BDSM unit (2 of 4): More trip.

Later, when we were in the basement galleries and me and a couple students were chit-chatting more with the director, I made a point to ask about use of alcohol in public playspaces, since pansexual (i.e. “straight”) BDSM clubs are very abstemious, but gay ones usually allow a lot of alcohol.

The director said as much, and said a lot was linked back in to how gay leather culture emerged from the bar scene, whereas straight BDSM culture didn’t.

“If you have a straight playspace and there’s alcohol, people are like, ‘What is that?!?’, but if you have no alcohol in a gay space, people are like, ‘Where’s the party?!?’”, he was like.

He also added that the local gay playspace was BYOB, and members had keys, unlike with the straight space.

At this, a shorter grandmotherly-looking plumper (white) woman with glasses in her late 60s who was standing around listening chimed in, “I don’t know about you, but give me one glass of wine, and I can’t handle a whip anymore!”.

She also added that in their town, a lot of straight people have been through rehab, so it’s not a good idea for them to be around alcohol.

There was a tall goateed younger (white) guy near her too, and me and my 2 students started talking with all of them, and it turns out that they were in town from a major city in the south for a local all-weekend educational event.

In that city, everyone just uses all one dungeon, so you have a lot of people playing together.

“You should see [the grandmotherly-looking woman’s name] cane someone,” the guy was like.  “It’s really something.”

“Wait!”, the grandmotherly-looking woman was like, pulling out her iPhone.  “I have pictures from our Christmas party!”

“Wow,” I was like.  “Did you use a candy cane?”

“No,” she was like, “I called myself Candy Cane!”

Then, she showed me and my 2 students a pic on her iPhone, and I gave a sigh of relief when it was just her in a santa hat and red robe sitting down with a cane and pulling the hair back on this short (black) man in a harness who was kneeling like a dog and mugging for the camera.

“That’s his boyfriend,” the grandmotherly-looking woman was like, nodding up toward the tall goateed younger (white) guy she came in with.

“Isn’t he a ham?”, the guy said.

“Yes!”, she was like, “He’s always putting on a show.”

Somehow, they also got to talking about how there’s even “littles” who attend their dungeon, who are people who try to get inside the mind of a 7-to-8 year-old child for an evening.

“We give them crayons and set up a table for coloring,” the grandmotherly-looking woman was like.

“We did bubbles but it was too near the St. Andrew’s cross and it got it all sticky,” the guy was like.  “And someone put Hello Kitty stickers on my bootblack stand!”.

Later, about 4 other people started milling around, 2 of whom were slightly older and very muscled (white) gay guys with beards and tight jeans, and I introduced myself, and it turns out that they were all with the same group.

“This is Mr. [regional leather title] 2013,” the woman was like, introducing me to the one older muscled gay guy with a salt-and-pepper beer.

“Two thousand and twelve,” he was like, quietly but firmly.

“Two thousand and twelve, two thousand and thirteen...”, I was like, segueing into a slight dramatic pause.  “What’s a number when you’re timeless?”, I then added, with a wide smile and a wink.

At that, the regional champion leather daddy broke out into a genuine smile.