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Vignettes of Fetish Life

Darkroom culture

Have you ever noticed that darkrooms follow the same cultural rules as rest of the society?

In British darkrooms, it’s customary to apologize if you accidentally touch someone. “Oh, excuse me.” For any play to happen, there has to be the obligatory civilized small talk. “I like that harness. Where did you get it from? I heard Regulation makes great stuff. Can I touch it?”

In German darkrooms, consent means not punching the guy in the nose when he forces you down and him into yourself.

In US darkrooms… well, there are no US darkrooms. Leviticus 18:22.

Frequent Fuckers

Have you ever noticed going to a big event, like the Darklands in Antwerp, is a lot like going on a flight?

First you have to queue for the check-in. Insane queue. If you have a platinum fucker card, also known as a VIP ticket, you can use business class check-in. Smaller queue, better-dressed people.

But then there’s security! What are these security people looking for, exactly? That little pat-pat-pat. That little magic flashlight looking into your bag. Maybe you have a machine gun under your catsuit? A lot of people getting massacred in playrooms, huh?

Let’s face it, you all are smuggling in drugs. There’s more drugs in the playroom over there than in a small city in Bolivia. And they don’t care. They just like selling you those 10-dollar bottles of water at the bar.

So you get in after security. If you are a Platinum Fucker, you can go to the lounge, the VIP area. Drink your one-euro complimentary prosecco, looking down at the masses. Thinking to yourself, if only those people had tried a bit harder in life…

But it’s time for boarding! You all cram into this noisy cramped playroom, just waiting to get out of there. You’re fucking, but also looking at your watch. Shit, I have a connecting fuck in the piss area! If I miss it, when’s the next connecting fuck? I don’t want to be stuck here for hours.

So you run, and make your connecting fuck. You leave in the middle of the night, grab a taxi to some obscure hotel you ended up staying in, saying that you’ll never do it again, but you know you will.

The next morning, when you wake up, you realize you have to post something on Facebook for your family. So you find the nearest Starbucks.

“Great coffee here in Antwerp!”

What’s in a profile

People don’t really think too much about what they write on their profiles.

“I’ll try anything once.” Great! I’ve been reading some books about amputating and I think I have it all figured out now. Got the tools from eBay last week. It wasn’t even that expensive!

“My results say I’m 69% dominant.” Yeah, that’s not gonna work for me. I need at least 71% dominant, and that’s a dealbreaker.

“Just ask.” You mean I have to find that button to send you a message? And then actually write one? You know how hard that is with one hand?

“Not into anything underaged or illegal.” Yeah, right. Sounds kind of suspicious you should mention that. Did your defense attorney tell you to write that in your profile?

“Looking for real bosSSes and some 88.” Come on man, just say you are a nazi. Your code is making us all feel a bit awkward, and not fair to the young ones born in 1988.

 

 

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