Warning: This post contains sexual content.

A friend invites me to an S&M Party.

I’m not into S&M but agree to go.

We stand on a dark ally in front of a shiny black
door bathed in the golden light of a Victorian street
light.

A plaque on the door reads, if you didn’t call don’t knock.

The setting is so theatrically dark and mysterious I have to laugh

Mark knocks twice, then three more times: the door swings open,
and we enter a cavernous dungeon.

It’s a party of mostly middle-aged men and women.

Some of the women wear elegant nipple clamps or strap on dildos.

I follow the sound of a pop and find another huge room.

A man dressed in leather chaps teases the nipples of a woman,
blindfolded and lashed to a cross.

Next to them two nude women: one bent over a massage table, the
other holds a paddle.

“Do you like it?”

‘Yes Mistress.”

Pop!

“Do you want more?”

“Yes Mistress.”

Pop!

Next to them a woman in nipple revealing latex and a
guy with a throbbing erection; he’s strapped to a gurney.

“Mommy loves Boy!”

“Yes, Mommy.”

Slap.

“But Boy is bad!”

“Yes, Mommy”

Kiss.

“Thank you, Mommy!”

Slap.

I part the sheer curtains that divide the playrooms from a patio.

On the patio a dozen leather clad men and women sit around a
lawn table passing a fat joint.

A nude man on leash and collar places his hands on his hips
and laughs:

“You tops,” he says, “You have to wear so many clothes!”

I get the joint, and take a deep hit.

Back in the playroom the woman on the cross squirms with pleasure
while Mommy tickles Boy’s balls.

(c) Rob Goldstein 1987-2018