The Body Electric: Turn On the Power, Turn It Off, Tease!

Seems that yours truly, author of "Sandwich Filling," is pushing her envelope ever so slightly.

I've never been much for BDSM, although a few years ago I wrote an exhaustive (and exhausting!) glossary of "alternative lifestyle" terms for a website that never went live for reasons unknown. Many of these terms were familiar to me from my years spent researching the wonderful world of sex parties and so-called sandwiches (see my eBook), but many more were not. By the end of this writing gig, I had a pretty clear idea of my comfort zone, and which activities I might want to try in good (i.e., "bad") company.

I am not now, nor have I ever been, a "pain slut." I have a very low threshold for pain, and let's not even get into the years of torture I endured before somehow managing to train myself out of being extremely ticklish. Nor do I have any pressing need to dish out pain in a sexual context--the only time I really feel like hurting someone is when I'm angry, and far outside the boudoir. And anger apparently has no place in SM. All this by way of stating that my knives shall stay in the kitchen drawer when they are not being used to chop edibles; my candle wax shall cool in its holder; and my needles shall stay in the sewing kit I never use because the tailor a few blocks away does a much better job hemming a new pair of pants.

In two weeks, however, I shall be attending Dark Odyssey, a weekend kink-oriented camp just a few hours away that has an awesome array of workshops, and just about anything goes between consenting adults. It was my non-platonic friend, whom I shall refer to henceforth as "Tom," who knew about Dark Odyssey, and asked if I'd like to go. (I smiled upon learning that this camp will be held on the same exact grounds as PEX, the Burning Man oriented festival I attended over the Fourth of July weekend...a different crowd, but I'm sure there's some overlap.) The butterflies have been fluttering around in my stomach a little bit, and so when I received a last-minute invitation to a fetish-oriented party for a couple who were literally tying the knot, I asked Tom to join me; apparently there would be a fair amount of guests who were also bound (pun intended) for Dark Odyssey.

The party was held in a Chelsea club, fairly typical as far as clubs go, with a disco ball, a huge dance floor, a smaller back room with a few vinyl-covered benches, and of course a well-stocked bar. Before leaving my apartment, I had fretted over my wardrobe situation, which despite its versatility lacks fetishwear, so wound up in a black mock-sarong mini dress and high-heeled black sandals. (Black is, after all, the new black!) Tom looked like a dangerous dream come true in a black frilly shirt, which I overtly covet, and black pants. Although there were plenty of guests who wore fishnets, corsets, long gloves, thigh-high stiletto boots, and leather, we were not the only ones in relatively low-key outfits. 

People-watching was fun, particularly because the people were quite laid-back and friendly. Tom soon spotted a friend of his who is going to Dark Odyssey, and we were introduced to some other DOers. Midway through my first G&T, I noticed a rather interesting-looking couple on the dance floor: a woman who was obviously a Domme, as she wore a tight, shiny black outfit, a black leather face mask, and was controlling her Sub, a man in platform heels who looked exactly like a blow-up doll complete with face mask and fake tits. The Domme noticed me noticing them and strolled over. "Check this out," she said, or words to that effect. She was holding out a gizmo about the size of a deck of cards, obviously wanting to show off this little toy.

I took the little gizmo from her and saw it had an on/off switch. I flipped it to the "on" position. Immediately, the Sub threw his head back and began writhing in unmistakable ecstasy.

The Domme led me over to her Sub and gestured to his G-string. It looked as though he had quite a package beneath it, but then again, his entire body had been covered with that blow-up doll material (some kind of pinkish-putty-colored rubber). Even though the music was pretty loud, I could hear a vibrating sound emanating from this G-string.

That's when I finally got it.

"May I?" I asked the Domme, gesturing toward her Sub's vibrating G-string.

"Of course you may."

I gingerly placed the palm of my hand against the buzzing and felt an unmistakable hard-on brought on by the electrical current I was controlling. I could see the Sub grin through his semi-transparent face mask. Next, I asked the Domme permission to hold on to this handy gadget for a little while. She did not seem surprised by my request, and graciously granted it. I, however, had surprised myself--never before had I envisioned doing such a thing, but then again, this doodad wasn't in the glossary of terms I'd written for that never-launched website. As for the Sub...well, he stayed silent, as he obviously had been instructed to remain unless given permission to speak, but I could see his grin stretch into a major-league smile. "He's intrigued that you're intrigued," the Domme informed me.

Not only was I intrigued, I literally had the power!

For the next few minutes, I wandered around the perimeter of the dance floor, never getting far enough away to lose eye contact with the Sub...plus, I also had no idea at what distance it would no longer be effective, and I was too shy (and proud) to admit my ignorance to the Domme, who most likely would've educated me with the same good-natured generosity she'd already shown. Tom seemed amused as I flipped the switch from on to off and back again in time to the song being played, and correctly surmised that this experience was adding fuel to the fire of my latent Domme tendencies. It got even more fun when the song ended and a burlesque performer appeared on the dance floor to entertain the guests; I again timed the on-off to the rhythm of her dance and strip (which took place, as improbable as it may sound, inside a huge balloon that she crawled into at the beginning of her act; I think the song was was "I Wanna Be Loved By You," but it may have been another old standard...the visuals were unusually distracting). Sometimes when I turned the power off I locked eyes with the Sub, who clearly wanted me to turn it back on; other times I looked over when I clicked the power back on, to catch his look of ecstatic gratitude.

After the burlesque performance, I returned the toy to the Domme; I did this because I was afraid that if I held on to it for any longer, I wouldn't be able to give it up so readily. I was strangely reluctant to leave the Clicker Couple. "What's your name?" I asked the Domme. "Amanda. And this," she said with a flourish, "is Mimi. As in, you know, 'me-me-me'?"

"I'm T.C.," I said. "As in Top Cat." (Yes, I've used that line before--but I really felt it this time!)

Mimi the Sub remained silent, but I felt his pleasure in that silence.

"So, are you two going to Dark Odyssey?" I asked.

"Unfortunately not," Amanda the Domme sighed. "We live in Wisconsin."

That last little tidbit of information cracked me up as soon as I took my leave and rejoined Tom, who also found it funny. It just seemed so incongruous. But just as you can't always accurately judge a book by its cover, it's also the case that you can't always tell where someone hangs her hat...and her leather mask.