So I went to my first fetish party last night, dressed as a dominatrix.
In my defense, it wasn’t my idea.
I am in Prague this week and a friend told me I should come to “this party” where he’d be DJ-ing.
“Great,” I said. “See you there.”
But after I looked up the venue, I noticed what the party was called:
“Fetish Underground Party,” with a sub-headline “Dress the F*ck Up.”
Comments and inquiries about the party included questions such as: “Isn’t it going to be too cold for latex?”
I became worried.
So I emailed my friend.
You didn’t mention it was a fetish party. Do I seriously need to dress the f*ck up?
He replied something close to this:
Only the best for you. Do you think I would invite you to some petty-bourgeois party? Yes, dress code is mandatory, but you don’t have to go over the top. If you dress up like a moderate-intensity dominatrix, or bring somebody on a leash, you’ll be fine.
Oh, okay. Let me just pull out my dominatrix outfit out of my suitcase, then. It’s one of my travel essentials. You never know where and when you might get invited to a fetish party.
So, I spent most of Thursday afternoon – instead of working, I might add – putting together my S&M outfit.
Over the knee boots? Check. Fishnets? Check. Tight black short shorts? Check? Black corset? Check. Choker? Check. Leash? Check? A volunteer topless man on all fours tied to it? Check.
So how did it go?