“The first rule of Fight Club is: You Do Not Talk About Fight Club.
The second rule of Fight Club is: You Do Not Talk About Fight Club.”
Similarly, #7 on the list of Party Rules for the Asylum Dungeon starts out, “What happens at the Asylum stays at the Asylum, please respect people’s privacy”. And the release form I had to sign to become a member of the dungeon includes the blurb, “I further state that all events I either participate in or witness shall remain confidential”.
This makes my talking about October 31st kinda difficult. Because I attended the Halloween party at the Asylum Dungeon, and the rules leave me with very little to talk about regarding what I did that night. (Oh, sure – I’m still me – so I’ve got lots to say, even without divulging secret information. But still . . . it’d be nice to be able to talk about some of the specific things that went on around me that night.)
It was, of course, a costume party. And I’m something of a certifiable freak when it comes to costumes. In the second grade, I was Batman for Halloween. This was achieved via a Batman t-shirt and a plastic Batman face-mask (pretty much the same one you see Hank Venture wearing from time to time on “The Venture Brothers”). That would be the last time that my Halloween costume would be a store-bought, ready-to-wear item. Every other instance of costuming has been more involved, more detailed, and just downright more complicated.
I’ve done the normal, sane costumes (the Frankenstein Monster, Zorro, the Tom Baker incarnation of the Doctor from “Doctor Who”, Santa Claus, Silent Bob, a pirate, etc.). But I’ve also done some fairly oddball ones. One year I wore a wall phone strapped to my chest and most of a cut-down and heavily decorated refrigerator carton strapped to my back and I was a telephone booth. Several bundles of road flares, some wiring, some electrical tape, some duct tape, and a wall clock turned me into a time bomb for an evening. I’ve been one of the old time “Hey Kids! Comics!” comic book spinner racks, I’ve been a overfull dice bag (with a four-sided, six-sided, and twenty-sided dice threatening to spill over the top), I’ve been all kinds of odd things. One of my favorites was the time I went to a party wearing wild west fashions made from loud print fabrics, a multiply spray-painted straw cowboy hat, and a bandoleer filled with Crayolas. I was an old time cowboy from a black-and-white movie that had been colorized by Ted Turner. (A sign reading “Ted Turner Strikes Again!” was stitched to the back of my shirt, by means of easy explanation.)
For every costume I’ve worn, there are dozens of others that were either too expensive, too complex, too time consuming, too “just plain weird”, or some other ‘too’ that got it shifted out of contention in favor of what I actually ended up wearing. Some of these ideas were dragged to the garbage can icon on the desktop of my mind to be deleted. Others went into a file marked ‘someday’.
When I discovered that the Asylum (which I’d been aware of for some months, but never really had a good excuse to consider joining) was throwing a Halloween party, I immediately submitted a membership application and started trying to find someone in the local community who was going and could possibly give me a lift.
I knew what costume I’d be wearing instantly. As soon as I saw the phraselets ‘Asylum Dungeon’ and ‘Halloween party’ joined together, the ‘someday’ costumes folder fell open in my head to a very specific page. A costume idea I’d contemplated putting together on several different occasions. And one that (with a little tweaking) seemed to be the perfect costume to wear to a costume party at a BDSM dungeon.
It was originally going to simply be ‘Revenge of the-’. The next time I seriously considered using the concept it had morphed into ‘Protective Big Brother of the-’. But this time, it was going to be ‘The Ghost of-’. I would be attending a Halloween party at a BDSM dungeon as The Ghost of All Piñatas, risen up to take revenge on a humanity that had beaten it’s kind with sticks. Me, waving around a paddle while wearing a costume whose basic gimmick was to administer beatings . . . in what basically amounts to a House of Spanking. It seemed like the perfect combination of elements.
My first thoughts on how to build the ghost were very simple. I wanted to start with the simple, classic, bedsheet ghost base. Then attach colorful squares of either tissue or crepe paper to it, covering anywhere from one to two-thirds of the costume’s surface. Fairly simple. Bedsheet, scissors, tissue paper, needle and thread or safety pins.
If I knew then what I know now, that’s the design I would have stuck with.
There were three or four wildly different designs between where I started and where I ended up. My conceptual favorite being the one that amounted to a suit of paper mache body armor covered in tissue paper and ribbon, worn under a basic bedsheet ghost made of transparent mesh.
But the final version was long strips of tissue paper cut (halfway up their width) and duct-taped onto a hooded rain poncho. I figured that the poncho already had a vaguely ‘ghostly’ shape to it (more so than any of the bodysuit versions of the costume), and since the typical depiction of the Halloween ghost is white, we (my sister and her fiancé did the bulk of the work on the costume once I figured out just what it was we were doing, God bless them!) used simple white tissue paper.
The first problem with that is that being just the one color, it didn’t actually scream, ‘Piñata’ to anyone. Myself included. One of the bodysuit variants I had thought up and discarded had used white, black and grey. Death/undeath colors. I think that the finished product would have worked a lot better had we gone that route. Instead of simple uniform whit
e. It didn’t exactly look like a giant chicken costume or anything, but anyone who wanted to know what I was dressed as had to ask.
The other problem was that I had woefully underestimated the insulating properties of a costume composed of the rain poncho’s plastic sheet covered by several layers of fluffed-up tissue paper. Especially when worn indoors among lots of people who were all (very inconsiderately) producing body heat. That ghost got real hot, real quick.
So, I was the Ghost of All Piñatas for about 45 minutes or so. Once I realized that I was about 10 minutes away from being Guy On Floor Passed Out From Being Overheated, the costume came off and got shoved into a locker. I spent the rest of the party being just some guy with a paddle.
I didn’t actually play during the party. No one to play with (sob!), alas. Didn’t spank any bare behinds. Didn’t bind any unruly limbs. I did however watch. I followed the rules, and didn’t interrupt, didn’t touch anyone’s stuff (or anyone’s anyone) during their scenes, didn’t leer, didn’t openly drool, didn’t masturbate. But I watched.
I can’t tell you exactly what I watched, because the first rule of Fight Club is You Do Not Talk About Fight Club, but I saw the types of things that I expected to see at a BDSM dungeon’s play party. If I had posted a piece about my expectations prior to attending the event, I’d’ve mentioned things like people (some of them naked) on (some of them strapped to) racks or benches, getting flogged, caned, or whipped. I’d’ve mentioned people getting bound with leather bondage gear. Bound with rope. Bound with rope and suspended in the air from a large metal ring, or what looks like a giant set of playground monkey bars.
There was also a lot of stuff that I missed out on by watching something far less interesting instead. I kept overhearing conversations that included dialogue like, “Did you see _____’s _____ scene with _____? Wasn’t that incredible?” And “Oh, my God, can you believe that _____ _____ during _____ _____ scene?” Oh well. You can’t be everywhere at once.
And the activities aside, it was fun just to watch the other partygoers. I’ve recently come to the conclusion that kinky people are fun to watch. I’ve always been of the opinion that it’s fun to watch people in costumes. Now: Kinky people in costumes? Double bonus points!
One of the revelers was wearing a costume that – had said reveler been of the opposite gender – would have triggered one of my major fetishes. (So close, but so far.) I saw costumes representing traditional Halloween themes, BDSM themes, basic modern costuming themes, and so on.
I also saw people out of costume. Out of costume, out of street clothes. There was this one girl who I saw when I was in the kitchen . . . she wasn’t completely naked, but . . .
Dammit. You Do Not Talk About Fight Club. Okay. Let’s just say that on a completely unconnected aside, I periodically have friends download ‘picture packs’ off of the internet for me. Thousands of pictures of naked or mostly naked women. Posing, masturbating, having sex, and so on. The majority of these images are home photos, but a lot of them are stolen from porn sites. Anyway, one of the image templates that turns me on is “girl wearing pants”. Girl might be wearing panties, too, but you can’t tell, because she’s wearing pants. Thing is, that’s all she’s wearing.
Just. A pair. Of pants.
Topless, so that we can see her breasts. Barefoot, so that we can see her toes. Things like the pussy and ass remain a mystery, and give you something to fantasize about while mesmerized by what you can see. Usually in the pictures, it’s a pair of jeans. But lately (and by lately, I mean since Halloween) the fantasy has been a women wearing leather pants.
Why is it that this particular ‘completely unconnected’ aside occurred to me when I was about to talk about that woman in the kitchen? Hmm . . . who knows?
I could have just as easily talked about how I don’t have the stereotypical male view toward ‘humongous titties’ (given the option, I’d prefer that a woman’s breasts were smaller than average than larger.) That’s another thing that occurred to me just now.
Uh . . . I think I’m stuck.
When I was compiling the outline version of this post in my head, it was going to be much longer than this. But once I started actually writing it, I realized that what I was trying to assemble wasn’t one post, but (at least) two posts. And that while the realizations I had which necessitated the second post were triggered by the events reported on of the first, the two posts didn’t really mesh into a single offering all that well.
So I’m going to bow out of this post here, cut this to a close, wind up the drawbridge, flip around the CLOSED sign, cork up the fishypig, turn out the lights and wave goodbye. And then, depending on when I post next, said post will pertain to either the revelations I had as a result of attending a Halloween party on Halloween night, or another Halloween party I’m hoping to attend on the evening of November 8th (just days away now). I know what I want the topics of my next batch of posts to be. And while I also know what order I want them to be written and posted in, I think that there will be a great jumbling between what I want and what you get. Sigh.
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