Worn out

Whenever anyone has asked what my highlight from me and my girl's recent trip to London is, i've hesitated in my response. Quite honestly, i could pick many favorite memories from my inaugural visit to the Square Mile. We saw so many things: gloriously old museums, eccentric and unique boutiques, my favorite soccer team's hallowed grounds, a great assemblage of pubs, and much more. But, it is not the sheer number of great attractions that gives my answer to their question pause. Instead, it is the "inappropriate" nature of our vacation's most treasured souvenir:

Our attendance at Torture Garden's London Fetish Ball

Some of you may remember (and the naughtiest of you might even chuckle) my post about the preparations i needed to go through in order to secure our attendance of the Ball. The biggest stress that followed once our latex goods were ordered and delivered was safely packing them into our luggage prior to our departure and then handing them over to the ever dutiful TSA. I had serious concerns this tidy little investment in rubber gear would find it's way into the back screening rooms at JFK airport, and never see the light of day again. What a sigh of relief that came rushing out of my lungs when i gathered our valises from the luggage carousels at Heathrow and saw the cable tie i put on each zipper completely in tact.

We spent the day of the event caroming from one parlor after another of feminine delicacies, finishing our tour in the neighborhood where my cherished football team plays and also where my dear friend who helped us get into the Ball resided. Originally, the plan i'd arranged with my comrade was for my girl and i to bring over our whole get-up, and then we'd all get ready. This sounded like a lot of fun, but ultimately impractical, when i considered how many different girly accessories and tools we'd have to haul from our hotel to accomplish my doll's latex transformation. We settled for splitting a pizza while watching a soccer match - which was the perfect antidote for my excited nerves in anticipation of the evening's festivities - and then my girl and i made our way back to our West London accommodations.

Getting ready for fetish events is always such a thrill, because i adore witnessing my girl's metamorphosis from pretty, dainty gentlelady to sexed-up, slick, fetish vixen. However, this time was different, because i was making my debut sporting the very textile i've spent many years obsessing over when worn by my feminine counterparts. When it came time to polish and shine my clothing, it sunk in how real my immersion into this event was to be. I was buffing the slick latex so that my own attractiveness would stand out - such an overtly sexual and aggressive gesture i'm not accustomed to making (i'm usually much more subtle in the expression of my appearance) - and soon i felt my own transformation start to unfold. By the time we got the call from the lobby downstairs that the cab we'd ordered had arrived, a fervent energy pulsed through my body, intensified by how turned on both of us were when we looked at eachother. Instead of being coy, we walked through the lobby of our hotel (which was surprisingly busy for that late hour), with purposeful strides and direct eye contact with anyone gawking at our shiny figurines parading across the marble floor.

The spectacle of the Fetish Ball was everything my friend had billed it out to be. This was not going to be like the hugely disappointing events we'd attended here in the States. Top to bottom, the multi-level, former cathedral swam with gorgeous people - both male and female. Hundreds of tightly-clad, latex seductresses slithered and ground their hips to the bombastic beats of the DJ's house music. Vampiric goths, naughty nurses, sinful nuns, pretty candy-coated pixies, and breathtaking pin-ups roamed the grounds, providing your's truly with a sensory feast i'd be able to munch on during the many days following.

The air hummed with a sexual sizzle, that only lowered and deepened into a guttural growl once we stepped foot into the area known as "the Dungeon". It's here that my latex dolly got the most attention - the kind of attention (and my subsequent reaction) that requires another entry, all to itself.