before you know it.’
Would I?!
We arrived at about midnight and the club was in full swing. I was a little self-conscious about removing my jacket and joining the party with more than my usual amount of flesh on public display, but Charlotte insisted that I would fit right in. We presented our tickets in exchange for a stamp on the wrist at the front desk, checked in our coats and then teetered up the stairs, through the double doors and into the main bar.
My senses were assaulted immediately. Everywhere men and women were dressed in eye-popping outfits. Latex abounded, but also vintage-style lingerie, top hats and tail coats, military uniforms, even a man wearing just a cock-ring, his flaccid penis bouncing happily as he walked. A short woman wearing a voluminous skirt and nothing else, her full breasts hanging freely, walked through the crowd holding a lead with a very thin, tall man attached to the other end, his back and shoulders hunched heavily so that she could pull him along without straining. He reminded me of Mr van der Vliet.
Alone on one of the couches sat a petite man, or possibly an androgynous woman, wearing a full rubber body suit and face mask. Charlotte hadn’t been entirely right about the fetish crowd wearing fewer clothes. Of course, many of them were wearing next to nothing, and wearing it well, but a large number wore elaborate costumes that covered every inch of flesh, yet still managed to look sexual. Cheap fancy dress and street clothes were both banned, a finer detail that elevated almost all of the boat’s occupants from tacky to theatrical.
‘What are you drinking, honey?’ asked Charlotte, taking my attention away from the crowd. I tried with all my might not to stare at anyone, but I felt as though I had been dropped into an adults-only movie set, or had stumbled through a corridor into a parallel universe where everyone was like Charlotte and didn’t give a damn about what the rest of the world thought of them.
She’d been right at least about my outfit. Not only did I fit right in, but I was one of the more modestly attired revellers in attendance. They probably thought I was downright demure. This thought relaxed me. Normally, in any group of friends or social gathering, I worried I was the weird one, with my relaxed attitude to sex and relationships. No one had ever labelled me demure.
‘Just water for me, thanks,’ I replied.
I didn’t want to take advantage of her generosity, and I wanted to absorb all this with a clear head, so I wouldn’t wake up in the morning thinking it was just a dream.
Charlotte shrugged and returned a few minutes later with our drinks in hand.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘I’ll show you round.’
She took me by the hand and led me through another set of double doors, this pair leading to the uncovered prow of the ship, where a handful of smokers and men dressed in thick, hot-looking military jackets were standing, either smoking or cooling down, or both. The women, who were generally wearing far fewer clothes, were huddled around the two gas heaters standing in the middle of the space. Two of them wore latex skirts with the backsides cut out and their pale buttocks shone under the gas light like low-hanging twin moons.
I walked over to the side and stood still for a moment, holding Charlotte’s hand and staring at the Thames stretched out into the night like a long, black ribbon, nestling gently between the two halves of the city. The water looked thick and viscous, and made a soft slapping sound as it lapped at the base of the boat. Waterloo Bridge joined the two sides behind us, Blackfriars Bridge in front, the lights on Tower Bridge barely visible in the foreground, like a dark promise of things to come.
I felt Charlotte shiver.
‘Let’s go,’ she said. ‘It’s cold out here.’
We walked back through the double doors and into the main bar, and then through another set of doors and onto the dance floor. I watched, open-mouthed, as
Would I?!
We arrived at about midnight and the club was in full swing. I was a little self-conscious about removing my jacket and joining the party with more than my usual amount of flesh on public display, but Charlotte insisted that I would fit right in. We presented our tickets in exchange for a stamp on the wrist at the front desk, checked in our coats and then teetered up the stairs, through the double doors and into the main bar.
My senses were assaulted immediately. Everywhere men and women were dressed in eye-popping outfits. Latex abounded, but also vintage-style lingerie, top hats and tail coats, military uniforms, even a man wearing just a cock-ring, his flaccid penis bouncing happily as he walked. A short woman wearing a voluminous skirt and nothing else, her full breasts hanging freely, walked through the crowd holding a lead with a very thin, tall man attached to the other end, his back and shoulders hunched heavily so that she could pull him along without straining. He reminded me of Mr van der Vliet.
Alone on one of the couches sat a petite man, or possibly an androgynous woman, wearing a full rubber body suit and face mask. Charlotte hadn’t been entirely right about the fetish crowd wearing fewer clothes. Of course, many of them were wearing next to nothing, and wearing it well, but a large number wore elaborate costumes that covered every inch of flesh, yet still managed to look sexual. Cheap fancy dress and street clothes were both banned, a finer detail that elevated almost all of the boat’s occupants from tacky to theatrical.
‘What are you drinking, honey?’ asked Charlotte, taking my attention away from the crowd. I tried with all my might not to stare at anyone, but I felt as though I had been dropped into an adults-only movie set, or had stumbled through a corridor into a parallel universe where everyone was like Charlotte and didn’t give a damn about what the rest of the world thought of them.
She’d been right at least about my outfit. Not only did I fit right in, but I was one of the more modestly attired revellers in attendance. They probably thought I was downright demure. This thought relaxed me. Normally, in any group of friends or social gathering, I worried I was the weird one, with my relaxed attitude to sex and relationships. No one had ever labelled me demure.
‘Just water for me, thanks,’ I replied.
I didn’t want to take advantage of her generosity, and I wanted to absorb all this with a clear head, so I wouldn’t wake up in the morning thinking it was just a dream.
Charlotte shrugged and returned a few minutes later with our drinks in hand.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘I’ll show you round.’
She took me by the hand and led me through another set of double doors, this pair leading to the uncovered prow of the ship, where a handful of smokers and men dressed in thick, hot-looking military jackets were standing, either smoking or cooling down, or both. The women, who were generally wearing far fewer clothes, were huddled around the two gas heaters standing in the middle of the space. Two of them wore latex skirts with the backsides cut out and their pale buttocks shone under the gas light like low-hanging twin moons.
I walked over to the side and stood still for a moment, holding Charlotte’s hand and staring at the Thames stretched out into the night like a long, black ribbon, nestling gently between the two halves of the city. The water looked thick and viscous, and made a soft slapping sound as it lapped at the base of the boat. Waterloo Bridge joined the two sides behind us, Blackfriars Bridge in front, the lights on Tower Bridge barely visible in the foreground, like a dark promise of things to come.
I felt Charlotte shiver.
‘Let’s go,’ she said. ‘It’s cold out here.’
We walked back through the double doors and into the main bar, and then through another set of doors and onto the dance floor. I watched, open-mouthed, as
Similar Books
