 |
|
• EROS CITIES
• EROTICA / ZINE
• MASTHEAD
• ADVERTISE
|
|
erotica fictiongallerylifestyles fetishbdsmqueer/bi/transswingersfeatures news
briefsarticlessexy
spreadsfree speech x-presseros bits sound
offtriviasexfessionsdiva's debaucherysexual intelligence
reviewsevents sf
events calendarfeatured
eventfeatured
clubinternational
calendarsf
nightlifeeros photo classified ads about eros ezine select different zine:
Sponsored Links
|
The guy said to me: "Can you please tell her not to?" I replied: "Tell her not to do what?" I had a hunch that I was going to be on her side, whatever it was. Geena said: "I'm trying to get a lift to The Power Exchange." The fellow implored me: "Tell her not to go there. It isn't safe."
Not attempting to stifle my laugh, I said: "I go there all the time. I love it. If I wasn't standing here right now, that's probably where I'd be." In retrospect, I wish I'd asked him if he'd ever set foot inside. The answer probably would have been either "No," or "Once, a long time ago." That's how most haters reply when asked. Found in an otherwise nondescript building at 74 Otis, The Power Exchange is a big huge vast sex 'n' BDSM space occupying four floors. The fourth floor used to be an all-male club, but closed to that purpose in late '06. As of April '07 it's in something of a limbo, theoretically resurrecting soon as a nightclub. The third floor, Level 3, is for heterosexual couples and single genetic girls. It's only open to everyone else during the monthly Fetish Ball. Me and the rest of the rabble spend most of our time in the first floor and the basement dungeon, collectively known as the Mixed Club.
Well, sure, yes. Gods bless 'em, says I. They're a fixture, they're part of the experience, they keep the electrical bill paid, and they subsidize us freeloaders--women and transfolx such as myself get into the Mixed Club free every night except the Fetish Ball. Indeed, the tourists and wankers and towelboys (so called because they get in for a reduced rate on Friday and Saturday if they wear a towel) are there to watch the girls suck cock and do whatever it is those kinds of people do, and the lucky tourist may even get to drop trou (towel, anyway) and get his own cock sucked. Meanwhile, I have someplace to hang out for free on weekend nights. Everybody wins. Consent is queen, of course. It's a practical application of the Satanic principle of indulgence, not compulsion. Contrary to one of the more noxious rumors floating around, single women don't get descended upon and raped, and I've never sucked a cock I didn't want to suck. Whether or not a single woman should go there alone depends on her personal comfort level. In any event, not all the men are wanking and/or displaying partial noodlety. Most are just kinda there, watching. Again, it's a comfort level issue. If you don't like the idea of being watched while you do your thing, then it's definitely not the best place for thing-doing. And that's something of shame, because there are so many things to be done. And to see. The Power Exchange is worth a cruise just for the phantasmagoric splendor of its mise en scène. If Tom Cullen from The Stand decorated a sex club, it would look like The Power Exchange, laws yes. M-O-O-N, that spells kitsch. Like, with its optical assault of superhero and other pop-cultural detritus, the Comic Hallway (containing the coat check and the boutique) is practically worth the price of admission. Granted, it helps if you got in free.
There are countless—well, many—other themed rooms of varying size, like the Cow Room and the Underwater Room and the Hawaiian Room. Sometimes I'll stumble upon one that I'd missed before, making The Power Exchange feels like Hogwarts, with new rooms appearing as required. Towards the back of the dungeon is the ever-popular Barracks, with a camoflauge decor, USMC logo on the wall, and quasi-privacy offered by curtains resembling thick mosquito netting. The Barracks (or, in my Zeitgeisty nomenclature, the Don't Ask Don't Tell Room) is where the majority of the sport cocksucking takes place.
There's so much more. On the Dungeon level alone there's the Porn Room, which is decorated like an Ice Storm-era living room with multiple televisions showing porn; tourists usually go in there, sit down, and hope they'll get sucked off. It's second only to the Don't Ask Don't Tell Room in terms of Expectation. Occupying the most space in the dungeon is the for-players-only Cage with its horses and St. Andrew's Cross, as well as the Sling. The Sling is frequently occupied a naked guy masturbating. I call him The Naked Guy Masturbating in the Sling. Like any other sex club or play space, even the much-lauded Citadel, The Power Exchange is a crapshoot. In spite of the wankers, however, it has an open vibe which encourages experimentation and just plain strangeness. Part of this is because it feels like it's always there; nine in the evening to five in the morning, Thursday through Saturday, covers a lot of ground. Say it's 3am Saturday morning, and you wanna take your rubbermaid slave out on the town for a good fuck in front of an audience. Where the hell else are you going to go? Though the security staff is attentive and responsive, the result is a law-of-the-jungle element which keeps things interesting—scary to some, endlessly fascinating to others. You never know who's going to walk through the door. If you see The Naked Guy Masturbating in the Sling, tell him Sherilyn says hi.
|
||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
|
||
|
 |
|