The entryway had been made into a hallway, most likely so that entrants couldn’t see into the club right away. Useful for wayward shoppers and travelers looking for a place to use the bathroom. What I could see was a tall counter lining the wall to my right and a folding table at the far end of the hall. As our ids were checked, we were handed waiver forms with a list of center rules. We giggled as we checked all of the boxes swearing that we weren’t currently intoxicated or carrying any secret recording equipment or a federal employee (I guess postal workers can’t play). We paid our $20 and turned the corner into a large open area.
I didn’t see much of the room at first because I became immediately fixated on a scene happening right in front of me. On the floor next to a massage table was a trans gui* propped up on his elbows, ass in the air, dressed in jeans, leather chaps and matching vest. Standing over him was a gorgeously androgynous person wearing strong black boots and a tight 50’s boy style t-shirt. As I stared, ze stood over his kneeling partner, reeled back, and kicked him as hard as ze could in the ass. Over and over again. I became instantly aware of my lack of sex club etiquette. Do I stop my mouth from hanging open?
Slowly, more of the room came into focus. The place was sparsely populated; it was most likely still early in the evening for this kind of scene to be in full swing. To my left, partitioned from the main room by a set of bars was a sitting area furnished with sturdy coffee tables and comfy yet questionable looking couches. At the far end I could see a standard-type folding table laden with snack foods. A small group of scantily clad individuals huddled around, talking and laughing. I stepped a little further inside, skirting the kicking scene, which for the moment had turned intriguingly tender. The whole place looked a little like a department store only instead of shelves of clothing I saw St. Andrews crosses, heavy benches, walls lined with chain link. Certain areas of the floor were covered in soft mats, the kind that grocery store clerks sometimes stood on. Condoms and lube and gloves were everywhere, clumped on low tables by every fixture. I was standing in a sex club. All of the images I had been toying with previously quickly left my head. I focused on the new image and tried to adjust my face so it looked less awestruck and more casual. I wanted to play it cool. Front like I knew what I was doing. But I knew I looked too bright eyed and bushy tailed to pass as anything but a virgin.
We were called into a huddle by the same young butch half of the veteran couple I had marveled at during the GQ social earlier in the week. Perfect. Ze explained that the open room was a voyeur zone; people could play and watch freely but it was suggested that we ask permission before watching a scene in progress. How delightfully submissive, she thought blushing. The rooms on our right were small and themed. The first was non-descript but apparently flame-retardant, for fire play. The second was decorated like a doctors office complete with stirrups and anatomy posters and was used for blood play. Ze pointed out that people brought their own equipment, not just for blood play but their own floggers, whips, ropes, and anything else they might need. Further down the hall on the left ze pulled aside a rainbow flag to show a dimly lit room with three or four beds separated by hanging sheets. Just inside the door was an imposing sex swing. This room was for fornicators and invited voyeurs only. Ze pointed to a shelf – be sure to use clean sheets and put a towel between your nakedness and the equipment.
We walked back across the main room, which was a bit fuller, and our guide pointed out more things as we went. No sex in the bathrooms. Let a guide know when you want to use a room. Showers on the left. I vaguely remember them saying something about a more private dungeon area behind a bear flag on the right but my eyes were busy jumping between the trans gui being flogged on one side of a st. Andrew's cross and the trans womyn on the other. Then when the andro kicker from before took off their shirt to reveal a sexy genderfucking chest, I forgot I was even part of a tour. As they handed their bottom a bottle of water I was taken through a door into a chilly breezeway that seemed to be used for storage. It looked like good place for some back alley type play…note to self.
The next room was smaller and brighter than the first but had many of the same fixtures. There was an intimidating torture chair in one corner next to a human sized birdcage but the biggest difference was the one whole corner of the room was covered in wrestling mats apparently for takedowns and more aggressive scenes. Before wishing us happy playing, the guide reminded us to look for people with name tags if we had any questions or needs. Ze led one the more vocal newbies from the bus ride towards some lockers and a place where he could change.
Feeling suddenly very much on my own and fairly overwhelmed I kind of froze. I don’t think I even knew what diving in would entail, even if I wanted to. I took a deep breath and looked at M. I must have been smiling because she smiled back at me with the same excited look she gets whenever I experience something new for the first time.
“Do you want to watch something?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want to find a place to sit for a minute?”
“Those guys were so hot.”
Of course she knew whom I meant. We walked back towards the main room and found a couch off to the side but still close enough to the kicking and kicked to be useful. I hunkered into a corner seat and just watched, waiting for my nerves to subside. A new group had arrived and started the tour.
*I don’t know how anyone in the club identified so these identities are based only on my personal readings of bodies and gendered visibilities.
Bo(nnie)
Bo(nnie)
