dinner and a show (The F Word's Fetish Party)

Leather gear and I have a special relationship. It mostly involves me being into the look but not being able to afford it (at least not in a fiscally responsible way). I was thinking about what I wanted to do for The Black Party that wouldn’t involve spending $120 on a harness that looked exactly like the one 100 other guys were wearing. My first instinct was a pair of hardcore leggings, but a certain website discontinued all the styles I would have used (and I’m not giving them free press by naming them).

I thought I had time to figure out what I was going to do as an alternative, but on a Tuesday, I got in invite for the F Word Fetish Edition, which featured a 2-hour open bar and a photo shoot for Next Magazine’s Black Party Issue that Friday. I absolutely had to be there. In gear. But now instead of a few weeks to plan my concept, I had a few days.

For last year’s Black Party, I made a web of shoelaces over my torso. I wanted to do something similarly low busget creative, so I skipped a day at the gym and hauled my ass down to Home Depot in Chelsea, grabbing rope and an 8” clip-on lamp. Med School Mess said she was in, so I told her to meet me at Grrber’s after work with her supplies.

I had a design in mind that I’d seen in a porn, but Grrber and I collaborated on an original design that didn’t take us too long to figure out (except that I had him do it over once he was done because I wanted it doubled). Luckily, Grrber was experienced in, er, use of different types of ropes and let me know that the coarse rope I had purchased would tear against my skin the whole night. He had gone out and bought us cotton rope to use (how twistedly sweet!). I was a bit anxious because the invite from the promoters made it seem like the photo shoot started at 8:30, and I wasn’t sure if it was a big group thing or individual portraits. Either way, Med School Mess and I were ready to make an impression on this party.

We arrived around 9 to find Menen already enjoying the open bar. He didn’t see any photo shoot going on, but he pointed out the outrageous set on the stage, surmising that that was where it would take place.

It was still pretty deserted Med School Mess and I went up to check our coats. Two of the coat check guys were in street clothes, but the youngest one, a short skinny white guy, was dressed in harcore lace-up boots, a spiked collar, and leather briefs with a mesh back. I noticed the mesh back because she was bending over to lace up her shoes. I hit Med School Mess on the arm to point out the show. The two older guys laughed, and one walked over to flick a switch, turning on the lights in the back area of the coat check.

Me: “Oh, thank you, honey! We came to F Word, and they gave us dinner and a show!!”

I didn’t even notice until we got back downstairs that all the bartenders were in leather gear. And The F Word has some hot bartenders!

Me: “Lemme get a screwdriver.”

Hot Bartender: “Just one?”

Me: “I like how you think!”

Another couple of drinks later (after Grrber showed up), the photographer from Next Magazine finally arrived and started shooting. One guy was covered in what looked like candle wax, and Grrber later identified him as Jake Deckard, one of my all-time favorite porn stars (one of the few who is just as hot as a top as he is as a bottom)! It was announced that those of us wanting to be photographed should get in line by the stage. As we were standing in line, I caught Mark Nelson’s eye (one of the producers of The F Word as well as other nightlife events like the gay days at various 6 Flags across the country). We’re vaguely familiar, so I gave him a finger wave and a smile. He waved back and whispered something to the pair of guys ahead of us who promptly let us in front of them in the line.

I’d observed that it was a pretty fast-paced shoot (actually, the photographer was almost literally bouncing off the walls, hitting more outrageous poses than his subjects), so I made MSM practice two poses with me before we got on stage. It very much reminded me of the scene in A Christmas Story when Ralphie finally sees Santa Claus and blanks out. In the course of about 40 seconds, we had hit our two poses, the photographer asked for “more, more, give me bigger, outrageous, come on!” I immediately reverted to the fake voguer in me and gave arms, wrist, and neck like my life depended on it. The lights on the stage were blinding, and I had no idea how I looked, but I remember trying to do everything big… and to not look drunk. It was like we blinked, and he was motioning for us to leave the stage.

Apparently, the room was rather full of guys that Grrber had hooked up with knew from Twilo The Roxy (a legendary club that opened in the 70s and closed in early 2007). I saw him trying to avoid hugging some muscle queen and then pointing in my direction.

MQ: “Oh, so you’re the husband?”

Me (after a half-second pause): “Oh, yeah. Hi!”

Grrber wasn’t the only one, though. On the way to coat check, I ran into The Aussie and a tall, blonde, Midwestern guy from my past (though not so ancient). We were glad to get our coats and get out of there! And I insisted on wearing my lamp-hat on the subway ride home.

I was pretty damn wasted, so I crawled into bed. Grrber started to cook me some curry shrimp, about which I remember being really excited. But I passed out.

No shrimp. No sex. No role play with the harness. Did I mention I woke up with the harness still on (thanks, Grrber!)? Yeah.

Update: Turns out we weren't pretty enough to be featured in Next Magazine or their website :-/

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