours.... Oh for a leather horse to call me own...ahem! I digress!
The people, the costumes, the accessories… it was a visual wonderment. There was an overall sense of order to the whole thing. The level of trust fostered is incredible… I mean really... if you were about to be shackled to a wall and beaten with a paddle you wouldn't want some little minion whipping out a camera phone and sending pictures to your partners at the Legal Headquarters for Ending Humanitarian Cruelty.
Ok! Ok! A little farfetched, I know….. Of course we didn't have cell phones back then and certainly not ones that would take pictures and play music!
Anyhow, venturing into the throng of activity and beginning to mingle, we were drawn to a group of women assembled around a TV screen. It turns out – the hostess thought of everything!! You could make your own porn, right there. The bedroom was all set up ready for a scene of your choice and the video camera inside fed out to a Television – so if you didn't want to be in the room – you could watch the action from outside! This Lady – should write a book on hostess etiquette… Genius!
The ladies in the bedroom were setting up a scene comprised of a number of Doms, Subs and extras… it all seemed quite intricate. Just as they are about to begin, one of the Doms comes out of the bedroom looking quite harried… "Shit, we don't have an anchor!"
Whoa! An anchor? These chicks are creative with their props… I was impressed! That was until she turned to me…. (True Fucking Story and welcome to my world!!!)
"You… (gesticulates towards me) …Can you be our anchor?"
Let me point out that I am 21 years of age and have no fucking clue what an "anchor" is…. (yet)
"um, I don't really know, um, I'm not really here to, um, I'd like to help but I, um"
She grabs my hand and is leading me to the bedroom… "It's easy, you don't have to do anything. You are just going to be there to make sure nothing goes wrong and no-one gets hurt, if you hear the safe word – it's your job to end the scene- ok?"
Now, there is no way I'm gonna argue with this leather clad, whip wielding dominatrix. Who am I kidding, I was a very willing participant… well, I was up to the point at which my leather clad goddess slapped the face of the unruly submissive and…. Ooohh…ouch… that stupid sub, slapped her back!!
Even I knew, with my limited exposure to the community, that in no circumstances – whatsoever – should the submissive chick do that to a mistress. It was ugly… U. G. L. Y. ugly! Apparently the girl was kinda new into the whole thing and had convinced those around her that she was properly schooled in the art of playing a scene.
My anchor skills weren't put to a good use, I sat with the chick as she cried and told me her life story and how she was from Maine and she didn't have much experience but she really wanted to learn … I rubbed her back and handed her tissues…. Someone called her a cab. The matter was resolved quickly and somewhat quietly.
The party didn't miss a beat. We had a great time. The following morning our hostess made brunch for the houseguests and clean-up crew. As we ate eggs and toast, we were given a hands on demonstration of how to make a variety of sex toys/accessories of saleable quality … it's much easier than you would think. During brunch we realized we hadn't seen Maxine in a while… Hmmm…. Where could she be?
Maxine was embroiled in an athletic threesome on the pull out couch. A thoughtful and quick thinking houseguest broke out the Polaroid camera and proceeded to give us a photographical play by play. It crossed my mind that my girlfriends mother (who already did not like that the big dyke from England that had scooped up her daughter whilst she was busy teaching catechism classes) probably wouldn't approve of Ms. Fairfield County CT, eating her eggs with one hand and shaking Polaroid's pictures, hoping they'd develop faster, with the other.
We took the lesson in homemade saleable goods back to England, later that year and hosted a kick ass club night called "STRAP-ON"… thanks to the New Yorkers we created plenty of items to sell and made enough money to pay for our excursion to the Greek Isle of Lesbos… where Ms. Fairfield County, CT got to sit on a beach with naked lesbians frolicking in the Aegean sun. (Sorry Fairfield County, another one of your flock has been corrupted by the Brits).
For Christmas the following year I got the well sought after Madonna's Sex book. I opened the book to the first page where two S&M chicks are posed with Madonna. All eyes in the room turn to me as I begin to excitedly exclaim
"Look honey.. it's … um,um….MADONNA" .
In my head I'm begging her not to explain to her family - that we don't know these girls, we have never met them, we have no knowledge that such things go on and we definitely have never seen these girls engaged in similar activities....
There's some hard living to be done in New York…. I often wonder if "SLAM" aged well.
Boxing Gloves.... Sigh.....Be Still My Beating Heart
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment