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.