The little sex party that could.

It had been years since I last attended a sex party, and even longer since I attended an event with such a diversity of interests and people.

I've enjoyed some time off in these last two weeks, and so I took opportunity to turn Pride this year into a personal adventure of sensual debauch and revelry. I needed it. After a burlesque show, a fetish social, a barbecue at a leatherbar, enjoying the Dyke March, and other assorted events throughout the city, I was ready for a nice conclusion. Late last week, it seemed fitting then to end my carnal cabaret with a sex party at one of the city's more bohemian clubs. For me, Pride this year was about straightfoward, sensual fun.

There's an unwritten law somewhere in the annals of sexual adventure that when word gets out that an open sex party is happening, single men will flock there in droves. You can smell it in the air.

I settled somewhere comfortable and began scanning the club, finding myself receiving a sexy smile from a brunette at the bar. It took me a moment before I realized that it was one of the evening's t-girls who was checking me out, and I smiled back while smirking to myself.

Now, for all the experiences I've enjoyed in my life, I've only been with one transgendered person, and that was early in my sexuality. It came as a serious shock to me actually, because it wasn't until after the fact that I had been informed. (Another story for another time.) Still, while not my typical scene, I'm open enough to acknowledge attractiveness when I see it, and must admit to the occasional fantasy or j/o session there. Transgendered partners remain largely uncharted waters for this particular slut, although FTMs intrigue me.

Apart from dancing and drinking, precious little was happening for the first two or three hours of the party. Bisexual porn played on a few monitors. A large blonde woman in a black corset and a charming bare behind socialized with friends. A deliciously boiish lesbian couple came, found their place at a table, and snuggled casually. A cluster here or there of seminude gay men chitchatted. Several transvestites of all ages did their best to appear bored. Individual, and presumably single, men milled around.

The brunette t-girl eventually strolled onto the dance floor and find a partner there to neck with. Their play soon developed into the first scene of the evening.

As dancers moved around them, she kissed her male friend passionately. The club was clothing-optional tonight, and it wasn't long before Guy had stripped and they were making themselves cozy on a small mat at one end of the dance floor. Pressing close, Brunette removed her top to reveal a very firm pair of breasts with tiny dark nipples. She dropped to her knees, her back to the rest of the club, and he steadied his breathing as he looked down to her head bobbing slowly.

A small circle formed around them as others watched. A second male and t-girl couple settled right next to the first pair as Second Guy lay on his back and found himself cradled and caressed by his partner. The two couples played side-by-side while several males started stroking their cocks as they stood or sat nearby. Others continued to dance. Still others mingled elsewhere. In the rafters overhead, along a catwalk that led to some private booths, even more watched from on high.

In time, both of the males found themselves on their backs, next to one another, on the mat. Their trans lovers, both striking in appearance and demanding in their sex, mounted the men in unison to get fucked. As the music thumped and the crowd watched intently, each t-girl brazenly returned the gazes focused upon them as they took their lovers in their ass, pumping and grinding themselves unabashedly.

I leaned against the DJ booth and enjoyed my drink as I casually watched this little escapade. I noticed that a heavyset Asian woman, dressed casually, was trying to peer over my shoulder to enjoy the scene. Politely, I invited her to stand in front of me, which she gratefully accepted. We made small talk as we watched the trannies fucking some fifteen feet before us.

To our left and below a small flight of stairs was a wooden restraining stanchion, a single beam set at an upward angle and bearing steel rungs for leather restraints. A blonde milf in a red dress was soon brought there by her gentlemanly companion, whereupon she leaned her torso against the beam. He slowly raised her dress over her hips, revealing her bare ass. He produced a riding crop from his belt and began administering some gentle discipline with it as two other men stood to enjoy her breasts. She rested her head and chest against the polished wooden beam, eyes closed, experiencing the sensation with tiny gasps.

My voyeuristic companion and I smiled to each other as we enjoyed them. We introduced ourselves. Yvette was married and there with her husband, who shook my hand between his long bouts of being elsewhere in the club as he abandoned his friendly spouse to the wolves.

Bad form.

Sex parties, especially good ones, are very tricky to organize. Even among a pre-screened group of like-minded people, it's always possible that someone, somewhere, will misbehave or otherwise act like an ass. At the very least (and apologies to my gender for saying this), its unfortunately true that when single, individual men are permitted to attend, the odds are that one or more of them will be the first to fuck up. Why? That's another topic.

But I wasn't too surprised when one guy, standing near Yvette and me, began poking into her personal space like a penis without conscience. Not wanting to assume any authority over this woman's experience, I quietly stood by, though directly behind her. After all, I wasn't one of the staff at this club; it wasn't my place to assume he was overstepping himself as he touched and groped and pursued upon Yvette's person.

Her body language was clear however, even if she barely opened her mouth to set boundaries apart from an "I'm fine, thank you" to Mr. Dick. Why isn't she speaking up more, I asked myself. Where was her fucking husband? And why aren't the staffpeople here paying closer attention to the scenes happening around them instead of picking up empties? My feminist awarenesses started to wreak havoc on my Top headspace.

"Are you ok? Is this guy making you uncomfortable?" He saw the look on my face and started to back off from Yvette. I felt like I was working the clubs again, but this time I didn't like it.

Yvette wasn't visibly distressed by Mr. Dick, but she wasn't having fun either. Realizing that she was new to all this and that I had done the right thing, I pointed out the posted rules-of-behaviour signage (in oneplace and with very small print) and explained that she could always go to a staffperson if she felt uncomfortable.

Still, I felt ridiculous in that I essentially ended up filling in the roles both her husband and the staff should have quick-booted themselves to. This party, I quickly realized, needed some serious help with its infrastructure, else a major incident could be likely. Despite the opportunity for genuine pansexual play, I was left unimpressed.

Me, I carried on however. Yvette's husband eventually showed himself. By then, the trannies had moved on to other men and the blonde milf was giving her partner head at one the tables near the dance floor. Other t-girls, singles, couples of various orientations had arrived and were either dancing, playing, or drinking. It was getting late, and soon my newfound friends were getting ready to go. Husband, however, couldn't resist texting Yvette when he momentarily vanished again. A friendly black fellow, he struck me as a bizarre cross between Urkel and PeeWee Herman.

Husband: I think u shld show him ur tits

"He wants me to show you my tits," Yvette laughed to me.

"Do you want to?" I smiled. She smiled back as hubby returned again, then lowered the top of her dress. He invited me to touch them. I asked her. She blinked, smiled, and said yes.

That was when I found myself holding my first pair of breasts in a little while. For me, the tunes and the dancing and the chatter all suddenly stopped as I beheld her.

I've been craving to touch Shayne again, it's true. This moment with Yvette, these few seconds of simple touch, were a small salve for me. All of my Prideweek playfulness came down to this small, tender moment.

Yvette's tanned skin glowed under the strobe lights as she revealed a large set of firm globes, capped with soft dark nipples. She wavered a little when my hands gently cupped them from the sides, squeezing lightly, and then caressing underneath and over them in a slow, tender stroke. I bit my lower lip as I enjoyed them for perhaps a hint of a moment longer than she expected. Her eyes were glazed as I moved back with a grin.

They left, smiling.

Me: That was yummy. :)
Yvette: Thank u! I had a great time speaking with u. Hope to see u again! :o)

The night was about over me too. I drifted to an upstairs area where I explored the various privacy booths that had been arranged. More bi porn showed itself on monitors, and I relaxed with another beer as I watched one on a long red leather couch. Some of the transvestites made themselves available for passers-by in the nearby booths, but by then it seemed the evening was drawing late for everyone.

A larger play area at another end of the club began drawing a crowd of onlookers. Trust those wayward single guys to sniff out the one interesting scene in a playparty, boy. Mr. Dick practically went running in that direction once it appeared to be a place of interest. I laughed to myself as I waved adieu to the disappointed TVs.

And so my evening ended as I, shoulder-to-shoulder with a crowd of desperate males, watched a blonde BBW in a red teddy with matching stockings take on three black males as she knelt over a spanking bench. One husky dude fucked her slow. Two stood near her head as she tooks turns between sucking their cocks, much to the silent pleasure of the crowd that had gathered around them.

Mr. Dick, clearly frustrated with his total lack of success with the ladies, biological or otherwise, pushed his way through the crowd to stand directly next to the woman. Quietly focused on her own cocksucking and the fucking she was receiving, she hardly seemed to notice when Dick suddenly, characteristically, groped at her swaying breast like a grocer trying to date a mango. I rolled my eyes. The dude to my immediate left, one of the guys whose cock was getting casually sucked, didn't miss a beat as he simply pushed Dick right out of the way.

It was almost 4am. I smirked about that as I finished my last beer and headed home.


thumbs Tranny Surprise, Pain Vixens, Wild Rhino, Dacahard

Photo Essay: Toronto Dyke March 2008

A night out for the toys.

When the stunning blonde brought me my dinner, I laughed to myself as I realized the contrast between my dining venues of late. Continuing on my solo, Pride 2008 quest for my city's sensual and erotic treats, just recently I found myself enjoying an awesome barbecue hosted by the Black Eagle, perhaps this city's most infamous gay leatherbar. It didn't distress me that I was in the Eagle, and yet tonight, I felt just slightly weird (in a perfectly amusing way) that I was actually dining in a Hooters. I mean, Hooters... it's just so fratboy.

Being more of an ass- than a tit-man, I was still pleasantly surprised to see a variety of bodytypes among the servers. Fully expecting to see a room full of Pamela Anderson clones, I was happy to see my expectations dashed. Some lovely bums indeed. I still feel as though there's something vaguely heterosexist about Hooters, but then again... how much more alarming was it really when compared to the average stripclub?

From there, I was off to the famous Northbound Leather fetish wear emporium for their annual Pride Meet & Greet social. A relaxed evening of wine and hors d'oeuvres among a pansexual crowd of the city's fetish elite awaited me, where I enjoyed meeting old and new friends. Also attending was Canadian fetish performer Maxine X, due to appear on the third season of Webdreams, to offer autographs and her latest DVDs when she wasn't dry-humping the stunning Northbound associate Jen.

I enjoyed the open bar as Northbound manager David and I discussed the nature of the erotica business as he helped me select some new gear for myself. To our left, a couple found themselves testing a new flogger as she delectably bent forward to a rack of latex skirts, her partner gently lashing her behind. Behind us, a cluster of guys from various regional gay leather associations were having a blast as one of them, clad in leather boxers and sporting a full-faced leather doberman hood, rough-housed with a pair of very real Jack Russell terriers. The little pups seemed horribly confused.

The evening was more of a party than a playparty, but that didn't stop one talented Top guy from an intense rope bondage scene with his bottom. Kneeling on the concrete floor, the lashed gentleman relaxed silently as his Top, and his Top's friends, took turns supervising his presence among the crowd of minglers and nibblers.

Outside, the Lady Victoria Windsor demonstrated her skill with a bullwhip, removing cigarettes from the lips of the willing and unafraid. One or two of the leatherboys decided that it would be amusing to see how her tools would feel upon themselves, and each walked away with a smarting look in the eye.

I was with The Grrl the last time I did some shopping at Northbound. That's almost a lifetime ago now, but it felt excellent to be among the local scene again. Recently, Lanie, a new friend, has expressed interest in attending a local fetish night together, and while I doubt we'd progress anywhere past being just-friends, I'm looking forward to perhaps sharing some interesting experiences in the coming weeks.




thumbs personal collection, Switch Swingers

A night out with the boys.

It was the gear and the grill, more than the guys, that brought me to the infamous Black Eagle last night as my Pride 2008 debauch continued. It's all about the vibe, baby. How could I possibly turn down thick burgers with crumbled bleu cheese, cold red beer, and a display of leather paraded by its iconic experts?

Because, let's face it, when it comes to fetish wear at its most unadulterated form and less-is-more elegant best, the gay community has it down. From a fuckfashion point of view, the goth crowd may be more imaginative, more expressionist, but sometimes I find that the simple purity of a good military bootblacking outshines (so to speak) the outrageous. A plain black tee or a buff chest in a harness or vest, boots like mirrors, only the hint of steel, leather pants or chaps over denim, and all topped with a leather offiziers hut makes the foundation for standard Top uniform. You just don't see that kind of bdsm back-to-basics, do-it-right attitude among those for whom fetish play is often more about being hip than power exchange.

My vantage point was not nearly as envious as during my recent playparty excursion to Funhaus, the crowds being overwhelming once the popular Mr. Leather Pride event got started. Still, over many beers and two trips to the barbecue, I enjoyed a long discussion with a new friend about the nature of pansexuality.

I think gay guys are cool. Quite a turn, isn't it? Often, I'd rather hang out as buddies with the gay men because in a sense, they feel far more open-minded, open-hearted, and far less sexually repressed than straight dudes. Anyone from any orientation can be a moron, but this has just been my experience. In that regard, some friends have described me as being queer, though not gay, and I enjoy that.

What's the distinction? For me, queer theory has more to do with an approach toward sexual culture as a whole rather than simply what gets me off. I think cocks are cool, but watching the gay porn on the monitors above the bar really does nothing for me. Go figure.

The leather-clad dudes strutted their stuff. The cluster of giggling women who arrived weren't too intrusive to the vibe. The beer was cold and plentiful. The energy was relaxed and casual. The burgers and steak were awesome.

And then my new friend and I went into the blackroom where I let him suck my cock.



thumb Black Eagle, personal collection

Burlesque pride.

I enjoy the sensuality of the dance, the spirit of fun, and the sense of new life being breathed into erotic history. Had my grandfather ever see Gypsy Rose Lee perform? I also enjoy the sexual politics in knowing that empowered, joyful women are rekindling a sensual genre from the past. To my eye, it's good, healthy fun... not that I would also resist the chance to savor a luscious bum ensconced in period bloomers.

Last night's debauch brought me to Goodhandy's, the "pansexual playground," for a fun Pride-filled evening of classic burlesque. Shayne and I had seen Skin Tight Outta Sight last New Year's, but tonight's rebel burlesque performance definitely out-did what they offered the hungry public then. With them were The Saucy Tarts, whose can-can performances were a sight to behold.

Even before the show, the sight and vibe in the club reminded of the excellent cabaret scene in Better Than Chocolate. Men were definitely in the minority as the house was full of lesbian couples, their friends, and the occasional stunning t-girl.

The drag king swayed to Duke Ellington. The mohawked Catastrophe demonstrated a ominous ballet reminscent of The Handmaid's Tale. The Victorian lady who dislodged her hoop skirt. The tribute to the feather boa. The Saucy Tarts were exceptional, delivering sets that featured can-cans in the Old West, French revolution, and gypsy rover styles.

And then there was poor, smiling Justin. Our emcee insisted that Justin, a slender twink if there ever was one, come on stage and take a thick black dildo in his ass for everyone's enjoyment. Summoning a local celebrity in the audience, a female erotica writer and broadcaster, to do the sordid deed, Justin casually disrobed on stage, bent over with a wide smile, and the applause abounded as the lad got fucked before us.

Not bad for a Monday night.

The Three Graces.

I shook the rain from my trenchcoat as I handed it to the girl. The thrum of the tunes, the cold beer bottle in my fist, the flogger and c-clamp in my back pocket, the plain strap of black leather snapped across my left wrist... all these things brought me back to the nights when I bounced the bdsm clubs of New York City. I was in the Funhaus and it was time for another Fetish Masquerade.

The play for the night would largely be confined to the back room, the rear door to which yawned open like a hellmouth, shades of red lighting beckoning the daring and the kinky from the open dance area. The music was better here than what Master Micheal would have played, this place being a danceclub first and catering to a fusion between the goth crowd and a smattering of trendy poseurs.

I was stag tonight. I don't usually enjoy going to fetish nights on my own, since it usually reminds me that single men often make up the vast majority of voyeuristic attendees. Not quite so here, however, with the house full of couples and clusters of friends. Me, I'm much more comfortable being part of a pair, or more, of players out together, especially if I'm with a hot partner. I enjoy being out and playing, doing my thing, more than just being the observer, but tonight I was determined to have some fun. I'm confident that the time will come when my hand will meet flesh under the red lights again; for now, being in the energy was satisfying enough.

The night was still young when the Sultan, a Middle Eastern fellow in elegant Bedouin regalia, began preparing one of the red leather spanking benches for a session. I'd seen him before, and knew that he'd be using that spanking bench all night. His partner was a smiling, curvy, longhaired blond in a rust-coloured PVC top with boyshorts. Blondie relaxed comfortably as she climbed on to the padded bench with a naughty grin, resting her albows on an upper tier while facing the wall. Her round ass was revealed as Sultan tugged her boyshorts down, leaving her clad in a g-string as she was displayed before the growing audience behind her.

It's a treat when a couple is comfortable enough to let the night start early. Sultan, a regular at this event, began with tender smacks and caresses. Gradually, he built up toward a firmer hand, which Blondie readily accepted with gyrating hips. She arched her back slightly, turning her pleasantly generous bum upward and parting her cheeks open ever so more as she did so. By the time Sultan was slowly using his pinwheel along her thigh, she was squirming so much that she couldn't help but reveal her plump seam and darkened anus to the bright red light above her. The poor dear.

In the main room, vintage 70s porn played on the big screen as the now full house thudded with PVC-, leather-, and lingerie-clad dancers. Couples and singles, a crossdresser or two, and bouncers occasionally made their way in and out of the back room. Some lounged on nearby overstuffed couches, others sat or stood to watch the Sultan and Blondie at play.

As I was enjoying the sight of Blondie's reddened ass, something suddenly burst into the back room and trampled under and in front of me. Scampering on the floor at high speed was a young man bearing a small collar, and following him was a bespeckled blonde with a radiant smile and a shining black PVC evening dress. Instead of being an intrusion, their energy was infectious.

"C'mere, boy!" she called out with a wide and friendly smile. Immediately the young man turned on all fours, smiled back, and scampered on hands and knees toward her and right next to me. Tossing a huge, knotted rope, he watched it soar to the other end of the room, then brought it back with it gleefully in his teeth. She laughed and scolded him gently when he refused to release his grip on the rope toy. They did this again and again and were having a great time. It was nice to be reminded that Topping doesn't always have to be ominous and fierce.

I had forgotten how fun it was to see pup play. Sultan and Blondie continued unabated, but now my area of the room was also rich with fun, plain and simple, just because these two were so clearly having it. She saw my wide smile.

"Would you like to pet him?" she asked me, beaming. "His name is Rave."

I immediately went into doggie-voice. "Hello, Raaave... aw, such a good boy, what a good boy you are, yes, yes you are," I said, scratching him behind his ears, petting and gently tapping his back. He scampered away when I stopped. Not long after, I enjoyed watching Rave, his handler, and a lithe woman who was a tender kitten, scampering with Rave and making little hissy paws. They were cute.

Others came into the rear dungeon. Soon, as Sultan and Blondie were joined by another friend, the Businessman had begun setting up the second of the three spanking benches. With him was a sexually vibrant, tall woman with dirty blonde dreadlocks and a fantastic heart-shaped ass. Like Blondie, she found herself on all fours on the second spanking bench, her exquisite bum facing the onlookers. Businessman got right to business once Dreadlocks was in place, placing his hands at either asscheek and wiggling them rapidly. Her mound and crinkled sphincter were revealed even more readily than Blondie's had been, and the kisses he gave her bum between rounds of heavy-handed swats demonstrated that he rightfully adored her delectable butt. Their scene quickly became centre-stage as his passionate smacking, teasing, caressing elicted moans and squirms from Dreadlocks. When he too produced a pinwheel, her cries echoed through the room and blended with the trancelike music.

Not long after, a third couple made use of the wooden horse at another end of the room. The tattooed brunette there stood in her leather boots and bent over as her partner squatted and delivered a more tender, loving type of spanking to her panty-clad tush. His face was within an inch or two of her small, bubbly ass, and as he went into his own headzone his mouth slacked open with quiet pleasure.

My vantage point was front row centre. To my left, Petite Brunette and her small ass received loving open-handed attention at the horse. Blondie's plump ass was as red as the lighting as Sultan casually continued with wooden rods. To my right, Dreadlocks squirmed and yelped, revealing more and more of her beautful, heartshaped ass as she was pinwheeled and spanked. I sipped my beer contentedly as, for me, these delicious women became the Three Graces, each receiving torment and pleasure on their magnificent behinds.

Later, I'd enjoy the sight of Dreadlocks relaxing languidly on one of the couches, her back to Businessman's chest as her jilled her over her g-string, her thigh receiving caresses from a striking, smirking, bald black woman. Sultan administered another spanking to another partner. Near the dance floor, Rave and Kitty Girl would be sparring in their own furry way. Another couple, Overdramatic Goth Boy and Overdramatic Goth Girl, enjoyed a dramatic spanking scene on the dance floor stage amid the shutter snappings of a woefully young paparazzi. I flirted with a bartender and delivered compliments to some of the other Tops whose playwork I had been enjoying.

A fine night out.

And yes, I did think of Shayne, and of the fun I could have shown her there were she with me. We hadn't opportunity to play nearly enough, and there's so much I hadn't had the chance to share with her there. But, checking my email once I got back to my own dungeon, a message waited from a friend who had heard I was attending the playparty. Perhaps I won't be stag next time. One never knows.




thumbs Fetish Masquerade, personal collection, Wikipedia

Be still my heart.

Having just cited and shared a sexy photo released in my local newspaper, I can't resist but share another that crossed my path today, from the pages of NOW, as this city prepares for Pride 2008.

I've never met this gorgeous creature in the flesh, but have encountered her on other internet social sites. I've also seen her model for MissBehav'N, one of Toronto's kitschier sex-positive retail stores.

Personally, I think she is one of the sexiest women in this city.


thumb NOW