www.rubberluv.co.uk
Home arrow News arrow Confessional arrow La Feral in LA LA land…
La Feral in LA LA land… Print E-mail
Written by Mistress Feral   
Wednesday, 13 October 2004
Where Fetish Reeks of Vanilla. After 2 weeks settling into my LA apartment I was ready for a big fetish night out. Being new in town I wasn’t sure what was on, if anything, so I did what people who own a computer do and surfed the net. I came across a site called The Hidden Castle, which listed a few fetish nights. There didn’t seem to be a lot on, a few ‘second Saturday of the month’ events, and other such sporadic dates. I decided on Miss Kitty Erotic Discotheque & Cabaret. It was billed as being on ‘Every Fucking Friday Night!’ Thank Fuck for Miss Kitty, that’s what I say. What else would I do?

The night promised a packed dirty dance floor, erotic stage shows and cabaret acts, live burlesque reviews nightly, free spankings and fetish expos, slutty go-go boys & girls, almost nekkid twister, infamous on-stage contests (where you compete in dirty games for prizes & cash!), a scandalous film lounge, a massage station and tarot reading! The flyer for the club was packed with fetish images. It sounded and looked a lot like TG, to me. What a find, but I should have known better.

The journey down was luxurious compared to my nights out in NYC. There was no need for a car in New York; the subway runs day and night and the nearest stop to our house was only a few minutes walk away. But LA is big and you need a car to go to cross the road. I haven’t yet got my US driving license, so Bill was chauffeuring our new car and I was sitting next to him with nothing on but some real sexy underwear and my long black leather coat.

I have heaps of PVC, corsets, cat suits and such fetish attire, but the last six months I spent in the UK I got into wearing undies, as I had shipped most of my fetish wear over to America in anticipation of the big move. Now I’m so used to going out half-naked, that I can’t bring myself to get dressed up in all that uncomfortable clobber when I can just have a bath, put me undies on and chip out. It saves carrying a big bag about as well.

We found a parking space only yards from the club, so I wore my high heels and clip-clopped down Santa Monica Boulevard. Dude! The pay cubical on the way in was decorated with hardcore porn. It was a little off putting and gave an impression of a real sleazy club. I asked the man behind the counter if it was a swingy type event, you know, the ones where everyone’s fucking. (I’ve nothing against shagging as a rule; I just don’t usually go out to do it.) He assured me that the club was pretty tame and that the most that might happen would be a couple getting it on discreetly in a corner late in the night. I could cope with that, as long as Bill kept it really tactful. I’ve got to live in this area now.

Once inside I was shocked at just how many people weren’t in fetish attire. It looked nothing like the flyer. It seemed to me like the few that were dressed up worked for the club. There were a good few Goths and a couple of corsets, but most people, though not in fetish, looked really well turned out. It was like a munch with a relaxed dress code. And to think Bill was worried about wearing his PVC trousers…again. I wasn’t going to let other peoples’ timidity to dress up put me off. After all, I hadn’t made much effort myself, and I didn’t fancy walking around all night long in my heavy leather coat.

After we each got a special priced $3 vodka drink called a Pink Pussy, we walked towards the back of the club where there was an outdoor space, very popular with the smokers. As soon as we hit the fresh air I made a show of removing my coat and stood in the middle of the yard in just a pair of skimpy knickers and lacy bra. If I were in the UK, I would have stayed that way, but I felt exposed next to the rest of the crowd, so I took my crocheted bed coat out of my bag and placed it over my near nekkid body.

Bill was all over me with his big manly hands. At this point a short black gangster looking man in a suit, dripping in gold, came stomping over. I say stomping as this man had some serious weight on him. ‘Morbidly Obese’ is the description the medical profession uses. He wheezed each word. I thought of Biggie Smalls.

“Ducky! Ducky! Miss…yes, you! I must say, I like this overcoat better than the other one.’

He’d obviously been watching my little striptease.

“That was my coat,’ I said. ‘I could hardly wear this bloody thing in the street. I’d get arrested.”

Bill stood behind me grinning, his hands massaging my butt. He’s used to the attention a woman can receive once dressed up (or down) for a fetish night out and he knows I am capable of handling myself.

“Well, I think you look really hot. So what’s the chance of you coming to the toilets with me and showing me your titties?’

This man was not sugar coating things, straight to the point, a dirt dog, trying to get a bone. Maybe he thought I didn’t know Bill and that I was out on the pull. I must have looked like a real slapper in me undies with Bill groping at my rear, but it felt good. The tittie man was getting the wrong impression and needed putting right.

‘I would love to,’ I said ‘but I’m not sure my fiancée would be very happy with that…would you, Bill?”

Bill put a hand out and shook. ‘Bill and you are?’ He then swiftly replaced it on my bum again.

‘David…and your name is?’ meaning me.

‘Feral,’ I said. I didn’t want to give the Mistress bit away for fear of attracting even more attention.

‘Nice to meet you both,’ said David. ‘So, tell me, Feral, do the pair of you smoke pot, ever?’

Do penguins swim? Do flies fly? Does Dolly Parton sleep on her back? The night was turning out a lot better than I thought it would. In no time at all we were sitting talking shit to a complete stranger, smoking pot and having a laugh. It may not have looked much like a fetish night out, but it sure felt like one.

On my other side was sat a rather large lady, dressed in a tight corset that she generously spilled over. I needed some inside information about the scene in LA, so I bent her ear. Apparently for the most part it consists of private parties and after parties. Most clubs, vanilla included, shut at 2am. (Blimey, that’s the same time as the clubs I partied in when I was a teenager in Southend.) I thought LA was modern; it was like time was going backwards, not forwards.

Bill and I got quite chatty with David. I was soon calling him Pimp Daddy Mac, which he seemed to enjoy. He told me how he was a married man, but that he was promised a blowjob from some girl later on. He added that he would be quite happy to give her the shove if I were at all interested. Nice try David. I told him how I was madly in love and getting married in a few weeks time, plus, due to a birth defect, I am monogamous by nature.

“If it weren’t for those two facts, David, I would be in there like a shot.’

“Does that mean I’m not going to get to see your titties?’, he declared in a Southern accent.

‘It does. I’m sorry, Pimp Daddy Mac, but this bitch's little titties are for Billy’s eyes only. Anyway, my titties aren’t nearly as big as yours, Pimp Daddy!’

He looked brokenhearted, and added. “You could at least tell me what colour the nipples are.’

Bless his huge Virginia white cotton socks. He was really into the tittie thing. I was being a little frigid, so I decided to give him a tad of info.

‘They are the same colour as my hair.’

‘Black nipples? You’re having me on, Ducky,’ he questioned, looking at my raven mane.

‘No, seriously, but these days I dye my hair. I’m blond, really.’

After some time drinking Pink Pussies, smoking pot and talking shit, I took Bill by the hand and dragged him off to the main room for some dirt(y) dancing. They were playing what I would describe as 80s techno. The dance floor was packed and the stages had a couple of women dressed in ultraviolet clothing doing the podium thingy. I hung myself off Bill’s neck and slowly ground him down. Soon all we could think about was getting home and doing what doggies do (Eat!). At 1.30 we left having had a really fun night out.

To sum things up, it looked nothing like a fetish night, but it kind of felt like one. The drinks were cheap and the company good. Even though I was one of only a few dressed up I didn’t stand out as much as you would think. Those who attended, although not in fetish wear, were open minded and seemed to be really letting themselves go. At least now I know what to expect next time, as I will go again…and dress up. I am, after all, the Pied Piper of Party People. Besides, I’m not sure I have enough nice vanilla clothes to compete with the locals.

So it’s knickers for you, America!
 
< Prev   Next >
Wednesday, 07 January 2009



Prong Jewellery
Login
Who's Online
2 member(s) and 7 guest(s)
LFS Latest Galleries
Subversion 2009
» Alternative New Year by Brian Southam
» Alternative New Year by bobette
» Alternative New Year by Bealdor
» Alternative New Year by Tony Betts

Torture Garden 2008
» New Year's Eve 1 by bobette
» New Year's Eve 2 by bobette
» New Year's Eve 3 by bobette

Lucha Britannia
» Kinky Xmas at the Resistance Gallery
LFS