They mostly come out at night. Mostly.

I've got to remember to pick up tickets for the Black and Blue Ball for Conny and I. It's for tomorrow night, and if I get the tickets in advance, I can save $20... I could have saved $40, but I'm an idiot, and didn't get the very advance tickets. Like the saying goes, if you think education is expensive, try stupidity.

The Black and Blue Ball is a big fetish & SM themed party held every year. This is the eighth one. This year's theme is "The Circus of Fear." It's tempting to put off cutting my hair until after the Ball, because if I dyed it red, slapped on a nose, and slid into a red latex catsuit, I'd make one scary as hell clown. As if clowns aren't scary enough to begin with.

Because of this big party, Conny and I are once again going to miss Gomorrah, at True, our usual Wednesday party. Tonight is a special event there too, with a Miss Fetish NYC pagent. As tempting as it is, this feeble old man isn't up for two party nights in a row during the week. Mainly because I don't need that much nightlife in such a short period, and I have to manage to get up for work in the morning.

The big issue with these parties is what to wear. Conny and I don't exactly have a hugely deep fetish fashion wardrobe to choose from. This is mainly due to my inability to get over the moral hurdle of selling crack to fund unrestrained shopping at Purple Passion. Actually, it's not so much a matter of ethics as it is a fear of lengthy incarceration. I'm only into the consentual stuff, and preferably with a woman.

Ten years ago, I would have thought the whole thing to be pretty ridiculous. Not that I wasn't a kinkster then, but the whole dressing up and going out schtick. Me and my clever brain poo-pooed all that tribal, primate strutting and posing crap. I was detached. Ironic. Coolly distant. Maybe that's why I wasn't getting laid... Or at least laid often. I certainly wasn't having very much fun.

Like a lot of annoying older guys (is 32 older?) I suppose a chunk of my enthusiasm is a desire to make up for lost time. I didn't really cut loose in my youth like typical people do. I've been drinking a lot lately to make up for all my years of teetotalling, and I've barely caught up to sophmore in college on the liver-damage scale. And I know of Junior High School kids that have more night-life partying under their belts, and thanks to Conny, I no longer have to be bitter that those kids wouldn't give me their phone numbers.

So what's the appeal of dressing up in ridiculous outfits to hang out with a bunch of other people similarly dressed, to drink, dance or just play with each other? Why dress? Why not just stay home?

Because it's fun! For me it is, anyway. Simple as that. Yes, it's a tribal/primate/posing thing. And I'm going to revel in it.

It's kind of like ballroom dancing, which, admittedly, a lot of people probably find even more strange than kink parties, but bear with me since it's a lot more socially acceptable. Sure, you can dance at home if you live anywhere other than a Manhattan apartment, that is. You don't need to get dressed up either, though you better have the right shoes. But somehow, the ritual of actually going somewhere, with other people, in the proper "uniform", for a special occasion, just packs more punch.

I've learned one thing from all this. I no longer tut-tut people with passions I don't understand. In one way, all these passions are the same. You can discuss them, observe them, and understand them all you want. But actually engaging in a passionate pursuit is a different thing. And there's nothing more important than following your heart, no matter how silly a road it seems. Life is too short to be limited by ironic detachment.

Now where's my latex polish, damn it!
posted 4:44 PM | link |