There is a wide gulf between the alluring portayal of kink in erotica and its actual manifestation from the world online. For years I've waited to attend an event of fine dining and impeccable manners to coincide with harsh punishment, public degradation, and sexual humiliation. I'm tired of waiting and have decided it's time for us to send out the invitations ourselves.
Kinky Cocktails celebrates the allure of kink in its finest totality, and recognizes that its power rests primarily within the psyche of experience, far beyond physical sensations. While any proclivity shall be welcomed and embraced, Kinky Cocktails is primarily concerned with motivation rather than action.
What?
Kinky Cocktails is a somewhat exclusive venue where similar individuals may congregate to discuss the finer points of topics ranging from the weather, War and Peace, mayo vs. Miracle Whip, flogging techniques, and preferred lube for anal fucking; all in an effort to further engender camaraderie in small, private events for the social practice, participation, demonstration, and application of BDSM Arts.
Why?
This can best be illustrated by describing the experience Patty and I had at the last local “Event” we attended which sadly had the exact same look and feel as the two previous ones we attended.
We arrived at the locale dressed in what we thought was appropriate for the occasion. After all, events portrayed in erotic literature are filled with finely dressed people who constantly drink, yet never get drunk. Patty wore a skin-tight dress of very light material that adhered to every curve her genes and healthy lifestyle provided. The straps were thin, the neckline low, and the hem fit snuggly above her knees. The stark rise of her high-heels arched her back subtlety, and elicited such a lovely muscle tone in her calves and hamstrings.
As for me, men have it so much easier since I knew all eyes would be on the prop, Patty, attached to my arm. Never the less, I wore dark jeans, dress shoes, and jacket worn over a pressed, textured shirt with no tie.
Our plan at the outset was to simply watch and observe, yet we were open to participating if the mood so struck. Patty’s tiny cocktail purse held as much gear as we could fit into it … collar & lock, cuffs, and nipple clamps, while the pockets of my jacket held some light rope. We weren’t planning to definitely get involved, we were ready if we so chose. Unfortunately, the moment we set foot in the venue, we knew our gear would go unused that night.
There were roughly 25-30 people seated metal chairs in front of foldout tables arranged in long rows. On one end of the room there was a table setup with a cheese platter, bean dip, various choices of chips, chex mix, and assortment of soda. On the floor were two ice-chests filled with ice, and a plastic cup for scooping. A small portable radio pumped out the ambiance of a local country station.
It was obvious right away that most of the people there were familiar with each other with one large congregation offset by pockets of individuals here and there. Some people drank from red Dixie cups, while others sipped beer from a can with the rest of the 6-pack still bound in the plastic rings on the table top nearby.
As we rounded the room, conversation essentially stopped, and all eyes fell on us but it wasn’t in that good way, like when a gorgeous woman walks by. We were being evaluated by the group because we so clearly did not fit in. To say we were overdressed is an understatement. My 12 year old son who has zero fashion sense, and no concern whatsoever with his appearance would’ve been overdressed in that company. Most of those people looked as if they had just arrived straight from mowing the lawn without showering first.
Moreover, there was no way whatsoever to ascertain the BDSM roles of the people present. I mean, I assumed there were Doms and subs there, along with various flavors of pervs sitting around the table, but everyone looked and acted as if they were mingling before the start of a meeting. It was rather disappointing.
With no direct effort to greet us, we sat near a couple that was about half as much out of place as we were, and I specifically singled them out because their clothes were noticeably clean, and it was clear they’ve seen the inside of a gym before. We chatted pleasantly and learned it was their first time to this particular group’s event as well. It was obvious that he was the impetus for their presence there, though she was content to go along with it for the sake of her man.
We sat for about 30 minutes which was a full hour after the event officially started when suddenly a man stood in the front asking for silence so he could make some announcements. He shared some good natured banter back and forth with the large congregation of familiars assembled, but it quickly turned awkward for those who didn’t get the inside jokes that went on and on and on and on and on. What could’ve taken 2 minutes got dragged out to 15 minutes, but eventually the official “event” could begin.
Nobody was in a big rush to head into the “play” room, but eventually we wandered in, and that’s when our opinion of the event went from lackluster to downright disappointing. While there were tools available to use – a spanking bench, wooden armatures for tying people to, a rope station, etc. – the people who opted to use them did so with absolutely no emotion, no passion, no vibe, no nothing.
I remember one chick in particular. I had overheard her speaking from the “greeting” room earlier. Her drawl so thick she damn near sounded foreign. Though she was young (mid 20s perhaps), my dead grandfather had more teeth. Her shirt was dirty, her hair greasy & disheveled, and her legs were covered in mosquito bites that had been scratched to the point of bleeding.
When it was her turn to be “punished” on the spanking apparatus, she blithely walked over, took off her shirt, cast it on the ground, dropped her shorts to reveal a set of drawers my granny wouldn’t wear, strolled to the thing, bent herself over it, and then remained still. A short moment later, some dude who was perfectly her equal in the other gender walked over and started smacking her ass with a paddle with no noticeable enjoyment. There was absolutely zero passion, or excitement, and most certainly no discernible presence of kink.
We hung around for another hour or so and watched similar demonstrations of complete lacklusterness. Eventually we decided to leave and went to the gathering area to collect our things. On the way we passed the couple we sat next to initially. The music (they busted out the good audio for the play room, but the techno shit didn’t really coincide with the lack of ambiance in the room) was loud so all I could do was shake his hand. We simply exchanged an expression of sympathy with each other.
Like I mentioned earlier, this was our 3rd foray into the local scene. While this last one was easily the worst, the previous two weren’t much better. During the drive home Patty and I marveled how much we don’t seem to fit in with the local scene. While we never expected to find our sisters and brothers from other mothers, we certainly figured eventually we’d find others with whom we had something in common besides kink.
It was there and then that the concept of Kinky Cocktails began to form.
How?
The event structure of Kinky Cocktails is an intimate, private gathering centered around good food, quality potables and proper attire for the occasion. Doms may dictate the dress code of their subs however they see fit.
It is regarded as an Event, irrespective of what activities may take place therein. As a result, participants are expected to behave in the manner appropriate to their station for the duration of their presence at the Event. After all, a sub is still a sub whether she/he is being punished or not.
All else we'll make up as we go along.
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