It used to be, not all that long ago, that trying to purchase good resource books directly related to bondage, discipline and all things sadomasochistic was very nearly impossible. Unless you “knew a guy”, had some other kind of “connection”, or were fortunate enough to live in a large enough city where so-called underground publications were considered somewhat plentiful, in the days prior to Amazon trying to find reference materials relating to our lovely lifestyle could prove to be immensely problematic – and even potentially embarrassing. “Those kind” of books were usually only available at Adult shops (colloquially still referred to in some circles as “Adult Book Stores”) – and depending on what US state or Canadian province you lived in, tended to be made at hand to those who desired them only through an awkward and stammering specific under-the-counter request for product.

Thankfully, for those of us who revere our chosen alternative life expressions, the advent of the Internet has made it very easy to get our hands on virtually anything (within legality) we want. That has proven to be both an absolute blessing, by and large, and an abject curse in certain circles. For instance, in relation to the “curse”, some so-called expert materials have been published in the past whose content was either too dry and clinical, or nauseatingly ego centric (and we’ve all read those books, I’m quite sure) to be really only of value as a visible potential conversation piece on a bookshelf in someone’s dungeon or playroom.

For every Screw the Roses, Send me the Thorns (which in the opinion of several fetishists and SM practitioners, Your Humble Narrator included, is one of the worst books related to BDSM ever foisted on us), there seemed to be at least a dozen more similar volumes that were considered only marginally better. In the past, folks used to purchase SM-related books, I suspect, mostly to make a very visible pseudo-credibility statement to their peers. Many of these really, really bad books were purchased by really good people – and I know for certain most of them were never even read, let alone had their spines cracked. As time has gone on, we’ve been far more fortunate: the demand for good, solid, experienced reference material hasn’t died at all – it has, it seems, only escalated – and the quality of materials available to us has also thankfully increased. Part of that may very well be a simple matter of numbers, as more and more books over the past decade have found their way onto more mainstream bookstore shelves.

One of those exceptional books – in my opinion an absolute “must have” for every serious BDSM enthusiast – is How to Be Kinky: A Beginner’s Guide to BDSM by noted Canadian lifestyle educator Lord Morpheous. Do yourselves a favour and buy this book. It won’t just sit and look impressive sitting on your bookshelf: you’ll actually learn a thing or two, and you won’t be able to simply put it down.

What separates this book from similar works? To start with, it’s damned fun to read. I don’t want to give anything away, really – but as an example, early on in the book there is a very well-written narrative, relating an early experience, of Lord Morpheous and his efforts to try and explain to his parents why his dishwasher was filled with sex toys after he’d had a gathering while they were away. Drawing on the anecdotes and vast experiences of his friends and colleagues throughout the book, Lord Morpheous has ingeniously managed to capture the true essence of sadomasochism (it’s grand fun, damnit!) all the while providing witty and expert advice along the way. It’s a clever format: the reader expects or assumes the book to be, perhaps, another somewhat vapid and plodding “connect the dots of BDSM” instruction manual, but in fact its structured very much like a collection of topical (and extremely entertaining) short stories about people and their gut-wrenchingly and often gut-bustingly honest experiences. Naturally, if you happen to learn a thing or two along the way – and you will – that’s an appreciated bonus. Lord Morpheous is regarded as one of the very best rope bondage artists and educators within our realm today, but How to Be Kinky is so very much more than a mere ‘bondage manual’. There is a taste of fetishes from “A” to “Z” within its pages: there’s is sure to be something that everyone can relate to. Other “how to” books have tended to generally disregard entire legions of particular kinks (Screw the Roses, Send me the Thorns for instance contains virtually nothing but a somewhat contemptuous and dismissive reference to cross-dressing), but Lord Morpheous has adeptly managed to give respect and creedence to (almost) every fashion of popular fetishy sensual expression – and he’s managed to do it in a concise but wildly amusing manner.

It’s a brilliant, effective and natural way to introduce anyone (with even so much as a passing interest in kink) to all the positive aspects of what it is we love to do. That makes this book unique – and truly a “must have” for excited newcomer and experienced hard player alike. The novice will learn, in their own vernacular and at their own “level” because the anecdotes are all written in a way to be so appealling and interesting, and the experienced will just love the collection of stories. In short, Lord Morpheous has managed to author the much-desired and nearly impossible-to-reproduce “win-win” scenario; the happy balance in which his efforts truly will appeal to anyone and everyone, from the rookie to the seasoned veteran.

It’s a formula that has found much success in other genres: more specifically, in sports books and even more specifically, in baseball books. I do not know if Lord Morpheous is much of a sports fan: but the man knows how to write, edit and convey tales so well, that I am confident in saying if he wanted to write the definitive work on playing water polo, it would be the world’s best and more informative seller on that topic in history.

Personally, I’d much prefer to wait for his sure-to-follow “Volume Two” efforts on How to Be Kinky. I’m sure Lord Morpheous could explain it perfectly – but I’d rather read about his experiences and lessons in BDSM than just how the hell those water polo guys manage to get snorkels and masks on their damned horses.

There are some moments that are destined to be forever frozen in time – and enshrined in a special place of remembrance within our own minds. How apropos then, that a few of those frozen moments came courtesy of the Opening Ceremonies for the Games of the XXI-st Winter Olympiad, currently (and finally some would say) underway in the glimmering, emerald city that is, without question, the jewel in the Canadian crown.

There were the usual protests that dogged both a torch relay, coast to coast and throughout a vast country. The protestors continued their demonstrations, outside B.C. Place Stadium and relatively peacefully, during the opening of the Games themselves. The death in October of the man who spearheaded the city of Vancouver’s bid to host these Winter Games and was destined to never see his dream come to fruition with his own eyes (Jack Poole) was a crisis that, perhaps, lesser Organizing Committees may not have fully recovered from. The already somewhat subdued atmosphere surrounding these games was further driven into a very nearly funereal state when word came of the sudden death (training accident) of a Georgian slider named Nodar Kumaritashvili literally hours before he was to march with his team in the Parade of Nations during the Opening Ceremonies. The omens for Vancouver looked exceedingly grim, indeed.

If you will perhaps allow Your Humble Narrator, namely me, a momentary indulgence or two, Dear Reader, before we continue on to the main point of this missive … There are moments when one cannot help but feel a surge of nationalistic pride. In my own past, I’ve had two moments that stand out as signature memories that I associate with immediate and undeniable emotion that relates directly to how I feel about our people – Canadians – as a Nation. The first involved the groundswell of support, from coast to coast, for the Toronto Blue Jays baseball club when they won the World Series, back to back, in 1992 and 1993. Every city and town in the Great White North turned shades of blue for two straight Octobers – and the unifying aspect the Blue Jays brought to our nation cannot be understated. The second involved a single, seemingly unimportant ice hockey game in Calgary (I was there), between the New York Rangers and the Calgary Flames. It was known that the Rangers, featuring Number 99 himself, the immortal Wayne Gretzky, were not scheduled to play in Calgary the following year (1999), and the speculation was running rampant that The Great One was going to call it a career following this current season (1998) or the next. This is important to note: it was not lost on a single soul that what the Calgary crowd was witnessing could (and did, in fact turn out to be) Wayne Gretzky’s last hockey game in Calgary.

I will never, ever forget this … In a building that for nearly two decades was by far the most brutal and unpleasant place, fan-wise, for Mr. Gretzky to have to play in (he was a member of the hated rival Edmonton Oilers, remember, for years), when he made his final appearance on the ice with less than a minute to go in the game … nearly 20,000 people stood up, en mass, and roared their thanks. For ten straight minutes the man the city of Calgary loved to hate … was at last, a true hero, a national hero, and they saluted and cheered him loudly and endlessly. They cheered him mainly for what he had accomplished as a Canadian - not as just an ice hockey player. I have never felt more pride at being born Canadian than in those moments.

That was, until last night. We’ll talk a tiny bit more about Mr. Gretzky a little later.

Last night, however, topped both of those cherished memories. What unfolded before our eyes was a story of what it is to be Canadian. The myriad of exceptional performers somehow, miraculously, managed to make those in attendance (and the massive television viewing audience) overcome the moroseness that permeated the start of this special night. By the end of the performances, it didn’t even really matter that a major mechanical malfunction during the ceremony’s final moments brought proceedings to an awkward and somewhat uncomfortable standstill for about five minutes. The tragedy of the immediate past had given way to a euphoric feeling … of accomplishment. We believe these Winter Games are going to be the most memorable – the best – in history.

Yes, even the ”wilder” side of Canadians got into the mix a little. During a coast-to-coast tribute to Canada’s various and culturally varied regions, a contingent of mohawked, kilted, leather corseted and combat booted and high  energy fiddlers invaded the stage for an unbelievably uplifting, raucous musical tribute to Canada’s Maritime provinces. Most of the women who joined the “wildmen” were adorned in some fashion of extremely well detailed leather gauntlets that marched their rakish leather corset-tops. This, following an amazing performance by a single artist suspended above the Stadium floor in a glowing blue canoe; covered in furs, head to toe and with a hairstyle that would put the best Viking horns to shame. The “Viking” in the blue canoe proceeded to have a fiddling contest – with his shadow being cast against an enormous Harvest Moon. At first, the audience is led to believe the shadow on the moon is indeed just that – until the shadow starts going off and playing, dancing in it’s own direction (but all in perfect syncopation and harmony with his “live” counterpart in the blue canoe).

But shadow play contests and Maritime punk-rock fiddlers (some that would put the infamous Ashley MacIsaac to shame) aside, there is something even more remarkable about these Opening Ceremonies; something that could be considered quite kinky and twisted, in its own way.

The people chosen to light the Olympic flame within the Stadium couldn’t have been chosen any better. Rick Hanson (the Man in Motion), Canadian skating legend Catriona Le May Doan, Canadian skiing legend Nancy Greene, Vancouver-born and raised NBA basketball superstar Steve Nash and, (in the supreme choice of all who believe what is “right” within the Canadian world) Wayne Gretzkycollectively did the honor of lighting the flame – despite the fact that a serious hydraulic malfunction prevented one of the four gigantic “ice crystals” from rising beneath, and tower above, the Stadium floor. It was left to Mr. Gretzky to venture out – completely unannounced – into the streets of Vancouver and carry the Olympic torch some 20 blocks from the stadium to the waterfront, where the “permanent” Olympic Cauldron had mysteriously appeared. Mr. Gretzky was taken to the outdoor Cauldron on the back of a Police Ford Tahoe pickup truck, and as word spread of the voyage, throngs of jubilant people ran alongside, each completely unaware they had just made a small entry for themselves into the history books with the “escorting” of the flame. There is no bigger symbol of our country than that embodied in the voice and stern countenance that belongs to Wayne Gretzky. The man has never failed to answer his country’s calling. He answered, in spades, this time as well. His lighting of the outdoor Cauldron was the perfect ending to a near-perfect – and Canadian – evening.

Bob Costas, the absolute best sportscaster in the world, in his NBC Broadcast last evening, seemed at first bemused – and then in awe – of a not-so-subtle change in attitude emanating from the Canadian hosts. He carefully and patiently, perfectly, informed the American viewing audience that the Vancouver Winter Olympic Games were designed to be Canada’s “debutante” party as a world power in the world of winter sports competition. Mr. Costas at times seemed to marvel at the “Hollywood feel” of the pageantry taking place before him: he certainly made a point of mentioning this kind of overt, “in your face” presentation was very unexpected from his cousins to the North. In the way that only the vocally perfect Mr. Costas could do, as the Cultural Pageant was winding down, he quipped: “”Some say the Canadian initiative of Own the Podium and winning the overall medal count represents a shift in Canadian attitude, to be so openly assertive and ambitious. Canadians as a group are among the most friendliest and most welcoming people on the earth. But I don’t see anything incompatible with saying hello, welcome, we’re very friendly, we’re glad that you’re here, we want you to enjoy yourselves …  and now we would also like to kick your butt!” 

That is the kinkiest, most twisted thing about the start of these Winter Olympic Games in Vancouver: We might be Canadian and we might still be the friendliest people on earth, but this time we have a swagger in our step and we have a true sense of National Identity that heretofore had only been recognized amongst the Americans. The Opening Ceremonies went from being a potential tragedy-filled “Grief-Fest” to the best “coming out party” our Nation could have asked for. It’s up to the athletes, now, to carry that new-found sense of national accomplishment forward, and make their countrymen and countrywomen proud.

Canadians? Calm, assertive, brash and expectant? Impossible, you say! That, my friends, is truly the kinkiest twist imaginable to the start of what appears to be a most amazing Olympiad. No more sadness, just let the real Games being!

For some reason, this time of year (St. Valentine’s Day), for one reason or another, almost always seems to be less of a love-fest and more of a “massacre.” Misfortune does seem to happen – and with a vengeance – to couples, and right around this time of year. Personally speaking and also speaking from personal past experience, February 14^th is usually the day pinpointed as the exact date in which couples realize they are never going to be able to  “grow old” with the person sitting right across from them. Men and woman seem to go through a staged piece of “performance art” in an empty show of affections towards their partners – because it’s the “expected” thing to do. The truth is, this vacuous and near-meaningless day, except to those who believe the day is simply for an exchange of bright red cards and candies (namely children), unfortunately for a lot of couples is more a realization that “this isn’t going to work” than an affirmation of “forever in love.” 

Think about it: how many couples have you known whose relationships have fallen apart either on, or shortly before, St. Valentine’s Day? Isn’t it somewhat of a sick, twisted bit of irony that the patron saint (and his patron calendar day) devoted entirely to the notion of “love everlasting” is, statistically at least, merely a stale and staged, obligatory and nearly-catatonic, expressionless and passionless reciting of poetry, flowery speech and near-robotic like handing over of the aforementioned cards and chocolate hearts? Isn’t it true this is how we’ve collectively all been “programmed” since we first exchanged crude, paper hearts in our Grade School classes with the cute little red-haired boy or girl that sat right next to you?

Where’s the truth behind this “Love Business”? And indeed, it is a “business” – a booming one. Valentine’s Day festivities are the second highest average of disposable income expenditures, per person, of any secular Holiday (Christmas is the first, naturally). That’s a lot of diamond rings, pendants, necklaces and bracelets. Is that what “love” is all about? Is this what St. Valentine had in mind? Who the hell was St. Valentine in the first place?

Oh, wait: “Valentine” was the name of several martyrs who died vicious, horrific deaths; none of which are associated with “love” in any fashion. While that unto itself might be somewhat considered “Cosmic Righteous Karma” (when taking into account our earlier discussion), what’s the real deal with this whole “love” thing then, huh? What’s the real story behind the red hearts and those that are so essential to February 14^th?

You’d best be prepared for a bit of a shock, gentle readers: St. Valentine’s Day actually has its genesis in the one thing that is very near and dear to our little candy-red hearts: Fetishes. Specifically leathers, feathers, furs, whips and yes – even blood.

See, there is one thing that evolving religions (most notably Christianity) always have done very well: they “borrow”, adapt or outright just steal festivals that are popular to the mass population of the particular time period, give it a “wash” in the waters of acceptable recent doctrine, and mold and shape it (sometimes with force) into what amounts to the exact same festival but with a new spiritual focus. It’s a really good way to keep control of your population, after all: give the people their gods and goddesses, keep their flagons filled at the festivals with wine and ale and encourage a little “letting loose” every so often, and they’ll be quite content and happy. In Roman times, that usually meant if you were a Senator, Governor or Consul and responsible for any segment of the population’s collective happiness, the best way to keep your head on your shoulders, and not have it severed by any number of opportunistic political assassins, was to give the populace what they wanted.

The populace wanted Festivals. Specifically, they wanted festivals that involved wine, food, open-air spectacles, games, – and, of course, sex. The February Festival of Lupercalia was regarded as “beginning of the fertility period” of both the Earth, and (of course) women. The Lupercal (“Wolf’s Den”) is the cave within the Second of Rome’s legendary Seven Hills in which the babies Romulus and Remus (the mythical founders of Rome) were suckled by a “Capitoline She Wolf” – and therefore the inference is that the Romans are celebrating not only the very reproductive re-birth and nurturing of the Earth (the beginning of another harvest season cycle), but they were celebrating the very genesis of Rome itself.

Without going into long, long detail about the carnage and carnality that this particular Festival ultimately became infamous for (no less an exceptional ancient chronicler than Pliny the Elder has graphically described many Lupercalia rites and rituals), it must be said that Lupercalia was all about excess. Some of the festivities included the sacrificing of livestock (usually goats) and engaging in head-to-toe “body painting” in the blood; extreme indulgence in wine and strawberries (more about them a little later); and an insatiable appetite for sexual release and pleasure. Lupercalia was, after all, the start of the fertility cycle in Roman eyes, and stimulation was absolutely essential to the long-term success of the crops in the field and the (leather) crops in the hands of noble farmers seeking approval from the gods and goddesses for good health, good fortune and especially great “fertility.”

What seems to be the most revered Ritual of Lupercalia, (certainly the most written about) featured scores of women lining the streets of Rome, backsides turned street side, in the hopes that one of the Luperci (the acting “High Priests”, a mostly ceremonial but much-desired role amongst the noble farmers), dressed in ritual goatskin leather garments and covered in blood, would bless them with a hard strike from one of these leather “crops” (which actually are long whips with double-tailed extensions, but sporting a very long, riding crop-like handle). These leather “crops” were called februa – and each woman who was selected by the passing throng of noble farmer-priests, all day long and throughout the Seven Hills of that ancient capital, to receive whip strokes felt that they had been purified by the pain, and their future ability to reproduce was assured (if not immediately realized) for another year at least. In case you’re wondering, the month of February actually does derive its name from these ritualistic leather crops/whips. The Romans had a deep, deep seeded belief that being whipped was purifying (kind of like pushing a yearly “Sexual Reset button”), and the women who lined the streets and offered their bodies up to be whipped would, at times, injure themselves in the fight for the Luperci’s attentions. The februa, the idea that pain is purifying and the idea of atonement for past behavior (“sins”) are some of the more popular “borrowings” from Lupercalia that found their way into aspects of the Christian church. The februa has been replaced by the scourge; purifying and painful atonement has evolved into “confession”, etc. You get the picture, I am quite certain.

The Feast of Valentine was (and still is) a direct adaptation from the Roman Lupercalia. In other words, a far more sanitized and Christian-friendly version of the wine, whips and love fest – you get the idea – that the Roman mass populace (Christian or not) still so loved. How did we get from a Roman Pagan Wine, Whips and Sex Fest to shy lovers exchanging simple cards, flowers and if they’re lucky, something sweet and chocolate to suckle on?

During the early Christian Rome era, the first so-called “Christian Emperor” – Constantine, who actually was a devotee of the god Apollo his entire life and was only converted to Christianity on his deathbed – knew that this strange, secular new faith was sweeping through Roman streets and towns with no sign of waning in influence, or popularity. Constantine was a smart enough man to know that in order to consolidate Rome’s power, the entire Empire needed to be united under a single faith. Contrary to what many modern Christians believe, a previous Emperor named Galerius was the first to actually decriminalize and issue an Edict of Tolerance in regards to Christianity. The edict allowed the public the right to practice the Christian faith openly if they so chose to. What it did not allow was Christians to own land – let alone have churches built.

What Constantine did, in regards to the Edict of Tolerance, was extraordinary: He simply issued an edict of his own (The Edict of Milan) that afforded the early Christians the exact same rights and privileges as every other citizen of the Empire. He also actively encouraged the early church to build – and is solely responsible for donating the land in which Vatican City now occupies. Simply put, Constantine was a very smart man: he saw that the followers of Christ were dramatically on the rise, and the followers of the old gods and goddesses were dramatically in decline. His decision to unite the Empire under the Christian banner was not fashioned from any shard of faith in the “new religion” in the slightest. It was a political necessity in order to satiate and mollify the growing masses of Romans being converted, and therefore avert any future Civil Wars. To quote author Dan Brown (The Da Vinci Code): “He simply backed the winning horse.”

More to the point of our story, Constantine brilliantly managed to solve a major, dividing dilemma: How to merge the old Pagan gods and goddess traditions with the newly sanctioned, official “state” religion of Christianity? His plan was surprisingly simple: He “created” a heroic and martyred figure and named him Valentinius (no doubt, the Romans being meticulous record keepers, pulled from the pages of at least one Roman Annual), and acclaimed this new figure a true, devout follower of Jesus Christ who had perished in the act of spreading the testaments. Conveniently, Valentinius (the name means “Valiant Man”) was given the title “Sanctus Situ” – “Elected of Saints”, the very first Christian Saint thus recognized (St. Peter’s sainthood came much, much later), and was made the patron saint of “the acts needed to insure the successful harvest.”

It was a bold and absolutely brilliant – but transparent – move. The Romans of the day, it is quite certain, were bemused by this decreed new “sacred figure” who wasn’t quite a god, but was still more miraculous (in death, at least) than the common man. “Valentinius” was tolerated as the central figure of the new Lupercalia for a generation or two, simply because the people had been allowed to carry on their beloved “sex festival; and all legally and with the very approval of the new Christian lawmakers. As what was expected to happen, Valentinius “himself” eventually started to drew “admirers”, and within a few short decades this convenient, invented and expedient new champion of Christianity went from being an amalgamation of several martyred figures (who carried the Valentinius name) into being proclaimed the only “Saint Valentine” at the Council of Nicaea (the very Council that, in essence, “elected” Jesus Christ as “The Divine Manifestation of God in Human Form”). St. Valentine was “awarded” a Feast in his honor (February 14^thin our modern Gregorian calendars), and it wasn’t until the start of the Dark Ages that “The Feast of St. Valentine” had its sensuality and excess turned down, just a tad. Naturally, everything related to sex and pleasure at the start of the Dark Ages more or less ceased to exist – insofar as mass public displays were concerned. Upon penalty of imprisonment, or worse, the goatskins, wine and whips were all quietly phased out of the celebration … But not the strawberries. The bright red fruit, the clergy allowed the masses to have.

It was believed that strawberries were a powerful aphrodisiac (aren’t they still?), and strawberries were consumed in mass quantities during Lupercalia (remember that whole “fertility” schpiel?). The strawberry was considered so potent and divine a magic, Romans cut the strawberries in half and shared it with their partners. Take a look at a sliced piece of strawberry one day: what do you notice? It kind of looks like a Valentine’s Day “heart”, doesn’t it? There are other stories, no doubt somewhat based in fact, that “red hearts” were actually a simple graphic representation of a woman’s bottom, as seen from the back and if she happens to be bending over at nearly a 90 degree angle. Both explanations have an air of truth about them, and now you know where that particular piece of beloved graphic Valentines imagery stems from.

Why am I sputtering all this nonsense about Valentines, Pagan lust festivals and mutli-seeded red fruit, I can hear you asking?

Easy! My beloved Lady J has been away and is coming home from the East Coast this week. For me, the Feast of St. Valentine, the Lupercalia, St. Valentine’s Day, whatever you choose to call it, is an opportunity to express my deepest affections, highest respects, worshipful esteem and … True Love … to the woman who has given me her hand. In my eyes, the whole world may know just how honored and grateful I am to even be allowed to hold said hand – and in the spirit of those who “Love”, it seemed appropriate to give a brief rundown of Fetish and Kink’s rightful mention as the true genesis of this “Day of Love”.

I do need to go, now though. I need to run down to the local grocery store and pick up about seventeen pounds of strawberries.

In 1988, noted playwright Billy Aronson had an absurd idea. What if someone took the basic plot of the celebrated Giacomo Puccini opera, La Bohème, and updated it to a modern, hip new audience? About a year later, Aronson started putting out calls for collaborators. It wasn’t long before a good friend, new project developer extraordinaire Ira Weitzman, introduced him to an ambitious, relatively obscure young composer with somewhat wild eyes and an even wilder hairdo. That young composer’s name was Jonathan Larson. Incredibly, the young Mr. Larson had lived a “Bohemian life” himself in the legendary hipster area of New York City called SoHo – and he at first suggested, and eventually ended up pleading, with Billy Aronson to allow him to use the original La Bohème concept and truly make it his semi-autobiographical Magnum Opus. Billy Aronson agreed to step aside from the collaboration – but with the agreement that if the project ever actually did make it to the “Big Stage”, in any of the gargantuan New York Theatre wing’s legendary venues, they would equally share in the spoils of their success.

Nothing is guaranteed in the world of live theatre, and especially so when any discussion of Musicals begin in earnest. Four years later, the work originated at the New York Theatre Workshop as a piece of Reader’s Theatre. From the initial read-through, the quirky, kinky little project had a limited three week run within the Workshop’s Studio Theatre system. For the next three years, Jonathan Larson and his production team cajoled, nurtured, beat, kicked and hammered out a modern take on Puccini’s masterpiece. Their efforts were finally rewarded with an agreement to produce “the new Bohemian musical” through the renowned Nederlander Group.

Little did anyone know that the twisted little musical – rife with open references to latex, cross-dressing, sadomasochism and (sadly) the scourge of the late last millennium: AIDS – would run for over twelve years and become the seventh longest-running show in Broadway history.

Speaking of tragedy, the show’s wonder kid composer, Jonathan Larson, was destined to never see a single Broadway performance of his magnificent show. Just before what would have surely been the most exciting time of his short life, Mr. Larson was making a tea in his modest kitchen at 3:00 am in the morning when he suddenly collapsed. He never regained consciousness, and died, early in the morning on a cold kitchen floor, on January 26th, 1996 – the very evening of the first preview performance of his musical. Jonathan Larson had succumbed to an aortic aneurysm, and he was just 36 years of age.

His show, however, continues to live on. What at first many thought would be a dated and era-constrained modern musical has become a rallying cry for an entire new generation of “new Bohemians”. In every major city in North America and in a good percentage of the ancient old cultural capitals of Europe, you are assured to see more than a few solid black or red T-Shirts proudly expounding the new Bohemian mantras: “No Day But Today” and “Forget Regret or Life is Yours to Miss.” Unless you’ve been living under a bridge somewhere for the past fourteen years, the name of Mr. Larson’s odd little ode to Puccini should, by now, be obvious. We are discussing the triumph that is Jonathan Larson’s RENT.

RENT ended its historic run at the Nederlander Theatre in New York City on September 7, 2008. The central “villain” of the piece – the AIDS pandemic of the early and mid 1990′s – isn’t quite viewed today with the same sense of panic, desperation and despair. The treatment for the disease has developed to the point where those infected with the HIV virus that causes AIDS could theoretically live fairly lengthy, longer lives. Make no mistake however: while treatment has advanced leaps and bounds since Jonathan Larson’s late days,  AIDS is still very much a death sentence.

In an off and ironic kind of way, the continued existence of RENT continues to breathe, thrive and induce appreciative hysteria in theatre-goers in several cities across the continent despite the sombre overtones of the show’s central malady. The Broadway Touring production – featuring original and revered cast members Adam Pascal, Anthony Rapp and Gwen Stewart - has been performing in front of sold-out, rabid and excessively vocal ”Rent-Heads” since the final performance at the original New York venue. Mr. Pascal, Mr. Rapp and Miss Stewart have all gone on to steady, enjoyable careers (within the show and apart from it), but there can be no denying the magic that begins the very moment the character of Mark (Anthony Rapp) walks across the stage, starting the proceedings to the strains of a guitar being tuned, is infectious and encompassing. For three-plus hours, audiences are able to turn back the clock to 1996 (none of the original cast appear to have aged a day) and join in the celebration that is a single year in the life of a small collective of down-on-their-luck friends, trying to eek out a living through illness, rampant drug abuse, urban development and shattered relationships in New York’s grungy Alphabet City.

A film version of the show, featuring nearly all of the original Broadway cast, was premiered to luke-warm reviews in 2005 while the Broadway version was still rockin’ and rollin’ enthusiasts in any number of theatres in any number of cities. RENT made a star of the incomparable Idina Menzel (who originated the role of the rubber-catsuit clad Maureen before moving on to much greater acclaim as the misunderstood witch Elphaba in the musical Wicked). The show also spawned the successful careers of Jesse L. Martin (Law and Order) and the powerfully talented Taye Diggs (Chicago). The show’s most recognizable song – Seasons of Love - has been recorded by no less an empresario than Stevie Wonder and still remains the veritable anthem for the downtrodden whose sole asset during those individual darkest times appears to be “hope”.

RENT does, despite the opinions of some of the critics fourteen years ago, remain topical, and timeless. There is no question that a central part of the show’s appeal (beside the music, of course) has to be the underlying raw sensual tension created in the sets and, especially, in the costumery. Sure, there have been other stage productions before that utilized an element of fetish and/or SM as a by-product of the story. As far back as the mid-1960′s, an original production of  Oh! Calcutta! featured an entire scene that revolved around a bound and gagged servent girl about to tied to a whipping post and summarily flogged for an imaginary transgression; and simply because it suited the “curiosity” of the narrator of that particular show. A fantastic little piece written by the late Paul Bartel called Eating Raoul (based on his cult film of the same name) ran successfully “off Broadway” for a number of months. That show, starring the talented but sadly nearly forgotten Adrian Zmed (of television’s TJ Hooker fame), even featured a Dominatrix named Donna as a pivotal character in the show’s plot. A few years back, a show called Urinetown had a musical number that involved a trussed-up and securely gagged damsel in distress struggling against her restraints to the strains of an uncomfortable little tune simply called Snuff That Girl.

But, none of those efforts compare in any way to RENT. The tragic moments of Jonathan Larson’s masterpiece feature a high-stepping and plucky little transvestite named Angel, who gamely struts, leaps, sings and incessanty thumps on a ten-gallon plastic pickle tub (her “drum”) at every opportunity. Those familiar with the show are well aware of Angel’s fate – but the moment her tragic destiny is revealed to the audience never fails to illicit torrents of tears from the appreciative crowds gathered to take in the ritual and fetish pageantry that is the pure embodiment of the entire piece itself. Fetishism – 1996 style to be sure but certainly more than relevant in 2010 – is the timeless glue that will forever be the lock-and-stock appeal of RENT as it heads into its fifteenth year of existence. It is worth the price of a ticket alone to see all of the costume designs: from Maureen’s (now) infamous latex catsuit, complete with latex kitty-kat ears, to Angel’s interpretation of “Pussy Galore”, complete with knee-high pink PVC platform Go-Go boots that are a perfect match for her PVC mini-dress. The show’s main female character, Mimi Marquez, early on in the show implores the tortured Roger (Adam Pascal) to “take her out” by stripping off a cumbersome housecoat to reveal what appears to be a painted-on, light-blue “latex” pair of pants accented with a lycra leopard print short tank top and matching high-heeled boots. Her dangerous-girl look is completed with a form-fitting black latex shrug that surely looks as if it will rip itself to pieces the moment she starts to dance, gyrate and “howl at the moon like a cat in heat” as she tries to entice and seduce the love-lorn Roger. The costumes are more than just provocative and sexy: they’re an integral representation of the very attitude that those living a Bohemian existence need to flaunt in order to give their fragile lives a sense of “belonging”, and indeed, a sense of “family”. Similar shows that tried to rely heavily on suggestive costumes, such as the prostitution musical The Life, have come and quickly gone. RENT  is, and forever shall be, regarded as simply timeless – and revolutionary.

RENT  is scheduled to end its current Broadway Tour run in Sacramento, California, in February, 2010. It is doubtful, however, that the show – by far the best marriage of modern musical theatre, fetishism and simple, pure human frailty ever written – will go quietly into the night, let alone the musical theatre history books. RENT  is, now and forever, timeless. The message will continue to resonant to audiences and fans years from now: Forget regret, or Life is yours to miss.

(Photos courtesy of Joan Marcus and the Broadway Touring Production of RENT.) 

Erik von Gutenberg recommends this article from Asylum.

There’s a new fetish every day, but only a few make it to the Bigs. For every plushy or WAM fetish that breaks from the pack, there’s a thousand formicophilias that never make the cut. Never fear — we’re going to show you the kinks to watch in 2010. The rules:

I. If there’s no Internet presence, it’s just fail. Is there such a thing as an explosion fetish? Of course there is. (See: Bay, Michael.) But until it has a video channel of its own on YouTube and some sexologist gives it a fancy name like explode-o-philia, don’t waste our time.

II. If it’s been featured on an episode of “CSI,” it’s not sex anymore. Your mom’s doing it with her book club.

III. Anything Japanese is automatically a fetish. Doesn’t matter what. Bullet trains? Fetish. Flower arranging? Fetish. Sarariman manga? Hello Kitty action figures? Super-tiny hotel rooms? Fetish, fetish, fetish. That country is just twisted.

1. Tentacle Porn
Just what it sounds like, tentacle porn involves tentacled creatures — squids, octopi, the occasional E.T. — getting it on with human beings, usually women.

Coming from (where else?) Japan, where it’s been around literally for centuries, Shokushu hentai is perfect for anyone who wants a little Lovecraft in his love craft

2. E-Stim
No, it’s not getting NSFW email from that hookup you regret. It’s the use of electrodes to run current to various parts of your body.

The clunky E-stim appliances look like they were developed from ’80s technology and produce stimulations that range from a “light tingle to deep internal throbbing.” (Like Merlin says in “Excalibur”: “A dream to some. To others, a nightmare!”)

3. Agalmatophilia
The classiest — that is, the dullest — of fetishes, agalmatophilia is a sexual desire for mannequins, dolls or other inanimate representations of the human form. In some cases, it can cross over into robot fetishism, a subject we have covered extensively.

Agalmatophilia has not yet been officially recognized as a syndrome, but we’re banking on 2010 being a big year for this versatile kink.

4. Emetophilia
Sexual fascination with vomit and vomiting. The act of actually vomiting on another person is called a Roman shower, which sounds so much less disgusting than it actually is.

But now that urine has gone mainstream, making it into seemingly every other Penthouse pictorial, this bodily function seems like the logical next step for a renaissance.

5. Somnophilia
Either a genuine fetish or a cunning viral marketing campaign by Tempur-Pedic, somnophilia is a fetish “in which sexual arousal and/or orgasm are stimulated by intruding on and awakening a sleeping person with erotic caresses.”

Sometimes called “sleepy sex,” this fetish has scores of Web sites we can’t link to devoted to pictures and videos of “sleeping models” giving lackadaisical HJs.

“Sleeping Beauty” is the classic M/F example of this fetish; the reverse, “Napping Slob With Chips and Dip After Six Hours of Sunday ESPN,” isn’t nearly as popular

Source: http://www.asylum.com/2010/01/15/5-new-fetishes-tentacle-estim-agalmatophilia-emetophilia-somnophilia/

What a whirlwind few weeks for Your Humble Narrator and only True Friend it has been, my delightful comrades!

The ever-beautiful, always devious and completely depraved Lady J and I took some time off to recharge the metaphorical batteries after a very event-filled summer (and early Autumn). With apologies to Old Bill Shakespeare, I did manage to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune – some rather well aimed arrows, at that – from some of the more vocal populace who chose to disagree with some of the views expressed regarding some of those said events. On the whole, it really was a grand summer and an extremely enjoyable one. There were some high points and a few no-so-high points – and naturally when one reviews large-scale fetish events, it is a given that you’re only going to satisfy 50% of your audience 50% of the time. Not everyone, perhaps, is going to agree with your sentiments. Onwards, then, shall we? What could possibly be next to turn our attentions to after such a wickedly eventful summer? What event could possibly usher in the coming boot-wearing winter season and deliver us a high note on which to look forward to the new year?

That’s easy. There is one – and only one – world-wide event that could possibly be considered the biggest, and the best, of any large-scale fetish related gathering of minds and behinds. I have written this before and I steadfastly stand by these words: the annual evolving wonder (that never follows the same single-word naming convention from year to year) that is Toronto’s Northbound Leather Annual Fetish Event continues to be the standard by which all other large-scale events are compared to, and judged. This year’s iteration, given the name TRIBE, has been whispered excitedly about in every darkened hallway of every fetish club since Northbound Leather President George Giaouris unveiled the starkly beautiful theme (and accompanying amazing marketing imagery) many months ago. If there is one universal truth in this big, wide fetish world we choose to inhabit, it’s that Mr. Giaouris and his wife, the incredibly beautiful and tirelessly-dedicated bundle of raw energy that is Anna, sure as hell know how to throw a party.

Year after year, and ongoing for nearly two full decades, Northbound Leather has done it bigger, bolder and simply better than anybody else. As an example of the kind of patronage the iconic Yonge Street leather emporium has enjoyed (and from participants from across the globe): Estimates for total attendance at the largest fetish gatherings from California to Quebec this past year may – may – have topped 1000 people for an entire weekend’s festivities. Last year alone, the Northbound Leather annual event at Toronto’s huge Docks Entertainment Complex (renamed The Sound Academy) actually was two-thirds larger for a single night alone. Here’s the staggering part of that statement: you’d be hard pressed to find any dissenters among attendees. Ever.

That, my friends, is one very large and happy gathering of the fetishly attired. It’s the Wonka Factory of “Eye Candy”.

George and his staff, lead by the unbelievably creative mind of his head designer Marty Rotman, somehow manage to make each and every subsequent annual event truly unique and a delightfully feverish, brain-popping explosion of visual excellence. Every year, the Northbound Leather team manage to create a stage show and a fashion show that is imitated by many, and inferior to none. This year, TRIBE promises to be categorized as the “best ever”, and is already being touted by the local media as one of the ”can’t miss” events in Canada’s largest city.

I cannot reveal in great detail much of the spectacle and pageantry planned for TRIBE - if you cannot attend the event in person this year you will be able to view a good portion of it on YouTube shortly after the event has transpired – but you will have to merely believe me: listening to George explain in detail to me what his guests will be treated to during the stage and fashion show segments is, quite simply, going to blow the boots off the most cynical and jaded of observers. If you’re even close to the Toronto area on the evening of October 24th, 2009, you really should plan on going. For a first-class large scale fetish event, the Northbound Leather events are always and unquestionably the softest on your pocketbook – a very welcome fact during a very harsh economic year.

Some of this region’s most promising young promoters – some of which have been enthusiastically featured within the electronic pages of Marquis America in recent months – have without question learned a great lesson or two from the masters (well, and mistresses) themselves. Lady J and I personally were witness to George, Anna and their staff’s astonishing, seemingly tireless attentions to each and every one of their guests at a well-attended Pride Week event in Toronto’s historic Distillery District this past summer. That passion, that dedication and that appreciation displayed to their customer base is evident in every single event that they organize and host. It’s one of the reasons why their annual event is so well patronized – and why each and every year there are glowing smiles and starry-eyed fetishists raving about how glorious an experience they just had. It’s staggering to even imagine they can deliver than kind of service and just plain fun to an even larger contingent of fetish party goers.

TRIBE, as the name undoubtedly suggests, is about Rite and Ritual. Marty Rotman has designed and assembled 36 one-of-a-kind, never before produced leather ensembles meant to produce an undeniable shine to each one of the fetish models and “cast members” involved in the spectacle. In addition to the vast amount of gleaming silver studs and immaculately-polished leather wear, there is an assortment of body art (tattoos, makeup and body painting) scheduled to be on display. While this is unquestionably the most ambitious undertaking for George and Northbound Leather, he’s well prepared for and very much up to the challenge. George took over the business from his father and astutely changed the name of the family empire from Leathercraft to Northbound Leather in the mid 1980′s. “People have been coming to us since the 1960′s, telling us what they want and we’ve made it for them,” George said. “People who shop with us want to stand out and be unique.” What started out as a small custom-wear shop catering to the Flower Power beatnik of the Vietnam War era grew first into an exciting new venture dedicated to outfitting the heavy glam-and-punk rocker enthusiasts, and eventually matured into the sleek, sensual all-encompassing leather and fetish powerhouse of fashion that Northbound Leather is today. Every one of their meticulously planned and perfectly executed events reflects this dedication to quality – and the care given to their customers. It isn’t an exaggeration to make the claim that an event like TRIBE is simply a way for George and Anna to “repay” their customers patronage and loyalty by providing them an exceptional venue in which to showcase their latest custom-designed fetish creations – and all without a premium price-tag.

Marquis America  simply and highly recommends anybody who has the opportunity to attend TRIBE plan to do so on October 24th, 2009. TRIBE is being held at The Sound Academy (formerly known as The Docks Entertainment Complex), in Toronto’s amazing downtown waterfront area. Tickets are available from a number of online and brick and mortar store outlets – and you certainly will not be disappointed. No assemblage of fetish finery simply exists anywhere on the planet on any one given night (and all under a single roof).

Be prepared to be initiated: Prepare to join the unending numbers of your TRIBE – and be prepared to have the most amazing experience of your fetish life.

(Sneak-Peak TRIBE design by Marty Rotman courtesy of FAB Magazine.)

The incomparable Lady J and I are taking the rest of September to recharge the batteries. We are heading out this evening to Toronto’s long-running Fetish Masquerade in celebration, however: It is our dear friend Mistress Katina’s birthday, and we simply could not say “no” to our closest friend Ms. Marina Black for insisting that we help the lovely Katina usher in a new chapter into the wonderful tapestry that is her life. They are both amazing women and we would encourage everyone to pay them proper respects and admirations should you happen to cross their paths.

Tonight also marks the Grand Opening of Fetish Masquerade’s new location in Toronto, and by all “sneak peeks” provided to Your Humble Narrator and Only True Friend, the venue, atmosphere and ambience is truly just that: “Grand”. Lady J and I, while exhausted beyond any measure of quantifiable belief, are really looking forward to just spending a relaxing evening with those that we truly love, admire, respect and cherish this evening. We are both hoping that we’ll have the chance to see Mistress Patricia Marsh this evening as well – we both miss her company and her sage guidance, and short of a fleeting moment spent in joyous watchfulness in Montréal a couple of weekends ago, we’ve not had much of a chance to share time with her, either. Mistress Patricia, you’ve been an inspiration and a good friend to us both: we’d really love to see you tonight if you happen to be venturing out …

This Fall, Lady J and I are both looking forward to a new slate of exceptional events. First and foremost on that list is, of course, Northbound Leather’s Tribe - the latest iteration of the largest Fetish/SM single-evening venue event in the world. George and Anna, the owners of Northbound Leather, have yet to fail to deliver a first class and top-tier event to the fetish affectionistas across this lovely globe – and we expect October 24th, 2009, to be no exception. There are several events in Canada and the United States to choose from, naturally, when considering traveling to and spending hard-earned cash at any number of fair-to-great events: but Northbound Leather’s annual shindig continues to be the standard by which every other large-scale gathering of fetish folk is duly judged.

Here is a Report Card of the major events that Lady J and I attended in person, Marquis America was instrumental in bringing you or at least had sponsorship concerns in, or even just ones where we got more than just a “tad” bit of feedback about:

Marquis America Fetish Ball – San Francisco, California – July

Grade: A-

By all accounts, the inaugural Fetish Ball was a huge success. Our own Erik Von Gutenberg and the lovely Lady Suzanne Forbes did an amazing job organizing and pulling together an amazing event. This is quite hard to do in a town that has been literally saturated in years past with exceptional Fetish and SM-related events, but the Home Office Marquis American twosome pulled it off. The only reason this is an “A-” rather than an “A” is there were some folks that pointed out that the venue (The Supper Club) in San Francisco turned out to be a smidgen too small to accommodate the amount of people that wished to attend. This, as they say, is a “good problem” to have and bodes well for the future of the Fetish Ball going into a promising future. Well done, Erik and Suzanne: Lady J and I promise to try as hard as we can to join you both next year for Fetish Ball 2010 in the city that I love so very, very much!

Fetish Con – Tampa Bay, Florida – August

Grade: A-

We have heard nothing but good things about the annual “Sizzlin’ Hot” Fetish gathering in central Florida this year. A few of our friends managed to make the trek to Tampa Bay in August (despite the heat), and came back with glowing reports. Everything from the parties to the iconic model participation was, from all accounts, first class and exceptional. The ever-present threat of dangerous weather in Florida did not manage to interrupt the party atmosphere of those in attendance – and Erik Von Gutenberg himself seemed to report back that it was an “incredible time” (if you haven’t had a chance to see his interview with Fetish Supermodel Jean Bardot on YouTube yet, it’s worth a look!). The only downside reported back to Yours Truly was the inordinate amount of “street clothed” participants wandering around and snapping unauthorized photos of some of the revelry – a common problem that faces each and every large-scale Fetish event. Apart from the lack of provided transportation (another common “problem theme”) and the gawkiness of hotel staff at the host hotel, though, everyone I spoke with that attended Fetish Con 2009 all had the same enthusiastic response: “We can’t wait for next year!”

Church Street Fetish Fair – Toronto, Ontario – August

Grade: B+

The day was long and the day was super-hot – even for August in Canada’s largest city. It made for an uncomfortable time for some of the street performers, vendors and volunteers. Apart from the heat, however, the Fetish Fair on Church Street this year was a very good event and, considering it was one of (if not the only) large scale event that didn’t charge an admission price, it was certainly well worth the visit to Toronto’s Rainbow Village. It was somewhat disappointing that the organizers somehow didn’t have the foresight to provide printed literature in the way of performance and show schedules, and some of the vendors did complain that the decibel level around where they were stationed (in an attempt to market their wares) sometimes reached eardrum breaking proportions. But the crowds were enthusiastic and the participants, from volunteers on down the line to performers and vendors alike all reported that they had an enjoyable day. What started as a small “craft fair” idea held in a small park-like setting has grown into one of the summer’s most eagerly anticipated events in Canada – and this year’s edition certainly didn’t disappoint. Perhaps for the 2010 event, the organizers may wish to pay a little more attention to having proper schedules for the myriad of events happening all day long. On the whole, however, the Church Street Fetish Fair is a fantastic and fun way to spend a Sunday afternoon in Toronto – and you certainly should have no complaints about the price.

Torture Garden - Toronto, Ontario – August

Grade: A

Simply superb! There was no better event in Toronto – and I daresay on the East Coast – than Torture Garden Toronto. The event organizer, Random Craig, is an up-and coming-star promoter – and not only in Toronto. More established, large-scale Fetish event promoters (outside of Northbound Leather, who make an art of event organizing, in my opinion) should pay heed and perhaps learn a thing or two about catering to the desires and demands of their audience: and simply no-one does it better than Random Craig. Torture Garden was an ambitious gamble: the Montréal Fetish Weekend was to take place the following week, and Craig certainly had valid concerns about whether or not the event would be well attended. He needn’t have worried: scores of people showed up in some of the classiest, clever and exceptional Fetish wardrobes this writer has ever laid eyes on – and not a single soul Lady J and I spoke to had a negative thing to say about the event. Yes, it was really that good. The thing that separates Random Craig’s events – and especially Torture Garden – is that he actually listens to the wants and needs of those that attend his parties rather than plan everything around the glorification of his own ego. Simply put, people love attending his events because he works so very hard to try and make an enjoyable atmosphere for everyone that will be attending.

Case in point: One of the few complaints that Craig had heard about his massively-popular Subspace events in Toronto was that the “play area” was hard to access and far too small to be of any real use for the amount of people that wished to utilize it. He listened: the Dungeon area for Torture Garden Toronto was out of the way from the rest of the revellers, easily accessible – and just fun. In order to accommodate those that wished to use the large pieces of equipment, Craig and his staff took on the laborious task of hauling crosses, benches and posts up not one, but two sets of ridiculously old stairs and into an appropriately large enough room to house each and every piece. It goes without saying that not every event organizer would be caught dead struggling with large Dungeon equipment pieces (and working for hours on end getting his own hands dirty) – just in an effort to make sure his paying audience was happy. His efforts paid off, and clearly showed: Torture Garden Toronto is assuredly going to be a “can’t miss” event on every one’s calenders on the East Coast for years to come. It truly was just that good.

Montréal Fetish Weekend - Montréal, Quebec - September

Grade: D-

I hate to end this missive on a somewhat down note – but it really can’t be avoided. I have few very nice things to say about the Montréal Fetish Weekend. Drawing from the chorus of complaints I have heard since our return from the event in early September, it actually sounds like Lady J and I had a better time than a good portion of those who also made the journey to that beautiful, amazing French Canadian bastion that is the fantastic city of  Montréal. That is about where the superlatives end, however.

After five years of “maturing”, the event organizers, all two of them, should be ashamed of themselves.

One of the biggest complaints about the Montréal Fetish Weekend in years past has been that it’s really been a very expensive sojourn to a very wonderful city – for the abject benefit of a very select few people with egos that continuously need to be assuaged and massaged. While the posturing that has been reported in years past was somewhat less in evidence this year, overall the event was really nothing more than three packed-to-the rafters nightclub events that had but one purpose: turning a profit. Some of the usual Fetish icons were there, of course (we saw Jean Bardot in attendance on Friday evening, for instance). The first evening was held at a club location that was so inept and inadequately prepared to host such a large contingent of people – and the “event staff” seemed to have no issues with allowing a large throng of “street clothed” folk in without much of a second glance. This was to become a major source of contention for “veteran” Fetish Weekend party goers throughout the weekend. The lack of proper and adequately provided transportation (or available information about transportation) was also seen to be a major failing, and some of the “stage shows” presented were laughable at best and purely and simply obnoxious and objectionable at worst.

Yes, the Fetish Weekend – as expected – had a huge number of amazing costumes, fetish assemblages and uniforms to feast your eyes upon. This, however, simply isn’t enough of a reason to make the investment in attending all of the weekend’s events. There was very little that was “new” and “exciting” about this year’s efforts and a tremendous number of things that just seemed to be a poor rehash of previously-attempted activities. The amount of politics and hostility that seems to surround the event itself from the local professional community (!) was alarming, and certainly would tend to indicate why there is a competing “Fetish Weekend” event in Montréal being held in October that features almost all of the businesses and personalities within Le Belle Ville that noticeably stayed away from September’s annual, more “established” event. Of any event this summer, the Montréal Fetish Weekend was the one gathering I was personally looking so very forward to attending the most – and it was the one gathering that clearly disappointed. I wouldn’t accept another press junket to attend this event – nor would I certainly pay for an over-priced VIP Pass to attend this event  – anytime in the near future. If there is a next time, we’ll pay for the nights and events we want to see – and undoubtedly save a lot of money in the process.

As good as the previous events listed above honestly and truly were, the Montréal Fetish Weekend was clearly and just as truly that bad. I duly hope the organizing committee, both of them, learn from this year’s shortcomings – or at least take a lesson or two in “good event management” and “catering to your public rather than your own ego” from both Random Craig and Northbound Leather.

May the falling leaves bring us an amazing Autumn season of good friends, good times and greater prosperity!

Kardynyl SynysTyr

“Me stand and have to wait in a lineup? Moi? In all my fabulousness, and with this amazing smile? Fuck that!” ~ Fetish Model TheRichard, vocalizing his displeasure with having to wait in a line at an undisclosed event.

So another Montréal Fetish Weekend has come and gone. In a nutshell, there are two very distinct and strikingly different points of view to consider when attempting to author a summation of the long weekend’s festivities:

• If you identify, agree with or endorse the above quotation uttered from the lips of the “fabulous” TheRichard, then there’s a good chance that you had a fantastic time and were completely oblivious to some of the more disconcerting aspects of the Weekend that transpired, or;
• If you completely find the statement self-serving, arrogant, pretentious, and more than just a little assumptive and obnoxious, there’s a great chance that you’re all too aware of some of the disconcerting aspects of the Weekend that transpired – but you still probably had at least a pretty decent time during at least one of the weekend’s “main events”.

The truth, very simply put, is that there were some wonderful things about the Montréal Fetish Weekend. There were some memorable moments and some eye-boggling displays of Fetish Finery that would put any large-scale fetish event, anywhere in the world, to complete shame. The main functions for the weekend (two at Le Medley, a large and extremely accommodating and appropriate venue for such a large festival event; and one at Le Club Cleopatra, a smaller and purely inadequate space entirely too cramped and decrepit to host large crowds of finely attired Fetish folk) could all be described as “above average club nights”, for certain. The elaborate costumes and the extensive rubber, leather and PVC ensembles alone virtually guaranteed at least some memorable moments in each event attendee’s long-term memory.

Equally true, though, and in total objectivity and fairness, there were some aspects of the Montréal Fetish Weekend – after having five years of experience to rely upon – should have been better planned and executed. There were also several questionable incidents and “performances” that (to both an experienced purist and a relative newcomer alike) could best be described as “avoidable” and “inappropriate” at best – and downright offensive at worst.

What I noticed above all, however, was a clear division in opinions regarding the overall quality of the Montréal weekend. I spoke with several people during several different points in time and over all three main days of the event, and gathered a number of valuable opinions. Lady J, as ever always, was an extremely popular personality at the Weekend’s events and respects were given and paid to her by a large contingent of adoring acolytes. When casually asking any of these fine folks their thoughts about the weekend, there just didn’t seem to be lot of room for vague interpretation, or any “middle ground”. Some of the lovely event goers we spoke to were clearly having a fantastic time and raved that they couldn’t believe how much damned fun they were having. To a person, the opinions expressed by that group of people were all first-time event attendees: meaning none of them had ever attended a Montréal Fetish Weekend before. Conversely, those who had been celebrating the grandeur of the Fetish Weekend at least once before during the event’s five-year existence all had loud complaints.

In essence, those that had never experienced the event before understandably were having a grand time and were probably more than just a little over-excited and overwhelmed by the sheer delightful explosion of fetish livery on display in the downtown streets of Montréal (and especially Rue de Saint Catherine). At the same time, those who could be considered event “veterans”, when asked, were quite vociferous in their opinions – and some even red-faced outraged – over what appeared to nothing more than a recycled version of the exact same event that began five years ago with very little true change.

While there is definitely something to be said for the old adage “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it”, it is also true that at least an infusion of some fresh new (but appropriate) ideas would undoubtedly been more than welcomed by some of these fetish folks who have made the trek to downtown Montréal every Labour Day Weekend for the past five years.

What follows is a detailed account of what was good, bad and just downright ugly about the 2009 Montréal Fetish Weekend:

The Good:

The air at the host hotel, the Hotel Gouverneur, was electric from the moment Lady J and I first pulled up to the front door. Coincidentally, we were greeted by the fabulous and alluring Mistress Katina (one of Toronto’s best-known professional Dominas and a truly enticing and engaging spirit) before we even exited the car (affectionately named “Betty”, as in “Good Old Reliable Betty Boop”). In her usual effusive, engaging and completely affectionate way, Mistress Katina gave us both a warm reception – greatly appreciated after the five-hour drive to Montréal – and positively informed us that she “expected, as usual, to have a great time.” While Lady J excused herself and went inside to attend to the matters of checking in, I was introduced to some other members of Mistress Katina’s immediate circle of friends – some incredible people who would play an enormous role in helping me laugh and relax with their amazing humour, wit and charm well into the wee hours of the Saturday night to come. After saying our “a bientots” to Mistress Katina and her gaggle of gorgeous friends, I joined Lady J in a fairly lengthy line-up of fetish folks checking into the hotel – and all in good spirits and excitedly looking forward to the weekend ahead. As mentioned, it was an electric start to the event and we were both looking forward to seeing more at Friday Night’s opening party at Le Club Cleopatra. The evening got even better as Lady J’s incredible Handmaiden, the incomparable Angelically Depraved and her adoring husband, the over-the-top handsome Skull Bill (both making an exhausting 13 hour drive from Halifax, Nova Scotia, to be with us for the weekend) arrived to share the room (and the next several days) in anticipated revelry. After a quick bite to eat, our foursome got dressed: Lady J chose to wear a collection of leather goodness consisting of a long, butter-soft leather skirt, an absolutely perfect over-the-bust leather corset procured earlier in the year from Northbound Leather, shoulder length leather gloves paired with very tall platform gothic buckle boots, and topped off with a custom-made chain and leather neck piece. Angelically Depraved was adorned in a custom-designed chain and leather halter and skirt that to describe as “just a little revealing” would be one of the classic understatements of the entire weekend. Skull Bill and I … well, we’re men. Our choice of attire was considerably more toned down and far less interesting, but I must say of the two of us, Skull Bill truly looked far, far better than I in his trappings throughout the weekend. Friday evening was truly no exception. After taking a few photos, we headed down the street and into the night … and unfortunately, that’s all I can report that was “good” about Friday night.

Saturday Night, though … was exceptional. The Latextacy Ball was, in absolute fairness, worth the drive to Montréal and the price of the ticket, alone, for all those who dove deep into their pockets. The fashion show – a continuous display of latex excellence from some incredibly talented designers. The performers were rock solid. One performance in particular stands tall in my collective memory: a man dressed in one of the most amazing “circus like” costumes I’ve ever had the pleasure to see picked up a seven foot tall metal pyramid – and promptly started spinning it about his body. When the pyramid lit up in a neon buffet of delicious color, the crowd exploded. It was one of the highlights of the entire weekend for me, that performance. Directly after the pyramid spinning came a trio of spinners who held their own for the appreciative crowd, spinning batons, umbrellas and “Neon Poi” to the delight of the gathered throng. The outfits, of course, were mostly exemplary. Our entourage had an amazing time on Saturday Night, and the host, Eric Paradis, is to be commended and lauded to the highest degree for putting on one of the best Fetish displays and parties I believe this hemisphere has seen in a long, long time.

The Victorian Ball on Sunday evening was billed as a “play party”: but sadly there was just too much going on in Le Medley for anyone to really take advantage of the outstanding stations assembled by Porte Rouge (a dungeon equipment manufacturer from Toronto). I will discuss the travesty that was the “stage show” at the “Ugly” phase of this review and exactly why I felt this particular party simply destroyed all the good feeling built up from such an exceptional Saturday night. What I can say about the Sunday event, though, is that if it was possible to out-do the fetish wear in assemblage that night, Sunday certainly was second in quality to the overall weekend’s events. We had a good time, essentially - despite what you are going to read later on in this review under the “Ugly” section - and it was a fitting send-off for the long drive home the following day.

The Bad:

We were told Le Club Cleopatra, on Friday night, was only “two blocks” and “a five minute walk, tops” away from the hotel. Wrong! It was actually at least five blocks away and a good 20 minute hike away from the corner of St. Hubert and St. Catherine Streets where the hotel is located (and with the ladies in skyscraper heels, this was no mean feat). I had a moment of trepidation when the event staff at first couldn’t locate the pass that had been left for me at the front door – and one of the girls twittered excitedly in French about how terrible I personally looked in Lycra pants (yes honey, I do speak and understand French to a fairly comprehensive degree). The girls managed to find my pass, however, and we entered the venue and prepared for a night’s worth of extreme fetish fun. It wasn’t. The venue was ridiculously over-crowded to the point where our foursome ended up near the washrooms against a far back wall just in order to get a place to stand with a bit of breathing room – but in fairness we did get to see the remains of what appeared to be a pretty decent stage performance (described in an earlier “Live Blog from Montréal”). I must admit, gentle reader, I was not comfortable in that crushing crowd of people – a good portion of which did not show up in any kind of “fetish” attire at all. There was a dismaying number of blue jeans and T-Shirts in the assemblage – a fact we were further loudly informed about (back at the hotel later in the evening) by a very upset attendee from Pennsylvania who questioned the reasoning and validity for shelling out (up to) $175.00 for an event VIP pass to attend a fetish event that advertised itself with a “strict dress code enforcement policy” when that quite obviously wasn’t the case. In fact, all through the weekend, I was astonished (and more than just a little perturbed myself) at the amount of people walking into the events dressed in obvious “street clothes” – yes, even at a Victorian Ball a modern business suit is still a modern business suit even though you might be wearing a cheap dime store plastic mask, people – who had Montréal Fetish Weekend VIP passes draped around their necks. To my way of thinking, if you purchase a VIP ticket for a large fetish event that would tend to indicate you are expected to participate accordingly: the very least some of these people could have done was purchased a pair of leather pants and a fishnet or sheer top. Regardless of whether they had purchased a pass or not, the people who came to this event and made absolutely no effort to “dress appropriately” should have been refused entrance by the event staff at the front door.

There are event attendees who spend thousands of dollars – not to mention those who pour hundreds of work hours into custom-hand crafted creations of their own – into looking their best for an event of this nature and to allow the “jeans and T-Shirt” contingent as much access within the sanctuary of the party itself is, pure and simple, an infuriating insult. This should be a lesson to all event organizers: if you charge premium prices for VIP passes to a fetish event, you should stick hard and fast to the “enforced dress code policy”. It’s the masses that do take the time to dress and look amazing that have their photos taken and promote your events, time after time, on websites and in printed magazines. It’s they that you need to cater to and listen when they express concerns of this nature. If you need to refund the full price for five or six people that were refused entrance to your party even though they didn’t obey the very conditions outlined (i.e., strict fetish wear enforcement) when purchasing the VIP pass, then so be it. It doesn’t make sense to alienate 100 people who paid full price and followed the “dress code” enthusiastically for the sake of pocketing a few hundred extra bucks from those who have no intention of dressing appropriately – let alone who have any clue about what the word “community” happens to mean.

We attended a number of the seminars given on Saturday afternoon. The first one, as described in an earlier “live blog” post, was outstanding. I would take any number of classes from Dunter, the presenter, anytime. He was an excellent teacher and the class he gave was first class. The beautiful, articulate and truly amazing Contessa Alura followed and gamely tried to present a breath play workshop – but she admittedly had some troubles with a “no show” from her intended demonstration partner (kudos to the girl known as Cat for stepping in to help at the absolute last minute), the constant interference from two of the gallery members who thought they knew more than she did (they didn’t), and the simple fact she didn’t have enough time to present a topic of such gravity in the window of opportunity afforded her. I thought she was an excellent presenter, though – and has great potential to be one of the top educators and facilitators in Canada. I hope this experience doesn’t deter her from wanting to do more instructional workshops: the Lady handled the adversity with amazing class, elegance and true professionalism. The last seminar I (somewhat) attended was given by a man whom I thought was a little too into himself to pay appropriate attention to the safety of his volunteer subject – and his “scene” ended up going somewhat horribly wrong at the start. By all accounts, he spoke about himself too much; didn’t really care to show the entire room what exactly it was he was doing; and delivered in the end a somewhat “satisfactory” demonstration on rope bondage. Lady J, in fairness however, did say that she learned a couple of new things from him – which is saying something – so perhaps with some practise and a little more attention to proper teaching techniques and the safety of his volunteer, this man could be, as well, an exceptional presenter.

The only eye-rolling event of Saturday night was a “rock star show” on stage, while an extremely intriguing suspended hoop aerial performer was giving the performance of her life twenty feet above the crowd. I wonder if the guitar players were even aware that hardly anyone in  that crowd was paying any attention to them – and devoting all their attentions on the aerial display? There was barely a ripple when they finished their performance and quietly left the stage – but there was thunderous applause a few moments later when the performer was finished her acrobatics. The guitar players were, of course, known to the crowd – and I will spare them any embarrasment from mentioning who they were. I heard a number of people mumbling something to the effect that “it’s the same schlock and schtick every single year – when are they going to realize no-one wants it?”

These were the only “bad” things I can say about Saturday, though. All in all it was really a good day – and night.

The Ugly:

I had scheduled an interview with Eric Paradis, one of the two (!) event organizers of the Montréal Fetish Weekend (Note: there is a mountain of politics involved in the Montréal community and our foursome got earful after earful about it as we ventured from store to store on buying missions across the downtown core of the city. It is too lengthy to get into a dissertation about here: but suffice to say the notable absence of several past professional models and related businesses could hardly have come as a surprise considering the amount of contempt I personally bore witness to, at several retail locations, for the event itself) for Friday evening. Unfortunately, he choose not to have that discussion with me at that time – and he was far too busy the rest of the weekend to speak with me. I do not fault him for this – but there are some questions that I would dearly love to have answered in regards to the events that transpired at the Victorian Ball on Sunday evening.

Without pulling any punches, there was one “performance” that bordered on the obscene – and one that was outright disgusting, inappropriate, questionable and sent completely the wrong message to newcomers and established fetish and SM folk alike.

There was some kind of weird SM-related demonstration going on-stage, in which I believe was supposed to entice the crowd to start engaging in various bondage and SM-related play at the stations – but the crowd was far too interested in continuing to dance than they were in actually utilizing the equipment. Most of it went unused, by my observations, until quite, quite late into the evening when the crowds had thinned considerably. I will refrain from commenting on the “demonstrations” themselves – except to say they were absolutely pathetic. The central demonstration, given by someone whom should have known better, was just simply laughable in its presentation.

The “obscene” scene, in my opinion (and I am sure there are several who actually thought the performance was inventive and outstanding) involved one of the male models, an over-sized phallus, and about seventy-two gallons of spurting liquid. You can use your imagination, I am sure. The best part of that performance, to be sure, was the end of it – when the event organizer himself somehow had the responsibility of having to clean and mop that stage of that mess. I felt badly for him: it had to be somewhat humiliating having to be seen with a mop cleaning up the remains of a “gargantuan simulated body fluid bath”. The start of that particular performance showed great promise: the same male model used a modified electric violin to give his two female model counterparts a hot shower of glowing sparks (obviously some kind of hidden grinder in the violin interacting with the metal bow he was using). Aside from my wonderment at whether the latex clothing they were all wearing survived the flying spark show intact, it was a fantastic start to the performance set. If they had of ended the performance right there, it would have been viewed as a triumph. Unfortunately, the giant dong and “fluids” came next and … well … it just cheapened and destroyed the overall effect of their entire efforts.

The “performance” that I personally felt was offensive and completely unnecessary involved two male models (I will not mention their names, it isn’t fair to them as they were only doing as probably instructed) wandering into the crowd to “abduct” two girls in school girl uniforms, and carry them back, kicking and thrashing, over their shoulders and back onto the stage – where a simulated “rape scene” took place. Of course, the “school girls” somehow got the upper hand and their “revenge” by “overpowering” the male models, pseudo-taping them back to back - and proceeding to kick, stomp, punch, face-slap, bite and generally heap utter abuse on their former “tormentors”. Now I am not a prude by any means and we all have “dark places” in the recesses of our minds in which such deviant thoughts do inhabit – but a fetish event is not the place to be showcasing a message that “rape” and “retribution”, no matter how staged, is remotely appropriate. A man in Toronto was recently crucified and completely ostracized from the general community in a very, very public way for compromising someone in a seemingly non-consensual way: does such a scene, then, displayed in front of hundreds of people, qualify as “okay” and “appropriate” simply because it was done under the auspices of a large sanctioned event? Not only, in my opinion, does this kind of performance send exactly the wrong message about what sadomasochism is supposed to be all about (safe, sane and consensual), but it only serves to further reinforce the stereotype that SM … is violence. It isn’t: it’s another way to love amongst those that practice the art with those they respect, adore and cherish. The performance was in extreme poor taste and, quite frankly, showed exactly just how little regard and understanding there still exists towards SM – the very root of those that love their varied and valued fetishes and SM-related adornments. The event organizer really should be ashamed for allowing such garbage to infest and putrefy what otherwise would have been described as a “pretty decent affair.” After five years of party planning experience, he should have known better.

I had my own issues and challenges to deal with during my stay in Montréal: I freely admit Lady J, Angelically Depraved and Skull Bill deserve a gold medal each for having to put up with my building frustration and indignation about what I felt was a substandard over-all event. The highlight was so very high – Saturday night’s party was exceptional and worth the price of the ticket alone. But the low points, as described above, certainly made me feel quite glad to be home. I also completely realize I am not going to win a lot of new friends with this review – but I also cannot in good conscience give a glowing and false opinion about an event I felt was completely inferior to any of the events that preceeded it this summer. Northbound Leather’s Pride event was enormous fun … Subspace and Torture Garden were both absolutely perfect and far, far superior to the Montréal Fetish Weekend each on its own … and the Church Street Fetish Fair was a great day with fantastic people under very trying, hot conditions.

I just wish the Montréal Fetish Weekend had of lived up to its advance promise and not been only a single evening of exceptional fun. I truly hope the organizers learn from the mistakes of the past years, collectively (and I am told there have been several), and present a far more “Community minded effort” for the global fetish community as a whole, rather than massage the egos of a select few who seem to believe anything and everything they touch will instantly turn into fetish gold.

Yes, dozens of people had a great time, to be sure. It must be said that my three companions, I believe, certainly have their own opinions about what was fabulous and what wasn’t in Montréal this past weekend. Dozens more – and I spoke personally with several of them and on the record - did not and probably won’t be coming back, mainly commenting on all of the issues I have touched on above. I think that alone is a shame – and I can only hope the organizers learn not to rest on past laurels, and learn that “pushing the envelope” does not always equate into “instant acceptance and success”. Au revoir, Montréal, et écoutez-bien.

(Photos: The images displayed are in no way related to the accompanying text – they are presented in somewhat chronological order only. No attempt has been made to associate any of the models or attendees with any inference related to the express opinions of the author. Any assumption of such association would be incorrect.)

A few short years ago, a young fellow living in Toronto started hosting small-scale get-togethers (with a fetish theme, of course) at his modest home. It didn’t take very long – one event, actually – for that man to realize he was going to need a bigger space if he wanted to continue to try and host an event that would bring friends and other like-minded people together. So, this young man – who has never used a “scene” moniker and is known simply as “Craig” (or “Craiger”, to his friends) – on the advice of some close compatriots decided to take his house gatherings and make them a little larger in order to accomodate the demand he was getting from people wishing to attend one of his off-the-scale fun gatherings.

Thus was the first Subspace event created in Toronto – and that event has continued to be a major draw for both young and impressionable, and old and experienced, SM practitioners for quite some time.

But Craig soon found he was running into the same old problem: The demand and desire for attendance at the Subspace event was just getting too overwhelming. When asked what the solution was, Craig responded to his closest confidants in the only way he really could: “We need a bigger house.”

Without going into a major history of Subspace, suffice to say that the eventual result from the demand for more and more space – and larger attendance – led Craig to cross paths with Alan Pelling and David Wood, the original founders and facilitators who created London’s revolutionary Torture Garden club concept. While the “franchise” had been featured in several European cities from Paris to Moscow and has even made appearances in Tokyo and New York City over the years, Toronto had never really received any serious consideration as a possible host city for the iconic weekend-long event. That is until Craig managed to convince them that Toronto was indeed a perfect choice, and more than a suitable worldly cousin, as the location for the first Canadian iteration of the globe-trekking party machine that has become Torture Garden “International”.

So where do we start? Certainly there were superlatives – it goes without saying the costumes, the make-up, the accessories were beyond exemplary, of course and as one would expect at such a gathering – and as with every first-time large scale event, Torture Garden Toronto did indeed have its share of problems. So it would probably be best to speak a little about the downsides to the weekend, and in the spirit of keeping an eye on improvement for next year. So let’s see … the downsides … hmmm … give Your Humble Narrator a few moments to think and I’m sure I’ll come up with at least something of a downside to the weekend …

Truth be told, there really were very few negative things to be “picked on” about Torture Garden Toronto. In the spirit of objectivity, however, it should be said that perhaps the venue chosen (a rather old and somewhat decrepitly adorned relic known as The Opera House) for Saturday night’s main event wasn’t the absolute best possible location for such a staggering event. My life mate and loving partner in this life, the incomparable Lady J, didn’t find the venue quite as unwelcoming as I did: and I do have to stress my criticisms here are quite, quite miniscule. Apart from having completely inadequate bathroom facilities; two sets of stairs that would make most amusement park ”Wacky Shack” designers envious (there were more than just a few complaints from the high-heeled and booted party goers about those desperately-in-need-of-repair stairs, believe me); and perhaps maybe a tad too many people crammed into the confines of the old Opera House at the height of the festivities, there really wasn’t anything alarming or glowing wrong that could be pointed out – let alone harped upon. There was an enthusiastic, well-behaved, excited and delectable throng in attendance Saturday night – probably more than even the original Torture Garden founders could anticipate. And I’d heard whispers that Craig was a bit concerned about attendance? He really shouldn’t have worried. Toronto’s fetish community did very well in welcoming not only the event to Canada itself – but also being cordial and helpful to visiting internationals who made the jaunt into our lovely city to partake in the weekend’s festivities.

A point could be made about the abruptness and outright rude comportment of some of the Opera House staff: Craig’s Subspace parties are reknown for excellent staffers providing excellent service, and in the case of Torture Garden Toronto the “usual staff of suspects” were indeed present and were as amazingly friendly and helpful as they ever are. However, in fairness I don’t believe Craig had any control over the Opera House front of house staff or the beverage servers – and they were sometimes brutal. It doesn’t behoove venue staff well when they spend some time showing open contempt and whispering ridiculing remarks about certain guests (and their attire) as they walked through the doors or make snide remarks while pouring guest’s drinks. These incidents were not widespread, though: These were isolated incidents and, frankly, I’m quite sure similar “incidents” happen at nightclubs everywhere on each and every night and occasion. But I have to have something from a “downside” perspective to report on, don’t I?

Conversely, I could go on and on with enthusiastic endorsements of what went right at Torture Garden Toronto. I’ll limit my comments to a few brief highlights, though, for brevity’s sake.

For starters, allow me to say this: Lady J and I were absolutely destroyed and simply not really wanting to venture out into the night for Saturday’s main event. We had spent the better part of the week – and especially the previous two days – trying desperately to finish a move from my beloved little loft apartment into a much larger, more comfortable house-sized dwelling. Without divulging too much information, suffice to say that the move went horrifically wrong at some points – and while we managed to get everything actually done (I’m still trying to figure out how we did it, really), we certainly were in absolutely no shape (let alone positive mind frame) to attend a fetish party, no matter how unique and ground-breaking for Toronto it may have been (and eventually was). Regardless, I had a job to do, and having gotten somewhat closer to Craig in the previous month leading up to Torture Garden Toronto I felt I couldn’t let him down by not giving the event my fullest, professional attention and doing an objective reporting about his selfless and tireless efforts to unleash this somewhat uncertain new venture upon a hungry and fetish-famished, clamouring crowd of Southern Ontario kinky types.

So with heavy eyes and even heavier boot-clad feet, Lady J and I trudged down Queen Street and sidled as non-conspicuously as we could inside the doors of The Opera House and entered the mystifying confines of the Torture Garden. There is only a single thing I can say about that very moment, my friends: We knew the moment the we walked through the front doors that we were in the presence of something very special. There was an undeniable electricity in the air – very different from anything we’d ever experienced before in Toronto – and both Lady J and I were immediately re-energized. We spent the next several hours delighting in the fashion shows  and having our ears drink in voraciously the excellent selection of music (the stage was at a perfect height and visible to all, of course, being an old theatre). We marvelled at the well-designed (and even better maintained and monitored) playspace areas (coyly and brilliantly staged in what would have been the old balcony of the theatre and the old projection/lighting booth behind it) and we gaped in wonder and with excited whispers at the various exhibitions that enveloped the perimeter of the main party and dance floor (we both agreed that we simply must have one of those vacuum benches manufactured for our own lovely new Dungeon!). I wanted to spend some time in discussion with a talented body painter/artist who goes by the name Ark Angel, but she was so incredibly busy she barely had a chance to look up once and take her focus away from the frenzied pace of her amazing work. Her living masterpieces livened up the halls, doorways and vestibules of every corner of The Opera House throughout the evening and certainly provided a certain dramatic flair (and counterpoint to all the leather, latex and PVC for that matter).

While the somewhat expected presence of extreme body piercers, suspension artists and body modification aficiandos (which have become the trademark of any number of Torture Garden photo spreads in any number of fetish-related magazines throughout the years) was indeed sorely lacking, the sheer level of artistry displayed in the costumes and ensembles was certainly shades above the norm usually enjoyed and referred to as “eye candy” by the adoring Toronto fetish crowd. You simply couldn’t turn your head without your eyes being deliciously assaulted by the visage of some ethereal creature that you just couldn’t tear your gaze away from. In that respect, and despite the absence of the “over the top and extreme” practitioners, Torture Garden Toronto certainly compared favourably with, and holds up well when compared to, its European, Asian and American counterparts.

Yes, it is true that there were indeed other events other than the main event on Saturday night. There was a “Meet and Greet” on the Friday evening at the Reverb location (where the Subspace events are generally held every month) that featured an eye-popping performance by a rather risque human circus known as I Was Cured, who contributed an astonishing piercing and suspension display (by all accounts); and there was a closing event on Sunday evening in a much smaller, off the normally-beaten-track nightclub known as Club Neutral. Both of these events, while adequately attended and appreciated by those who came, simply paled in comparison to the grandeur that was the main gathering at The Opera House on Saturday night. Torture Garden Toronto was, quite emphatically, the best gathering of fetish folk – and the best outright party – this regional area has seen since last year’s Northbound Leather annual event (and we are quite certain this year’s Tribe by Northbound in October is going to be one amazing and unforgettable adventure as well). The North East region, and especially Southern Ontario, is becoming quite the in-demand hotbed of activity for fetish-minded folk looking to attend larger and more “upscale” events – and our area is quite fortunate to have mainstays such as Northbound Leather and their excellent array of events appropriately complimented by new, exciting ventures such as Torture Garden.

This coming weekend, the journey continues, as Lady J and I are off to report on the various happenings and events scheduled for the Montreal Fetish Weekend. If any of you dedicated fetish folk will be in Montreal September 4th to 6th, please do stop and say hello – and let us know your thoughts and feedback. It will be a perfect way to close out a truly tremendous summer of undeniable fetish fun. We’ll be celebrating the arrival of Autumn with a fantastic time in Canada’s own version of “The Eternal City”, the beautiful Ville de Montreal – why don’t the lot of you come and celebrate with us?

While you’re at it, why not plan ahead and reserve your spots for Torture Garden Toronto next year? If this initial effort is any kind of indication of the quality of good times to be had by all at future iterations, then next year’s event is certainly best described as a “can’t miss weekend” on your 2010 Summer calendars. I’m certainly more than impressed with this year’s offering …

Kardynyl SynysTyr

(Photos from Torture Garden Toronto will be available for view shortly and upon approval by the event organizers. Photos of Torture Garden courtesy of Torture Garden Toronto website.)

With the success of the Marquis America Fetish Ball in San Francisco on July 18th, 2009, it only seems right and proper that (as a Community facilitator) some attention should be paid to some of the other world-class events coming our way in August of 2009. Consider this an “Event Guide” in which to pick and choose which, if certainly not all, fabulously fetishy functions you funky freaky types may desire to attend. Naturally, you very well may see Your Humble Narrator and Only True Friend (that being Swann, the ever-beloved Defender of the Faith known as Kardynyl SynysTyr) out and about with his incredibly beautiful and oh-so-wicked Leather Life partner (the incomparable Lady J) at most of these gatherings – and if you do happen to come across our path, we would very much welcome the chance to pay our respects and express our regards. Don’t be too surprised when you encounter other dedicated facilitators and educators out amongst the throngs at some of the events listed below: I do not think it’s too much of a stretch to suggest you may meet some very gifted and lovely folk (such as our own Eric Von Gutenberg, the immortal Midori, the extremely talented, friendly and personable Lord Morpheus and even the legendary Rubber Queen, The Baroness herself) out enjoying themselves amongst the populace. This is truly going to be an August to Remember – and Marquis America is looking forward to bringing you all the highlights in the coming weeks from each of these these fine “lifestyle” offerings!

Fetish Con 2009

August 13 – August 16, 2009 ~ Tampa Bay, Florida ~ The Hyatt Regency: 211, North Tampa Street, Tampa Bay, FL

Host Description:

“Located in sunny Tampa Florida, Fetish Con is the place to be if you want to meet like minded kinky people. The show has vendors, many many of the models and producers you have grown to love over the years as well as work shops and demos.”

Weird Fact That May Interest Only Me:

Tony Moran, the actor who first portrayed Michael Meyers in the original Halloween film series, is a “featured guest”. Other invited guests include fetish models Stacy Burke, Kendra James,Jean Bardot and Jewell Marceau. Maybe it’s just me, but … Michael Meyers turned loose amongst a bevy of ultra-beautiful bound and gagged fetish vixens? Are you thinking what I’m thinking?

Will You See Kardynyl SynysTyr and Lady J There?

Not this year. Anyone who is attending is encouraged to write their thoughts and opinions and forward them to me, though. There was just too many fairly “local” events to attend this year and we had to eliminate some from our calendars. Local Toronto fetish icons Maxine X and Siren Thorn will be there, though. I hope they’re able to survive the “carnage” – meaning I am quite sure they’ll have an amazing time. We wish we could be there!

Caning Connoisseur Back to School Party

August 15 2009 ~ Toronto, Ontario ~ The Patricia Marsh House of Domination and Fantasy, Toronto

Host Description:

“Please join us for our “Back To School” English Style Spanking/Corporal Punishment Party to bring in the start of a new school year. This event will take place once again at the fabulous venue of Patricia Marsh’s Dungeon.”

Weird Fact That May Interest Only Me:

Lord Cane, the event organizer and amazing host, is originally from Manchester, England. He is therefore a dyed red-in-the-wool Manchester United football (soccer) fanatic (as is Your Humble Narrator). There’s something about the English and their love for the cane that appeals to the baser instincts in all of us – and no-one in Toronto hosts a better party.

Will You See Kardynyl SynysTyr and Lady J There?

Absolutely. I think those in attendance are going to have severe apoplexy when they get to see Lady J in her English Headmistress finery – school strap at the ready.  This is the one “small scale” event (hosted in a world reknown and legendary venue, the unbelievable Patricia Marsh House of Domination and Fantasy) that we’re most excited about this summer. It’s a great atmosphere – and an awful lot of fun. It’s a unique modern spin to a very “old school” style of discipline – and Lord Cane truly is one amazing and completely engaging event host.

Church Street Fetish Fair

August 16 2009 ~ Toronto, Ontario ~ Church Street, Toronto, Ontario, Canada

Host Description:

“The street fair will take place on Sunday, August 16, 2009 from 11am to 11pm. Enjoy the day and get into the spirit of the event by dressing in your fetish and/or fantasy wear.

The three-block closure of Church Street will run from Gloucester Street south to Alexander Street. The fair is held to encourage people to exhibit that fun side of their personalities that might not be shown during other types of celebrations. Not everyone visits leather-oriented bars or events, or can have an outlet to display their inner fantasies, so the fair will provide a fun, secure atmosphere for people to mingle and party, as well as advance the visibility of the leather-fetish-fantasy community at large.”

Weird Fact That May Interest Only Me:

Second in size to the infamous Folsom Street Fetish Fair in San Francisco, the Church Street Fetish Fair drew over 30,000 people to the “Rainbow” in 2008. Considering the amount of rain there has been in Toronto this year (not to mention the recently settled garbage worker’s strike), it will be tough to top those numbers from a year ago: but the event is well promoted and well organized – here’s hoping the crowds continue to gather for the 2009 event.

Will You See Kardynyl SynysTyr and Lady J There?

Yes. We will be volunteering our services in several capacities for the event organizers. We’re looking forward to this year’s event, very much – and the opportunity to meet new like-minded folk!

Torture Garden Toronto

August 29 2009 ~ The Opera House ~ 735 Queen Street East, Toronto, Ontario, Canada

Host Description:

“Toronto will join London, Moscow, Athens, Rome, Paris and Tokyo where Torture Garden has hosted major events. Described as “legendary” by Time Out magazine – Marilyn Manson, Dita von Teese and Jean-Paul Gaultier, have all been to Torture Garden nights!

Torture Garden, from the U.K. is the Cirque Du Soleil of the Body Mod, Fetish and flesh hook suspension world – performing for the first time ever in Canada! Opera House Aug 29th. Full performances and fashion show, Medieval Devices Exhibits and many special guests.

*HUGE DANCE FLOOR with DJ’s Allen, David, DJ Pale, DJ Prospero

*SECOND FLOOR DUNGEON / PLAY AREAS

Weird Fact That May Interest Only Me:

This is the first time a Torture Garden event has been hosted in Canada. The name comes (I believe) a novel written in France at the height of the Dreyfuss Affair and was first published in 1899. A young woman delights in witnessing floggings, crucifixions and other various tortures in a beautiful Cantonese garden – within a maximum security prison. A very appropriate name, n’est-ce pas?

Will You See Kardynyl SynysTyr and Lady J There?

Not only will we be in attendance, but we’ll be very busy helping to make this exciting new event a tremendous success and turn it into a cherished yearly event. Please do stop and say a “hello” if you happen to cross our path during the weekend! This is the one event this summer we’re most looking forward to.

Montreal Fetish Weekend

September 4 - September 6 2009 ~ Club Sin, L’Espace, Loft du Chateau, Phillips Lounge. Le Medley ~ 1170 St-Denis, Montreal, Quebec, Canada

Host Description:

“The Montreal Fetish Weekend (September 4-5-6) is right around the corner and to celebrate our 5th anniversary we’re welcoming over 50 artists, designers, models, photographers and performers from all around the world.

We’ve also expanded the weekend schedule to 5 incredible parties in 5 nights with workshops, activities and the incredible Montreal after-parties to top it all off!

With over 150 VIP passes already sold to international attendees you can be certain that this event is the place where you will meet the sexiest fetish people in the world. A great place to make new, long lasting friendships!

Don’t miss this once-a-year event!

It is a spectacular weekend that attracts a diverse group of dedicated local enthusiasts and international fetish jet-setters.

Creating an interactive environment where everyone can safely explore their utmost fantasies is one of our main goals!

The Montreal Fetish Weekend is a quintessential opportunity to let loose, meet and mingle with some of the world’s most renowned models, designers, artists, performers, film-makers and Mistresses!

 

Weird Fact That May Interest Only Me:

This event has attracted some of the most well-known names associated with the Latex World from dozens of countries. Montreal is one of the world’s truly great cities: but be prepared to bring along a translator or at least a French to English translation guide. Montreal is one of the top English-speaking megacities in the world, but at least attempting to speak French is appreciated by the locals. Oh, one more thing: Quebecois French isn’t the language you leaned in High School, either: be prepared to “talk a lot with your hands”.

Will You See Kardynyl SynysTyr and Lady J There?

This is one event that Lady J has participated in on several occasions. It will be a first time venture for Your Humble Narrator. We’re proud to be included amongst the throngs this year for the first time as a “couple”. This would be second on our “must attend” list, and the perfect way to say good-bye to the summer!

What, exactly, is happening in the Great Melting Pot that is “Internet SM” these days, anyway?

There is a great line at the very beginning of the landmark and worshipped Rob Reiner film from 1987, The Princess Bride, in which a grandfather (the immortal Peter Falk) remarks to his flu-ridden grandson (a very young Fred Savage), “In my day, movies were called books!”. While The Princess Bride has certainly become a favorite amongst any number of worshipping SM-types (go on, I dare you: who is not familiar with either the phrase, My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die or, Life is pain, Highness! Anyone who says differently is selling something!), and will go down in history as probably one of the best fantasy book adaptations in cinematic history, I don’t believe that author William Goldman could have possibly imagined just how popular his little “adult fairy tale” was going to become. Or indeed, perhaps how prophetic. I am quite certain he had no idea his book and subsequent film (in which he wrote the screenplay) would be considered a staple on the “must haves” of DVD collections of fetishists everywhere. Life is Pain. Indeed …

Thus to paraphrase Grandfather and applying wise words to a stricken populace: “In my day, the Internet was called ‘magazines’.” At least, insofar as attempting to disseminate appropriate direction about just who, what, where, why and when SM folks are to meet and exchange information (see: “proclivities”) is concerned. Since the very early dawn of the Internet age, unheard of amounts of folk have feverishly searched through various web pages, web announcements and contact boards (or dating sites, for that matter) in an effort to instantly reach out to like-minded practitioners who may be able to invest a bit of personal time in their own immersion into sadomasochistic pursuits. The Internet, sadly, is littered with the remains of far too many over-eager men and women who made life-altering decisions based on truly nothing more than a singular interest in a sensually-based personal vehicle of expression. It is a sad thing, really, when you take the time to reflect: I am quite certain there is not a single person amongst our common lovely Community (and in that I mean SM as a whole, world-wide) who has not known the heartbreak of utter disappointment and the shattering of a prayed-for dream when, after spending “quality time” with the Master or Mistress or Slave of their dreams, comes to see their true “identity” when all the masks finally crumble from their respective faces – and the “Dream” is exposed as the “Flesh and Blood Person” that they really are. That is to say, of course, fallible … and all too human. William Goldman’s original book, The Princess Bride,  is a very “human” tale set in fantastical settings about damaged people intent on fulfilling obsessions and destinies. It is a book about the search for True Love and High Adventure – can we not claim the vast, borderless landscape known as “Cyber Land” a very appropriate parallel, then?

Over the years, more websites and contact boards have sprung up, almost daily it seems, with the noble intention of providing like-minded seekers with an appropriate and comfortable atmosphere in which to engage other interested parties in discussions involving a wide range of SM-related topics. Entire websites have been devoted to even the most peripheral of paraphilias have been established, and are well patronized by any number of searchers. Anyone with a diaper fetish who loves to be dressed as a rubber dolly, while being summarily punished with a spatula by a sadistic leather-draped Domina in a demented clown costume, is sure to find what they’re looking for if they just let their “fingers do the searching”, after all. But the larger question has always been: How do you watch over that which is unwatchable? Just how do you police the “unpoliceable” – and appropriately?

Sadly, human nature being what it is, if people were simply willing to “live and let live”, then “Cyber Land” just might be the happiest virtual kingdom on the planet. But there’s the Shakespearean rub: Even the most idyllic and seemingly blissful of phantom Kingdoms have their rats scurrying about, nibbling away at solid foundations until eventually, those blissful walls crumble – and more than one Life is left in utter ruins. There are even well-documented cases of outright murder being blamed on the influence of SM (remember the ‘Slavemaster’ episode in Kansas not all that long ago, for instance?) While we can talk about going from one extreme to the other, perhaps just taking a small step forward and reigning in the rogues influences ourselves, would be a great place to start.

To begin, as an example assuredly, it does appear that there are many out there who feel they have some kind of “Divine Right” to be recognized as a Prince or Princess (or God or Goddess, even) that it is almost impossible to instantly gauge who is reputable and respected - and who isn’t – by reading short snippets of personal descriptions (and embellishments) on any number of profiles on a myriad of endless (and some mindless) SM-related websites. The one thing that cannot be in dispute: Marquis as an entity was around before the mass advent of the Internet as the world’s largest “throbbing” mass-dating mechanism – and has grown now to foster and nurture Marquis America under the watchful eye of its original brain-trust. The transition from glossy, slick, classy and truly elegant Fetish-related store-bought periodical to an equally admirable web presence has been virtually seamless. Marquis always has been positioned as the Voice of Fetish in an increasingly demanding world, thirsting for more and more imagery and knowledge, in an even more increasingly impatient Fetish world. We all want “it”, and we want “it” instantaneously. Entire fortunes have been made – and squandered, in some cases – from other publications who didn’t take the time to foster and properly grow their own web presence in such a meticulous, calculated – and truly beneficial – process.

Some publications, long-since consigned to the dustbins of used bookstores and seedy adult “second hand” bookshops, even took to “manufacturing” phony contact ads (and in some cases even completely phantom companies) in an effort to pad their pages and try to give their publications some sense of street credibility. Those publications are long, and thankfully, gone from our collective view. Others, such as the revolutionary (and long covetted by collectors) old issues of John Willie’s Bizarre were forced out of publication by intense, artificially indignent outrage by a handful of powerful people. But the recent phenomenon remains: over the past few years, using the Internet as a largely unpoliced delivery machine, there has been an alarming number of individuals (some of whom even at one time had an enormous following of their own and were regarded as ‘respected’ and ‘authorities’) have lobbed destructive accusatory bombs in the general directions of their one-time associates and peers, in some mystifying and disconcerting effort to somehow tarnish entire reputations of some very good people. Certainly once an individual, or a corporation, opens up their publication and their very name to such an unending pool of opinionated humanity they shouldn’t be too surprised that pettiness, professional jealousy and outright mischief can often result in an equally unending parade of trials and tribulations. Some individuals in SM communities across various cities across the globe have even somehow managed to delude themselves that the fake profiles they manufacture on some of these contact websites (even though such things as spelling, grammar and punctuation are a dead giveaway as to who is the actual creator of said profile) are accepted as verbatim truth. It isn’t a coincidence that these fake profiles appear to glorify a particular individual, and are very obviously intended to give some sort of ethereal credibility to someone else rather than truly paint a realistic, individual portrait of the “original subject”. We all know them: the kind of people who make claims of having “years of experience” and are “integral parts of our communities” whom no-one had ever really heard of before suddenly showing up (usually self-trumpeting with great pomp and circumstance) across our collective electronic communal assemblies. Some of these “experts” make rather eyebrow raising claims about “being trained” in, or “heavily immersed” in, all-too-phantom “European Organizations”. I am quite sure every community can point to at least one individual who has made such claims (or worse).

There have been several open-pitched electronic battles waged between long-established entities in the SM world (who seem to believe that the world should conform and change to them rather than – Goddess forbid! – they actually learn to change with the world around them) and newer, more technically-savvy dedicated providers. “Old School” advertisements used to take a far more “mystical and mysterious” approach – and give little to nothing to hint of the “attitude” that may lay quietly (or disquietly, in some cases of course) beneath the veneer exhibited by a meer black and white advertisement in the tattered pages of a newsprint periodical. One long-time self-acclaimed “expert” (who has been at the forefront of SM video production and SM magazine publication for decades) has managed to become a very sad example of exactly what not to be in this modern world by launching a one-person, extremely vindictive (and potentially extremely dangerous) open attack on one particular and extremely popular SM-oriented website and that website’s founders. The accusations being published by this individual for all to see on the Internet are extremely inflammatory, and could be considered outright libel and slander. It is very obvious this one individual is waging too personal a war in too controversial a way over an over-exposed and emphasized perception of an intended slight (how many of us out there already know similar stories, hmm?) – and the truth is, this person’s “efforts” to denigrate an entire website and every one of its members by association with a baseless and (what appears to be) entirely false accusation does appear to be having a modicum of effect. This person’s rantings and ravings across various “free” web portals and services are being read everyday – and there isn’t anyone, or anything, able to issue a “cease and desist order” to prevent her from doing so. (Note: The photo is for reference purposes only and is not in anyway reflective of the individual being referred to in this article.)

Not even the threat of legal repercussions for slander and libel appears to be much of a threat to these kinds of people: At present, the moment a website accepts advertising content on its pages, they are regarded as a publisher, and as a publisher they are liable for the content allowed to be viewed and digested on their systems. Ironically, some of these web portals are such gargantuan entities unto themselves that the very notion of taking them to court for allowing the publication of slanderous and libellous comments is ludicrous unto itself: these giants have far more legal resources at their disposal than nearly anyone else and there simply isn’t a hope that such actions will bear satisfactory fruit. That, in itself, is truly a conundrum, and a problem. It means that those who wish to wage war and do “ill will”, regardless of what “the truth” is, are perfectly free – and able – to do so with little fear of repercussion and little “policing” unless its under the auspices of their own peers. That itself rarely, if ever, truly silences a maverick voice intent on wanton verbal destruction and desecration. Usually, those large web portals give users the right to create their own “groups” and “webpages” that are difficult and usually impossible to monitor and (in extreme cases) outright censor. The rule of thumb appears to be: unless the “group” or “web page” is an open advocate of outright illegal activity, the providers will tend to leave them alone and let them spew their venom for all to unfortunately digest – and human nature being what it is, while the vast majority of readers will dismiss some of these missives as the rantings of an angry, dispossessed and/or jaded individual, the “message” will hit intended targets and stick in some minds. Opinions will therefore be formed – right or wrong – and wrongful, dangerous information thus gets perpetrated, ad nauseum, until the lines of reality are truly too blurred to even attempt to try and disengage the “truth” … from “fantasy’. At least the “old school” publications had a sense of decorum to live up to – as “dated” as they appear to us “modern agers” now, those old newsprint periodicals at least served a valuable purpose in what appears to be a more respectful (and less “knee-jerk reactionary”) time that what we’re collectively exposed to today.

In the one instance (as noted above), the person waging their “War” against one particular website has resorted to such dangerous tactics under the troubling “grey area” of matters of legality: and this is a “War” in which no one in our lovely little peculiar institution could possible be declared as a ”victor”. We  all stand to lose … and eventually, we all may if the Internet continues to become more and more censored, and closed to all “alternative minded folk” – and all because someone got their knickers in a knot when another dared to disagree with them. Or worse: take the steps necessary to remove the original offender from everyone’s sphere of influence, and justifiably. How, then, can we possibly “police” ourselves? Are we therefore consigned to a simple waiting process? It seems like it’s only a matter of time before “government” raises its huge hand and lowers the “Censorship Boom” on all of us …

… unless this particular phantom “Vernacular Holocaust” can somehow be avoided in the future by all of us being a little more vigilant: we can’t stop these people from unleashing their indignity and hatred upon their peers and colleagues. But, we can certainly and collectively ignore them. I, for one, know that that works: Some people stopped reading my own rantings and ravings years ago, until I “wised up” and realized I could do far more “good” for the world-wide SM Community by being objective and fair than by being petty and personally vindictive.

I do hope everyone with a war to wage, eventually, comes to that realization. We’ll all be the better for it.

In Toronto – and I am quite sure in other major cities across North America – there has been a constant criticism about large-scale SM-related events “being more associated with a stand-and-model crowd” than with a “hard-core leather lifestyle crowd.” Some of the older denizens of the Kinkdom – Your Humble Narrator included – has in the past pontificated and railed at will against some of these “antiseptic” kinds of events not quite going far enough to appease absolutely everyone who plunks down their hard-earned dollars to attend any number of Fetish events: no matter how well organized, or attended.

To quote a famous 1960′s folk song, “The times – they are a-changin’”.

By all reports, the Marquis Fetish Ball was a tremendous success – and seems to have been well-received universally by those who attended. It isn’t self-serving in the slightest to congratulate our own Erik Von Gutenberg and the lovely Miss Suzanne Forbes, et al, for tirelessly working to ensure that a great time was had by all who attended: and my lovely partner in leather crime, Lady J, and I were quite sorrowed that we had to miss it (due to personal time constraints and unexpected life issues).

Just how does an organizer keep everyone who wishes to come to such events … happy?

This past weekend, Lady J and I ventured out to a long-running event in Toronto called SUBSPACE, held at one of the city’s largest venues, the iconic, old-school Goth emporium known as the Reverb.

We came to hear Angel Trumpets and Devil Trombones … we were, in essence, invited (with apologies to Alex DeLarge of A Clockwork Orange fame)  – and I freely admit to my own reluctance to attend said event, simply because as someone who is regarded as somewhat of a “Defender of the Faith” for “old-school SM types”, I have (in the past) been admittedly somewhat contemptuous and skeptical about the validity of large gatherings of Fetish folk in oh-so-public a venue. However, based on the glowing reports of “good times being had by all” at the Fetish Ball  in the Bay Area weekend last, Lady J and I put on our best leather finery – and ventured out amongst the people to the popular SUBSPACE event. Lady J had a prior commitment, a woman’s only function at the Patricia Marsh House of Domination and Fantasy, and she was admittedly a little tired by the time we actually walked through the main doors to the Reverb.

Well, my Brothers and Sisters and Only True Friends … We had a tremendous time. If there was a ‘downside’ to anything last night, it was only the fact that in the main room (the dance hall), we couldn’t quite hear anything with the enjoyable, but incessant thump, of the lovely music – but that isn’t a complaint. The “eye candy” dancing deliriously on the parquet floor was certainly worth the trade-off of not being able to hear yourself think for a short time. Very much unlike events in Toronto in the past, the percentage of men and women who participated in the festivities took great pains to dress completely en fetische - and it was amazing being able to view the array of assembled revelry and costumery.

The SUBSPACE organizers do a pretty damn good job at hosting a first-rate event, if last night was any indication. Good people … great location … fantastic atmosphere … Really, for a more “social setting” with an SM theme, I daresay there are few (if any) gatherings in Toronto that are so well planned and put together that take the time to cater to everyone – and don’t seem to exist simply for the glorification, nauseating self-aggrandizement of some event’s original organizers (as has been the case especially in “the past”). The atmosphere wasn’t “seedy” or “overtly sexual” at all – and the staff, to a person, we felt were exceptional.

An event “for the people by the people” – which is exactly how the Marquis Fetish Ball should be described. SUBSPACE doesn’t pretend to be any kind of “hard core play party” and has never been billed as such: It’s a chance simply for good people to gather in a great space and a great environment – and in that regard, I personally felt the organizers filled that objective with pure and absolute success. The same organizers are bringing the UK’s landmark Torture Garden “franchise” to Toronto at the end of August – and if SUBSPACE is any indication, that event should prove to be a complete Tour de Force and a triumph for the Southern Ontario community in its own right.

SUBSPACEwas a perfect blend of “older and experienced” folk and “excited new explorers”, in our opinion. The dancers had a place to dance; the socializers had a quiet place to talk with old friends and make new ones; and the players had a place to play. That’s rare – especially for Toronto – where the focus in the past has been to cram as many people as possible into a confined, single space seemingly in an effort to simply line an organizer’s pockets with as much “green” as possible.

As mentioned previously, Lady J had been to a private event earlier in the evening and her feet were starting to feel the oppression of stiletto heeled boots and her ribs the unforgiving confinement of a heavy leather, superbly crafted Northbound Leather corset after all: so to the young Lady who graciously gave up her chair for Lady J to be able to rest for a while in the upstairs “socializing room”, I send my personal thanks and extreme, humbled gratitude. Even the best Dominas in the world, and Lady J is certainly in that class, can’t be on her feet in extreme high-heeled boots for eight or more straight hours and not have them start to “tingle” a wee bit, after all – let alone face the nightmare (and every well-corsetted Domina knows this pain) of having to even make the attempt to use the washroom facilities.

Just a microcosmic example of the kind of “class” people exhibited at SUBSPACE last night – and we had an amazing, truly fantastic time. I was personally extremely impressed – and truly believe more event organizers should take the time to make sure that all of their guests feel as warmly welcomed, and comfortable.

Event organizers – especially in Toronto – should pay heed and take a few notes from the excellent organizers that bring SUBSPACE to the anxious fetish crowds who gather in the effort to share like minds. I believe everyone had a fantastic time (I know Lady J and I certainly did) – and we’re looking very forward to renewing acquaintances with new friends at the Torture Garden event at the end of August.

It’s a tough juggling act, trying to keep everyone “happy” - and SUBSPACE at least, performs that particular act very, very well.

SUBSPACE is held at the Reverb in Toronto the last Saturday of every month. More information about SUBSPACE can be accessed through their website.

Sit back, grab a coffee and a cookie. Your Humble Narrator and True Friend has a bone to pick. And I intend to pick it. With apologies to the immortal, late Peter Finch, “I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not going to take this anymore!”

Ever since the advent of the Internet as a mass communication device – your personal computers are truly nothing more than just another piece of talking furniture, really – the delicate art of introduction and the refined dance that is courtship seems to have been completely ignored. If not, dare I say it – completely destroyed.

In essence, what I am suggesting here … is just what the hell is wrong with some of you people?

Tell me true, because I would really like to know: Do any of you (man and woman alike) truly believe that you’re going to find the “person of your dreams and wet nightmares” by merely sending a letter (email) to someone you admire (on any number of SM-related contact sites) that contains the awe-inspiring phrase, “Hi. How are you?” and nothing more?

Please, before the abject tension slays me beyond redemption, relate to me exactly how the phrase “Nice boots, I want to lick them for you!” or something equally pithy and condensed could possibly describe anything remotely interesting about you – other than the fact that you happen to like depositing your drool upon booted feet?

I implore you: Kindly dictate for me exactly why the phrase “U R so hotttt lets do it” should ever deign to inspire the intended object of your lust and desire to slam the palm of his or her hand into their respective foreheads and shout to the heavens for all the choir of horny angels to rejoice together in a moment of crystal, unholy clarity: “Finally! Someone who understands me! I’ve waited my whole adult life for just such a staggeringly intelligent petition!”

With all due respect to all those who value brevity as some sort of badge of communicative honor, I must scratch my head and truly wonder aloud: Does any of these kinds of condensed approaches truly work for you? Sure, I get it – if there are accompanying photographs with any number of well-written profiles (across a plethora of websites designed to bring people of a like-mind together), you’d be inclined to want to write … something … in an effort to pay your respects and show your intended devotions. But do you really think you’re going to properly and thoroughly engage a Dominant or submissive in the reciprocation of interest with such banal nonsense?

More and more, I have been agitated by “letters of introduction” that consist of nothing more than a single line, and more often than not written in the “New Condensed English” where single vowels movements and consonants take the place of entirely written words. Is it truly that difficult to spell out entire words for some of you? Is the word you that difficult to type? Are you collectively in such a hurry to make first contact that you can’t find the y and o to accompany the vowel u on your keyboards?

Granted – as a sadistic, Dominant male in this Life I certainly do not receive anywhere near the amount of these kinds of “introductory petitions” in the way that I am quite certain Dominant (or submissive, for that matter) females certainly have to contend with. Perhaps the “shotgun” approach may work: perhaps by sending out hundreds of these kinds of emails to a seemingly unending supply of appropriately-minded folk may actually work once in a metaphorical blue moon. Perhaps … but I’m willing to wager big money the enthusiastic response rate is nothing in comparison to the sheer volumes of these kinds of insipid attempts at engagement that most assuredly clutter the various webpages across the Internet. Perhaps the inclusion of sensual, suggestive and appropriately themed photographs may lead to a positive response in such instances: but I’m entirely convinced the vast amount of these kinds of severely curtailed and edited attempts end up consigned exactly where they belong. That is to say, given a cursory glance, and deleted into millions of Recycle bins without ever having a hope of a reply.

Speaking of photographs: Could someone, anyone, please explain to me why including nothing more than a stark camera shot of your “nether bits” (either displayed on a profile or included within the maddeningly short initial correspondence) could possibly hope to illicit any kind of enthusiastic reply? Please explain further to me exactly why a fuzzy camera shot of your private parts could possibly be more interesting to a potential mate, or play mate, than a well-taken representative face or full-body photo? As my beloved Lady J once said, after receiving yet another in a long long line of “rooster shots” from an aspiring admirer and supplicant, ‘That’s nice. I wonder how I’m supposed to recognize him in a coffee shop?”

I strongly suggest that the multitudes of you out there who are either too busy … too uneducated … or, as I suspect, simply too lazy … to have the desire to craft proper letters of introduction to those women and men that truly inspire you to want to communicate with them in the first place: Take the time to write at least something somewhat revealing and interesting about yourselves. I firmly believe that will go a long, long way into opening the desired doors of two-way communication with those whom you’d like to spend some appropriate time with. Quality time in making an initial effort can – and does – usually result in quality time exploring the mutual interests you may wish to share with a new, potential partner.

I mean, could you imagine how uninteresting our world would be if Ludwig Van Beethoven, one of the great love-letter writers in all of recorded history, had sent simple notes to his long-pined for intended that merely said, “Hey baby, love the corsets! Let’s bang ‘trebles and clefs’ until I can’t hear anything, anymore!”

In the meantime, Enjoy your coffee and your cookie.

Have a Great Time and at the MARQUIS FETISH BALL Everyone!

SM used to be considered the crème de la crème of sensual expression. When, and why, did SM turn into just another internet peepshow?

Are there really women out there who just can’t get enough of men sending them a shot of their genitals? Are there really men out there who can’t get enough of women sending them a shot of their breasts? Are these people so incredibly facially deformed that they feel they need to make up for it by sending total strangers (in most cases) incredibly detailed photographs of their gonads and bust lines? How utterly pedantic, and how diametrically opposed to everything SM was supposed to be about. Nudity is a privilege earned by both the Dominant and the submissive. It appears, judging by the amount of mostly-naked “professional SM” adverts out there on the world wide web, that blatant exposing of one’s self is considered somehow “normal” and “appropriate”. Whatever happened to the old adage that it’s more sensual, and sexy, to “leave something to the imagination?

In the years prior to the advent of mass communication via desktop computers, truly trained and experienced Dominas would be dressed from neck to toe in something that made them feel powerful: showing any bare flesh was a right their boy or girl had to earn. It isn’t the nudity of the male or female body that instantly appeals to us, per se, and it is absolutely true that there are some dedicated naturists in our world who prefer to be clad in nothing but the very air they breathe, even when engaging in a sadomasochistic activity.

But for the vast majority of people involved in our peculiar little institution, and as has always been the case, fetishism is an integral part of the illusion of consensual slavery. It is an absolute truth that unless both the dominant and submissive invest and believe in the illusion of ownership they are mutually creating, the reality can and will quickly crumble. Fetish wear, gloves, shoes, boots, lingerie, etc. are all a standard part of the illusion that is a consensual power exchange to be sure – but it’s the actions and attitudes of both the Dominant and submissive partners who sustain the reality.

It is said, and with some factual basis, that it must have been a man who invented the high heeled shoes and boots that even the most basic businesswoman will don as a part of her day to day uniform. Leather attire has always been viewed as a symbol of sensual confidence, for men and women both. There are man-made materials today, some resembling even the shiniest latex or the supplest of leathers that are affordable for even the most casual of SM practitioners.

Through observation and through experience, I can confidently declare that the Domina who advertises herself through an online profile or in a contact magazine and who dresses the part (and thereby creates the aura of initial illusion) will win the majority of responses from men and women who seek them out, whether they’re “professional” or not. At least, that was certainly true in the days before instant accessibility. The era of the internet has succeeded in destroying forever the art of approach, and has reduced the usual rules of courtship into something rapid, vapid and vulgar.

Today, anyone with a fairly reliable camera, a computer, a nice pair of boots and a cheap dime-store whip, dressed only in a bra and panties or (in some men’s cases), tight fitting briefs and bare-chested for all the world to see, somehow assumes it is “acceptable” and “tasteful” to demand to be referred to as ‘Mistress’ or ‘Master’ and taken seriously as some kind of experienced SM practitioner.

The advertisements that do catch the eye of the most dedicated submissive though still tend to be those which show a well dressed, elegant and sensual Dominant. Leather, latex and PVC garments can be elegant as well as sensual. At the very least, being fully dressed on a contact advertisement shows infinitely more class than one that leaves little to the imagination – or nothing to imagine at all.

Publications such as Marquis America, at least, are dedicated to (and bringing back) the esteemed “look” and feel of the dedicated Domina and SM practitioner of old. There is an elegance, for instance, in seeing the visage of someone such as Marquis Adult Toy Reviewer and writer Mistress Darkniis finely attired in her chosen latex wear – and covered completely from head to toe. Mistress Darkniis is a Domina who truly understands the allure – and power – of the completely-clad female form. She uses that powerful imagery to maximum effect: She is developing quite a following ”Down East” amongst latex fetishists especially. Lady J (formerly of Halifax, Nova Scotia, but is as of this writing en route to a new life in Toronto, Ontario), pictured in a gorgeous full-length latex catsuit, full mask, red latex belt and red boots to the right, can be at times somewhat more liberal with the amount of skin she will show to a play partner – but it’s usually reliant on how much that particular partner has earned that privilege. It isn’t a “right” to see her bare shoulders if they haven’t earned the honor of such a reward during a Dominance encounter. Other contributors to this site, and to Marquis America itself, assuredly have similar, “old school” attitudes and sophistocated tastes in what they wear and how they choose to wear it. All of them have one thing in common, however:

It’s all about the “class”. It’s all about the “elegance”. It’s all about bringing back the illusion of absolute power in feminine form by dressing the part in a haunting, sensual and yet suggestive, realistic fashion. There’s a reason why such things are referred to as a Fetish, after all.

(Photos courtesy of Lady J and Big D of Halifax, Nova Scotia)

When one usually thinks of “Fetish Balls”, “Fetish Nights”, “Kinky Craft Fairs”, or “SM Related Business”, the usual first thought will invariably gravitate towards larger, more populated centers.

New York City, Chicago,  Toronto, Montreal and even Los Angeles are usually considered (to most) a version of Mecca in North American SM intended destinations. Those massive cities do indeed, as has been well documented, long-established and thriving communities, and are well known for their various events and offerings.

Across North America, there are growing communites in cities from Wilmington, North Carolina to Seattle, Washington. The communities in the Alberta cities of Calgary and Edmonton, as examples, have been around a long, long time, and as those two boomtowns continue to mushroom in population, their respective societies and groups are sure to forever welcome new seekers and practitioners along the way. Even Denver, Colorado and Winnipeg, Manitoba, have dedicated, loyal artisians and afficiandos who are most welcoming of new blood amongst their midst. It goes without saying, naturally, that San Francisco and Vancouver along the West Coast could be considered the respective “Birthplaces” of SM Culture (the fomer much more than the latter, to be sure), and enthusiasts flock to the shores of the Pacific Northwest without fail for almost every event. The Marquis Fetish Night in San Francisco on July 18th at The Supper Club, for instance,  is guaranteed to attract a well-represented mix of “old school” and “new guard” SM lifestylers.

Alright: So we all know that the mega-cities in their own unique way have established various and near-legendary histories within their respective communities. But what about some of those smaller cities? Do we just dismiss them as “inferior” in the quality of sadomasochistic expression (amongst their community leaders and membership especially), just because they don’t (at first) appear to have a population base to support immersive and passionate fetishists and dedicated, educated SM facilitators?

Recently, Your Humble Narrator and Only True friend had the distinct honor and privilege of participating in a rare, large community “first time” event. In point of fact, and with all bravado and self-gratification sent asunder for evermore, I was surprisingly requested not only to author, but to conduct and preside over a full Claiming Ceremony (or a “collaring”, if you’d prefer that term). The Claimant was an auburn-haired beauty (a near legend in Atlantic SM circles) known by all from Prince Edward Island to Alberta in Canada and in the United States from Maine to Pennsylvania. Her name is, simply, Lady J. Her Supplicant, no shrinking violet herself and truly the epitome and personification of the very word servant, is a striking young lady known throughout the region (by an approprietly chosen adjective rather than a proper noun) as Angelically Depraved.

The Ceremony went off with little a hitch, and was attended by most of the more recognizable personalities in the region. While the evenings festivities were tempered somewhat with the (earth-shattering and dismaying) news to the gathered throng that Lady J would be leaving their community to embark on a career in Toronto, one could not help but get caught up in the pageantry, the ritual, the aura, and the emotion of the proceedings. Lady J has been the very glue that has held this entire region together, as a community, for the better part of a decade – albeit and by her own emphatic word, ‘reluctantly’. While it is unmistakeable that she is considered by almost all fetish and SM enthusiasts in the region as their “Matriarch”, it is a phantom title that she has never been comfortable with, nor has she entirely embraced it in a self-serving standpoint. Everything that she has done – opening up a private SM club; coordinating events and evenings; relied up to be constantly objective and mete out communal justice when necessary; etc. – has been a tireless and selfless service to the entire community, and it is without question that the region is going to miss her teaching, her guidance … and her Love … when the fateful day arrives towards the end of June when she embarks on her new career, and life, in Toronto.

I have personally seen more than one community fall to pieces in an unending cascade of bitterness, recrimination, ego and in some cases down-right ill-will, when a highly respected and revered community leader has fallen, or departs. Truly, the Atlantic Region can be held up as a shining example of the right way in which a community can continue to evolve and develop when they have lost their lynchpin and figurehead personality.

Of course, the Atlantic Region (like all communities) has their share of challenges and exasperations, egos that need to be assauged and disagreements that must be addressed. However, dear friends, I must confess: I have traveled and been witness to dozens of communities in a myriad of North American centers, on two oceans and everywhere in between, and never have I encountered a large community that was as close-knit, respectful of each other and shared (dare I say it) such a feeling of … Love. There is no question that it is the undying efforts of Lady J and her uncompromising insistance on providing that community a “home”, as well as instilling a healthy respect and desire for continued education and awareness, that is the largest single factor in shaping the very healthy future of SM along the East Coast. Before you start to think this missive is all about the “hero worship” of a single woman, allow me to introduce even more positive influences that have also contributed to the cohesion of their SM society, particularly in Halifax but also including the other Atlantic provinces and states.

The Atlantic Region has some very, very gifted people: The pages of the electronic version of Marquis have featured, on one occasion, an extremely dedicated and personable gentleman who goes by the name of Big D. There are few in the area who have such a complete understanding and knowledge of rope bondage, and his flagellation skills are truly second to none. He is also the local authority on Zentai and latex full enclosure, and has a collection of gas masks and “implements of persuasion” that would put almost every “professional” Dungeon to shame. His collection of electrical apparatus and accoutrements truly is second to none. He is approachable and personable – and simply does not have as great an ego to satisfy as some of his peers may have in the larger cities. Halifax also boasts an entire plethora and highly exceptional contingent of Dominent women: Lady Lynn (who acted as the Sergeant-At-Arms for the Claiming Ceremony) is a no-nonsense, extremely engaging and highly respected Domina who has collaborated on several occasions with Lady J to help “serve” the communities needs (I am still trying to figure out exactly just what the hell an  SM Ladies Special is, but apparantly that’s somewhat of a local secret). A younger but no less determined lady who goes by the name Miss Jaded, together with her talented and passionate partner Ranger, are starting to take more of a leading role in community affairs – and while their efforts have encountered some (justified) resistance, no-one amongst their collective could fault their passion or their commitment to the community at large in helping to take over the reigns of leadership from Lady J.

It was a shock and somewhat of a complete surprise to realize that good, decent people – with unassuming names such as Sailor, seaside, Dom “B” and his lovely mate, known simply to all as “Wifey of B”, Master Vadim, Lord Trystan, Krizlee and Stegral are all considered vital and integral voices within their family – and it is a family. I name but a few of the personalities I so lovingly encountered during the celebratory weekend, but all are valued, respected, cherished … and heard … when they have a voice to raise for the good of them all. I mention but a tiny contingent of the many voices that have come together to make the Atlantic Community so very strong and so very tight. In an electronic age when decorum and decency seems to fly out the metaphorical window faster than a trapped and angry hornet, it is a true joy, privilege – and I admit a surprise – to know that at least one smaller community could be held as an exalted example of just how a large community can, in fact, work – when all the talents and experiences of personalities are joined together as that single voice.

In addition to the SM Community at large, one of the best design and “cottage industry” implement manufacturers is a company simply called Halfway Creations. The company is staffed by two engaging and popular, talented women (Kate and Jeanne), and they have become reknown and their products prized and in heavy demand everywhere in the Region for their various collections. A selection of their incredible quality products can be found in virtually every SM enthusiast’s home in Atlantic Canada: their chrome-handled whips and floggers are in short supply and high demand in particular. They offer a variety of restraints and accoutrements in any number of color combinations, and the quality of their work most assuredly compares with any available in the industry. Your Humble Narrator himself has covetted a pair of leather “Shoe Locks” (in red and black leather) of a quality I’ve never encountered before. In addition to their excellent leather products, the pair are also proud to be able to offer the finest quality “Vegan Bondage” gear, crafted from durable latex rubber and extremely solid and reliable. Few SM artisians – even the larger companies – can offer such a wide selection of equipment, in different materials and in a myriad of color combinations.

We all know them, these people. We know that they sail our ships, drive our trucks, manage our stores. We say hello to them passing down opposite sides of the street and we wave good-night to them at the end of the day. They are our neighbors, our friends – and even in some cases our family. It is a common “bond”, you’ll pardon the pun, that all of us who have elected to pursue this peculiar proclivity, warmly share. When a community icon departs, or tragically falls, it is left to the other members of the family to pick up the teachings and the wisdom that they left them – and to do honor to that icon, and their wishes and desires, by steadfastly following in their bootsteps. In that way, they can perhaps collectively think “What would our beloved leader have done?” and act accordingly.

And in that regard, I believe there to be no finer example to be set – in this day and at this time – but the growth and evolution that is about to take place in the Atlantic Region. I firmly believe they will come together as a Family and find a way to resolve any challenges they face, together, and mutually – out of sheer respect for the wishes of their departing Matriach.

What shall be done, shall be done … for Love.

Kardynyl SynysTyr

(All photos Copyright and courtesy of Big D and Lady J of Halifax, Nova Scotia)

Marquis America brings you an excerpt from Mistress Butterfly, currently in development, by T.Q Swann, the Kardynyl SynysTyr. Enjoy this topical passage and feel free to comment!

We’re going to go outside the “comfort zones” of the play parties and social gatherings this week, ana small effort to bring the “heady” back down a little closer to “reality.” There is always an emotional let-down at the end of any number of these events: once the dance lights are packed away, the plastic drink cups are crushed and tossed into the refuse bins, and the last perfectly-dressed fetish dolly has managed to teeter her way home, somehow, in her 8″ stiletto heeled boots (and not managing to snap an ankle, I might add).

And the reminiscing and return to the “real world’ begins. People begin to network with each other, clinging fiercely to their self-imposed honorifics and titles – and strangely seeming out of sorts when not immediately recognized, or immediately respected, by a fellow reveller that had met scant hours before. In my estimation, the illusion of entitlement was dispelled said evening came to a close. Some, however, seem to think it appropriate to carry their artificial titles forward and with them throughout the next – and truly following – light of days. Some of you, I am quite certain, are going to take serious umbrage with my dissertation below: but I welcome the challenge to learn alternative thoughts all the same!

I have a very hard time believing that someone who is between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five could seriously refer to themselves as Master or Mistress. It is amazing, and alarming, how often people seem to assume that a self-imposed crown should bestow upon them instant respect from their peers. Even when people across the European Continent were trying to reach out to each other in the first fledgling modern alternative communities, the simple titles Dom and Domina were designations that had to be earned by deed and proficiency. I have no issues with Dominants asking to be referred to as Sir and Miss/Ma’am/Madam/Madame as an immediate sign of respect. Even the somewhat more modern terms Lord and Lady, pretentious as they may be, can be adopted by those within a community whom have shown leadership and educational abilities. The designation of ‘Master’ and ‘Mistress’, though, I will forever hold the conviction that those over-used pretentious prefixes must be earned, through experience, deed and accomplishment, and not merely appropriated – even though the criteria for earning that respect admittedly has drastically changed over the decades.

In truth, the connotation of the titles ‘Master’ and ‘Mistress’ also tend to indicate wealth, privilege and ownership. The obvious and negative association with the word ‘Master’ harkins to times when human beings actually bought, sold, owned and worked other human beings as nothing more than property – no different in mindset, for those times, than buying a horse. Naturally, the trade and institution of human slavery effectively ended with the end of the American Civil War in 1865: and yet the honorifics of the time have been somewhat modified, sanitized and been deemed as acceptable usage among those who venture into the SM realm.

In keeping with that thought, it is an extreme pretense to mantle one’s self as a ‘Master’ or ‘Mistress’ if said individual really has no resources to undertake the complete care of a man or woman they have indentured. It just makes common sense: if you’re blessed enough to be able to actually have the finances to completely control every aspect of a consenting ‘slave’s’ life, then by definition perhaps the titles are appropriate. The truth is, however, that the vast majority of SM practitioners simply cannot afford to support and sustain another human being in such a manner, though there are some counted amongst the financial fortunate who can, and do. It has always been my contention that unless you can afford to actually keep someone in a state of consensual servitude for twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week (and thereby by default could be considered a ‘Master’ or ‘Mistress’), then those who insist on claiming the title had at least best be very well liked within their own community, perhaps even considered a leader within that community, and most definitely respected by all of their peers.

Speaking of pretentiousness and taking the appellation debate one ludicrous step further, I firmly believe women who refer to themselves as “Goddess This” or “Goddess That” should really do something about their obvious inferiority complex. Strangely, you never see a man advertise himself as “The God This” or “The God That”. If it’s blasphemous for a man to refer to himself as a God (not to mention precipitously tempting fate), then why in the mass accessibility of our New Age can’t certain women realize that to refer to themselves as a Goddess is equally as blasphemous? Does the Greek myth of Cassiopeia happen to come to mind?

For that matter, how can there possibly be so many “Princesses” out there? What country are these “Princesses” from? Which Old World Royalty are they fortunate enough to be born into? It becomes especially insufferable when you discover the living conditions of some of these eidolon autocrats. It is hard to reconcile a “Princess” living in anything other than a castle – and most assuredly not a grim mobile home in some backwoods kingdom. In some cultures, impersonating Royalty is a crime and taken very seriously. How is it that you take someone seriously when they insist on being referred to as “Princess” and their “palace” may consist of one bedroom, a kitchen, a living room and maybe – just maybe – a linen closet in some inner city apartment block? Sure, the illusion of Royalty is romantic to most of us: but cold, hard fact has a way of dousing our romanticism with the cold waters of cynicism.

If you’re a “Goddess” or a “Princess” the moment you stop behaving like a “Goddess” or a “Princess” you have lost all your credibility. These women should stop setting themselves up on so high a pedestal, because as the saying goes, that can only lead to a single inevitability: a very long, hard and unpleasant fall from casuistic grace.

There is one more designation that simply must be mentioned, because it is a word that has become part of the sadomasochistic vernacular and has gained wide acceptance. Thanks to the burgeoning amount of would-be dominatrices who seem to believe everything they ever need to know about being an “expert” sensual dominant can be obtained via the World Wide Web, the word Domme has mysteriously and almost universally replaced the words Dominatrix or Domina as an acceptable adjective. It is a nice word, and the only problem with it – is that is really isn’t a word at all. For whatever reason, during the latter part of the 1990’s, someone with an empowered sense of feminist ideals took great offense to the word Domina and decided that another adjective was needed that was less feminine, and somehow conveyed equality to Dominant men.

This word, “Domme”, was put to good use by the rougher lesbian dominants (“butch”) and, naturally, once the word started to appear on personal web sites, it was quickly adopted as the standard adjective to describe all women of a dominant nature. To the purists, though, trying to gain equality by changing definitions to suit your own agenda tends to indicate a state of inferiority existed in the first place. There are many examples of non-existent words in use today, and in fairness it must be pointed out that until 1902 the word ‘aeroplane’ didn’t exist, either. The times do change and as a byproduct of technology terminology changes as well. However, it is one thing to adopt a new term for something that heretofore didn’t exist in our natural world: it is quite another to just “make one up” when the current, correct title or term doesn’t happen to suit your own haughty and narcissistic ego.

The simple truth is, no matter how people choose to identify and/or categorize themselves, men and women both should chose their honorifics carefully, and be prepared for contempt and derision should they fail to live up to their own artificially-induced expectations. Titles of respect are earned, remember, not merely assumed or expected.

Probably the in any case of the climb internet searches includes the coveted Angelina Jolie bikini paint. Who does not in Spain in all directions from this knife-edged momma? She basically well-grounded has it all – a fledgling livelihood, an equally knife-edged cohort, kids, riches and a diplomatic hospitality to boot. Angelina Jolie could cover representing surroundings president nobility instantly and obtain next to a landslide. On the other deliverance, fans would not pauperism that – in accomplishment, they’re already contended with essentially viewing Angelina Jolie bikini snapshots. Even with her widespread seniority and rearing six children – the critically acclaimed actress looks hotter than by any chance. The famous provenience entered the Hollywood uncomfortable at the bills seniority of fourteen and then branched prohibited into acting some in good time dawdle after.
Ever since Angelina Jolie strutted in the runways a record form, she already elicits drools and swoons from the audience.

Whatever the keyword is, what catapulted Jolie into common outcome and what cemented her knife-edged dominatrix fetish is the shroud Lara Croft: Tomb Raider. The turbulence paint features the knife-edged actress kicking villains and shooting dejection guys in nautical taut starless leather.
Since then, Angelina Jolie has captured the crowd’s reproductive creativity. What’s more, Angelina Jolie many times joins the ranks of the most stirring or the sexiest and hottest roster of people. In accomplishment, a heaps of websites, poop armoury and with in fun in cheek tabloids started dedicating airtime interval representing the knife-edged actress. For multifarious times, she coequal ranked the in any case on those charts.

What’s coequal more unimaginable is, coequal after Jolie gave parturition to three children, she continues to intimate headlines in those kinds of charts and countdowns. on the whole kit
Not extended after she cemented her alcove in Hollywood as the generation’s shagging coat of arms, a heaps of people started surmising in all directions from Jolie’s crucial statistics. Did it interchange when she gave parturition or does she in actuality affinity for unacceptable sexier with seniority? Nevertheless, Angelina Jolie line the reproductive creativity from people all upwards the ball – coequal if her belly elephantine because of pregnancy. Men and women MO can not elevate but be curious well-grounded what the measurements of this gross momma are. She well-grounded not in any MO seems to be defeated steam.
What is more, a heaps websites and network blogs started arguing in all directions from her licit crucial statistics. Some put out that her case assay is 36-C while others aver that it is 36-D.

On the other deliverance, as representing the cause cВlebre of Angelina Jolie’s all-encompassing assembly measurements, the most notable patrol number of websites allot is 36-26-35. Whatever her licit bust assay is, the foolproof paraphernalia is that it is fawning and charming adequately representing multifarious. With this patrol, doggedly a heaps of people fulfil a experience knife-edged to hasten and well-grounded could not elevate them selves from looking representing any Angelina Jolie bikini paint.
What’s more, coequal if Angelina Jolie already gave parturition to three children (and more some in good time dawdle if the rumors are true), she continues to be a shagging coat of arms across the ball. Given the knife-edged actress’ sizzling enumerate, a heaps of people ordain soothe as likely as not search representing Angelina Jolie bikini paint extended after the knife-edged actress age-old.

Source:  http://angelinajolie.123log.de/2009/05/17/angelina-jolie-bikini-picture-chiefly-wooden-spears/

A wise man once wrote that a person’s “eyes are the very windows to a person’s soul.” I respectfully have to disagree. I believe it’s the ears and eyes both that truly inspire us to reveal the very depths of consensual depravity and delicious ecstasies that reside deep in our collective beings. Both visually and auditorily assault our immortal souls with unstoppable passion whilst in the throes of intoxicating expressions of pleasure and pain – in both private settings and public gatherings alike.

While there are hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of visual delights to be had while allowing our fingers to do the walking in the unending pursuit of visual stimulation, assuredly there must be an equal number of preferred musical numbers favored by the sadomasochistic masses which motivate us to swing the whip just  a little faster.

Anyone who has attended any kind of Fetish event in the past two decades surely must have sashayed and seductively grinded their hips in time to the hypnotic “beat” of any number of hard-driving, appropriately themed musical compositions – and usually on the dance floors of the clubs hosting said Fetish events. It goes without saying that such musical efforts have also definitely inspired several rhythmic, syncopated whipping and public torture sessions – the aforementioned visual accompanying delight to all those in attendance, to be sure. Thus, Your Humble Narrator offers up, and submitted for your approval, a Top Five List of some of the best SM-inspired musical numbers sure to be the accompanying “ear candy” to all those lovely visuals we so crave at our ritualistic, hedonistic and sensualistic congregations. There are simply too many great songs to choose from, so I offer the five that I feel truly had the biggest “impact” on our lovely little proclivity throughout the past 50 years:

5. Slave to Love – Bryan Ferry (Nine and a Half Weeks Original Soundtrack)

The 1980′s will be remembered for tight spandex, big hair – and truly the genesis of SM starting to become far more mainstream. Mickey Rourke and Kim Basinger steamed up our movie screens with a fairly good little film about bondage and discipline (with surprisingly little to no actual scenes of bondage or discipline) called Nine and a Half Weeks, based on a short novella of the same title by a New York gallery impresario named Elizabeth MacNeill. Two songs from that iconic soundtrack are featured in this tome – and Slave to Love is a fitting beginning to our list. Who didn’t want to immediately run out and buy some strawberries and honey after listening to this song and watching the infamous “blindfolded kitchen scene?”

Memorable Line: “You’re running with me … Don’t touch the ground … We’re restless hearted … Not the chained and bound …”

4. The Masochism Tango – Tom Lehrer

Tom Lehrer is, of course, a well-known satirist and popular comical speaker on the lecture circuit throughout the United States and Canada. He is also an extremely able mathematician with an unusual penchant for parody: his 1959 record album An Evening With Tom Lehrer was one of the landmark comedy albums that virtually invented the genre. That album became infamous for two pieces in particular: The Elements, a song sung to the tune of Gilbert and Sullivan’s Major Generals Song from The Pirates of Penzance and featured a recitation of the (then known) Periodic Table of the Elements; and a strange little number called The Masochism Tango which to this very day lives fondly in the hearts of every SM purist. While comic in origin, the song is strangely alluring – and enormously entertaining – while still managing to keep the spirit and consensual longing exhibited by even the most thick-skinned of submissive types. I have personally seem more than one well-staged Argentine Tango performance at a Fetish Night being performed to this song, and it never fails to bring a rousing cheer and appreciative applause from the leather and latex clad masses in attendance.

Memorable Line: “At your command, before you here I stand, my heart is in your hand, it’s here that I must be … My heart entreats, just hear those savage beats … and go put on your cleats, and come and trample me …!”

3. Let it Go – Luba (Nine and a Half Weeks Original Soundtrack)

The second, and the best of, the two great songs from the film. It’s the signature song from Nine and a Half Weeks and remains the Canadian songstress’s best known and most loved hit. While very little of the lyrics contained in the song actually directly refers to sadomasochism, it is impossible to ignore the subtle and intoxicating inferences the silky-voiced chanteuse conveys to us. Born Luba Kowalchyk in Montreal in the late 1950′s, Let it Go and the equally hypnotic Every Time I See Your Picture I Cry are her two songs that helped define a generation just waking up to awareness in an all-too-informative electronic age. It is this song, more than any other before it or since, that made it acceptable for artists to express their sadomasochistic desires through song – and nearly a decade before other performers like Madonna made it socially acceptable and mainstream to do so.

Memorable Line: “Uniformity … Conventionality … is the bane of our existence … Keep it safely at a distance … Non-comfority … unconventionality … Is the best to be, let your hair down, can’t you see? Let it go … Let it free your body, uncivilize your soul … Let it go … A woman is made, she is not born …”

2. The Power is Mine – Lords of Acid

It is impossible to choose merely one Techno/Industrial/Gothic Rock song to represent the plethora of excellent, beat-heavy tunes that exploded in our ears in the dance clubs beginning in the early part of the last decade. Therefore, I will choose one that I feel best exemplifies all of them. The Power is Mine has it all: a hard-driving, techno rhythm; exceptionally strong male and female vocals; a memorable melody and an unforgettable, to-the-point set of lyrics. While the Belgian group’s other efforts are utterly laced with extreme sexuality (which undoubtedly is the reason why they became so hugely popular in the dance and fetish clubs of the 1990′s and continue to be so),  The Power is Mine is relatively tame in comparison yet still manages to deliver all of the sensuality and “punch” so favored by fetish enthusiasts everywhere. The band continues to perform, and is still considered by rock purists as one of the true innovators and influencers of sexually charged, hard-edged rock and roll. They will continue to be “the true ambassadors for sexual curiousity” far into the 21st Century.

Memorable Line: “I can break your will … I can make you kneel … I can force you to crawl and to to lick my heels … Because the power is mine …”

1. Sweet Dreams – Eurythmics

 Ah, sweet androgyny: they name truly is Annie Lennox. While the song first hit North American shores in 1983, it wasn’t until roughly four to five years later that the song started gaining universal popularity in the dance and fetish clubs of the “Big Hair” era. It seems incredulous now: but there were actual petitions and movements afoot to have the song banned because of the starkness of its lyrics. In some cities, the word “abused” was actually “bleeped” out when it played on the radio. Compared to the overt and blatant sexual overtones exhibited in everything from Rap music to Industrial and House music today, Sweet Dreams almost appears laughably moderate. Still, the song was – and still is – a trend setter, and was the first huge hit for Annie Lennox and her then partner, the brilliant David Stewart. The song remains the “flagship” piece in comparison with all others of its kind. Footnote: Sweet Dreams was meant to be included in the soundtrack to Nine and a Half Weeks, but the British duo contributed another effort to Adrian Lyne’s film instead: a forgettable little tune called This City Never Sleeps. The intended song though, Sweet Dreams, remains instantly recognizable from the very moment the first strains of the thumping electronic and synthesized beat is heard. It also makes for a great ring tone for your cellular phone: Yours Truly has used the song for that very purposes for years.

Memorable Line: “Some of them want to use you … Some of them want to get used by you … Some of them want to abuse you … Some of them want to be abused …” 

Naturally, there are thousands of other songs that deserve to be in any “top five” or “top ten” list. Breath Control by Recoil is a favored song in the clubs these days, as is Engel by Rammstein and Sexy Back by Justin Timberlake is a favorite among the younger SM set. For a “waltz” or slower number, there’s always the haunting Chains by Tina Arena. The list above, though, opened the door in respective time periods for other artists to follow – and for that alone, they deserve to be revered – and remembered.

Now, what would your all-time SM-related songs be?

It’s ok, we’re all adults here. We can admit it.

We love watching other people victimized in our television shows. We love watching other people raped, tortured and brutalized in our ‘slasher’ flicks. We love reading True Crime novels – knowing we’re safe behind our own four walls and reading about someone else’s harrowing (or even fatal) experiences.

Of course there is a direct correlation between keeping these kinds of “Entertainment” avenues continuously in our ‘Neilson Rating Top Ten Ratings’ and our desire for graphic, violent and exploitive imagery.

There is a reason why seven of the top ten watched television shows are crime dramas (CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, CSI: Miami, CSI New York, Without a Trace, NCIS, Law and Order: Special Victims Unit and Law and Order: Criminal Intent). There is a reason why films such as Hostel, Hostel II and Ransom faired quite poorly at the box office – and yet were at or near the top of DVD rentals and sales for months on end. We’re not entirely comfortable “enjoying torture/crime porn” in the company of strangers in movie theatres, but we sure love to watch and salivate over them in the comfort of our own homes.

Spare me your indignant pleas and cries of complete innocence: SM, bondage especially, is rooted in the very idea of non-consensual control of a “villain” over a “damsel or fellow in distress”. All of those that talk about SM being a “lifestyle” (and there is certainly an element of many of us that truly do desire to have – or relinquish – complete control to someone else as the ultimate in sexual expression), surely must realize that even the tiniest element of “capture”, “hostage taking” or so-called “white slavery” still pervades even those “lifestyle” desires.

I do not think I am wrong in stating that for many of us, growing up in the 1960′s and 1970′s especially, we loved seeing Adam West and/or Burt Ward and/or Yvonne Craig tied and gagged to some insidious-yet-ridiculously-slow-to-kill infernal Hero Demise Machine and struggling for an ingenious escape – and feeling somewhat disappointed when they actually managed to do so. We loved seeing Julie Newmar and/or Lee Meriwether (rot in hell, Eartha Kitt!!) purr and seductively growl with masked face and clawed, gloved hands tantalizingly gloating over our superhero victims about to be dashed, slashed, clumped, dumped, or chopped into itty-bitty Batman and sidekick bits.

Naturally, the campy old Batman series was probably the catalyst for many of us into our various forays into tight restrictive bondage. There were undoubtedly others: Dan Tanna (Vegas) was always rescuing some poor damsel in distress … Hawaii Five-O certainly was good for an excellent kidnapping/bondage scene or four during the month and who can ever forget any of an assorted “Quinn Martin Productions” (Barnaby Jones, The FBI, etc.)?

The mainstream media has a dirty little secret: Victimization sells. When was the last time the “Arts and Entertainment Network” really featured a wonderful performance of the Royal Winnipeg Ballet’s Swan Lake or a Metropolitan Opera performance of The Magic Flute rather than any number of Bill Curtis hosted and narrated true crime documentaries?

For me, Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood, the black and white film version and then the book itself, certainly had an effect on my secret desires to become a “criminal” and for nothing else other than for fun – at least as a much, much younger boy. I am sure I’m not alone … if not for that particular piece of modern literature and true crime relating but most certainly for something similar for all of us who are willing to admit …

… that crime … turns us on. Should we give Dishonourable Mentions, perhaps, to Quentin Tarantino’s Reservoir Dogs, or Takashi Miike’s Audition? Surely those films have had some effect?

Anthony Burgess wrote an amazing book in the 1960′s. That book had, as its moral, a very simple idea: Age is the cure and the tempering agent for our predatory desires as “young people” (read the British editions of the book which includes the final, important chapter that Stanley Kubrick chose to ignore in his excellent film adaptation). That book, of course, is A Clockwork Orange – and I suspect Anthony Burgess was absolutely correct. Our fear of incarceration, as we grow older, far exceed our desire to prey and we therefore seek out and actively pursue alternative methods of extreme gamesmanship amongst our receptive peers: otherwise known as sadomasochism.

I freely admit I absolutely love dreaming up and playing out extreme and “virtually illegal” forms of “real life crime dramas”. I don’t hide it. We all have secret, dark little places in our minds that we  dare not confide about to another person, and mostly for fear of outright rejection and being judged “perverse” and/or “with psychological issues”.

At least … on systems such as this one, we have a forum to share … to encounter … and even to perhaps arrange … outlets for our twisted little deviancies …

… Which, I think, is far better than actually submitting to the urge to actually go and and really “prey” on the truly innocent … My favourite saying for years has always been this:  Fantasy is delicious. Reality … is prison.

Kardynyl SynysTyr

“… Society prepares the crime. The criminal commits it …” ~ Henry Thomas Buckle

In this day and age, I think we tend to take some of our freedoms completely for granted. Fetish wear, and fetish-related art, have become not only mainstream and “socially acceptable”, but there appears to be more proliferation and pilfering from our peculiar proclivity than at any other point, ever before. While we certainly have cultural fashion icons like Karl Lagerfeld, Vivienne Westwood and, to a lesser extent, even Thierry Mugler or Betsy Johnson to thank(?) for that, it might be a nice exercise to pay homage to some of those ground-breaking artists who came long before. Some of them, such as Irving Klaw for instance, have had their stories well documented. Some of the other early trend-setters are honoured, with admitted brevity, below:

John Alexander Scott Coutts (“John Willie”): The artist known as “John Willie” started his career as a fetish photographer and illustrator in Australia before moving on to greater pursuits as the creator of the hugely iconic and popular Perils of Sweet Gwendoline comic book series. John Willie was also the primary writer, artist and photographer for the old Bizarre magazine, which was published out of New York City (when he could afford to print) between 1946 and 1959. Copies of Bizarre have been reformatted into book form and is available from most bookstores in a neat, two-volume set. John Willie is generally recognized as the “Father” of modern bondage art – and his work had obvious influence on later, notable artists such as Eric Stanton and Eric Kroll. John Willie’s themes were invariably always the same: a poor heroine is captured, and tightly tied and gagged in a (usually) compromising position, and is almost always portrayed outfitted in extreme high heeled shoes or boots, gloves, corsets and some element of frontal nudity. He was also quite fond of potraying himself as the evil villain in many of his illustrated stories (very few of which, strangely, actually had definitive conclusions). The character most associated with John Willie as a self-portrayal is usually named Sir Dystic D’Arcy and his “partner in crime” was usually a raven-haired evil vixen called The Countess or sometimes U69.  John Alexander Scott Coutts was forced to stop his illustration work in 1961 when it was found he had developed an inoperable brain tumour. He relocated to England and, after destroying most of his archives (the few that survive today are the only remnants of a once prolific portfolio), he died. He was 61 at the time of his death.

Gene Bilbrew (“ENEG”):  For over twenty years, the artist most commonly known as “ENEG” (Or “Gene” spelled backwards) graced the pages of several publications and periodicals until suddenly disappearing from view completely and somewhat ominously in 1974. Like so many that came after him, Gene Bilbrew could thank his initial success as a bondage and fetish artist to the influence of Eric Stanton, who introduced him to Irving Klaw in 1951. Bilbrew also used the pseudonyms Van Rod and G.B. Bondy. Later artists, such as Penthouse Magazine’s Ron Embleton (Oh Wicked Wanda!) were undoubtedly influenced by Bilbrew’s striking, powerful imagery and incorporated many elements of his style into their own work. No topic was too off-base for Gene Bilbrew: Of any of the erotically-charged fetish artists of the “Golden Era”, he certainly wasn’t afraid to tackle any subject matter or hold back on any kind of depiction. His depictions of male dominance, female dominance, transvestism and extreme bondage (especially in relation to pseudo non-consensual type storylines, usually dealing with the capture and enslavement of ‘pure innocent’ women) are today highly prized and coveted amongst bondage artwork enthusiasts especially. There is a curious and common misconception about Gene Bilbrew: most of his most ardent fans, to this day, live under the assumption that he was caucasian. He was, in fact, an African American artist and did nothing to dispel the assumption that he was “white”. His career benefitted as a result and he continued to be prolific and popular, until suddenly disappearing completely in 1974. It has been revealed in the years since that Gene Bilbrew tragically died as a result of an accidental drug overdose in New York City. He had just celebrated his 50th birthday at the time of his death.

Hajime Sorayama: Fritz Lang is generally credited with making the female robot “sensual” and “sexy” in his landmark 1927 film Metropolis. Tokyo’s incredible native son, Hajime Sorayama, has taken the visage of the mature, sensual mechanical woman to even more dizzying heights. Sorayama is the perfect blend of “Golden Age Fetish Art” meeting “New Age”. He has been involved in a range of design and illustration elements (everything from art conception for Hollywood films to being the designer of Sony’s revolutionary robotic “pet”, AIBO), but he is without question best loved for his “biomechanical” and very sensual portrayals of mechanized women. In Europe and his native Japan especially, his collection entitled The Gynoids is still a best-seller amongst mainstream art collectors. Sorayama is one of the few artists who has truly found an audience within many genres and over many different mediums (Your Humble Narrator is the proud owner of five Sorayama originals in a very rare original medium for him). His recent, 1990′s  – 2000′s era “pin-up” style fetish art pieces of sensual, dominant and submissive women have become highly cherished and in great demand among an entirely new generation of SM enthusiasts. Over the past few years, enterprising resin modellers have “copied” Sorayama’s original illustrations and made a mini-industry of casting and selling three dimensional figurines and statuettes of some of his more popular, fetish-related works (“Chained Slaves”, “Yamato” and “Amazon” series being the most coveted).  In 2007, Sorayama was embroiled in an unfortunate fraud case involving a gallery owner and publisher. As a result, the verity of some of  his “Limited Editon Reproductions” has come into serious question.

Those are three that have had the most influence on my own fetish artistic tastes and collections. Does anyone have any other favourite artists they would care to elaborate on?

Kardynyl SynysTyr

“… All art … is quite useless …” ~ Oscar Wilde

Your Humble Narrator and only True Friend, that being of course old Swann himself, The Kardynyl SynysTyr, is despondent and more than just a little hopping mad.

It would appear that our news outlets across North America have taken to “reporting”, with savage glee, the demise of certain gathering conclaves and the all-too-public “outting” of some our community leaders and certain SM professionals. While it is very true that “professional SM services” have seemingly been watered-down (thanks mostly to the mass advent of free internet publishing sources) to the degree that anyone in a nice pair of boots and a whip in their hand can make a tenuous claim to being a ‘pro’, the mainstream media and entertainment outlets have stepped up their efforts to associate SM and SM related activities with illegal sexual deviance and outright crime.

A private social club in the Canadian Maritimes recently came under fierce attack and was eventually forced to close their doors, thanks mainly to an overtly-aggressive reporter who seemed very intent on making a name for themselves by sensationalizing (what had started out as) a simple domestic civil case. Some exceptional people got caught in the crossfire – and badly compromised – even though they had absolutely nothing to do with the original court case in the first place.

There was the curious case of the professional Domina who was running their business – out of a Yeshiva, a somewhat Orthodox Jewish institution of religious schooling – in a New York bedroom community (no pun intended). A couple of years prior, an “infamous” Toronto-area Domina very-publicly took her own case to the news outlets in an attempt to force some kind of sympathetic public response to what she viewed as “malicious and overzealous” persecution of her “lifestyle and professional service” practises.

All of these cases, it should be noted, were sensationalized beyond reason mainly because of the alleged involvement of minors, peripheral or otherwise. However, anyone who is a fan of the CSI television phenomenon is certainly more than a little aware of the Lady Heather character – and her seemingly unending run-ins with the criminal investigation unit in Las Vegas in connection with kink-related murderous activities. What started out as a golden opportunity for a popular character to put a positive spin on our peculiar social proclivities has, to this day, degenerated into yet another infuriating and unending, stereotypical view of SM: everything we do eventually leads to mayhem and murder.

While it is true that sensationalism sells, it would be a remarkably nice turn of events should there actually be some positive SM-related news for once. Even our beloved, large-scale events (Toronto’s Pride Parade, San Francisco’s Folsom Street Fair, Northbound Leather’s annual October fetish event and the incredibly well-organized Montreal Fetish Weekend are prime examples) have come under indirect negative fire from news organizations and outlets. If the “reporting” being done doesn’t have, as its main focus, an overtly indignant tone then the news articles and television crews seem to always have their tongues planted firmly in their cheeks with an “unbiased” opinion that is very much akin to the phrase, “Hey everyone, let’s all gawk at the freaks!”

Just this past week, a seemingly-fundamentalist small-city reporter in Canada’s West published a fairly inflamatory opinion column where they decried the proliferation of personal and product-professional sexually adventurous advertisments (television commericals for male ‘enhancement’ medications especially). “It all culminates as a sad testament to our ever-decaying moral fibre,” this certain reporter had the temerity to write. The reporter, as a part of his article, even published a few “choice” personal adverts as examples of the “decaying moral fibre”. 

Years ago, there was an unspoken and fiercely accepted code of silence (“Omerta”) in regards to talking to the various press mediums. Talk show television seemed to expose a greater number of seekers to avenues they did not know previously existed – and most would say this wasn’t necessarily a “bad thing” for our kind. But it wasn’t the talk shows that started turning SM activity into immediate association with all things criminal. It is my belief, to this day, that the advent of the Internet and people having instant access to anything and everything sexually related (with a mere click of their computer mouse) has spawned and continues to grow ever-indignant, vacuous and somewhat hypocritical commentary in the mainstream press. It would be folly, and a losing battle, to try and lead a “crusade” for silence and privacy – because there are just too many out there who demand their soapbox. Even the best-intentioned interviews, it seems, are twisted and manipulated into something sensational and “dirty”.

Why, you ask? Because it sells newspapers. I wonder what kinky skeletons some of those self-righteous news reporters have in their particular closets?

Kardynyl SynysTyr

“… The function of the press in society is to inform; but its role in society is to make money …” ~ A.J. Liebling

(Excerpt from Mistress Butterfly, as yet unpublished and under current review work of fiction based on factual events, by Kardynyl SynysTyr, writing under the name T.Q., The Swann. This is a Marquis America exclusive preview.)

“No one is truly free, they are a slave to wealth, fortune, the law, or other people restraining them from acting according to their will.” ~ Euripides

One of the great lessons my late Lady Papillon taught me was to be wary of, and avoid falling into, the trap of grandiose self-entitlement. Now, years later and in our modern world of instant access to previously guarded materials – and instant access to previously guarded individuals – I believe that lesson is more prevalent now than it ever has been before.

To this very day I still remember and relate this story the few times I’ve been asked about my views on Dominance and submission. To me, it is simply remembered as the Parable of the Parmesan Wheel, and to me, it is a fantastically effective analogy.

The Lady Papillon once heard me try to explain to a new potential suitor, right in the front drawing room, the difference between fantasy and reality and the delicate relationship and balance between the two (“You can’t feel the pain of a nipple clamp, let alone the sting of a real whip, in your dreams and fantasies”, I had said). The young suitor had remarked that he wasn’t looking to be punished or to have pain inflicted on him. He was really only into bondage and wouldn’t agree to subject himself to anything but. He had pointed his thumb towards his chest and said with an obvious sense of empowerment, “I’m a sub after all, not a slave”, at which point the Lady Papillon, with a flare of her nostrils and a widening of her eyes, immediately interjected and reminded him that if he wanted to serve in her household, he would be what she told him he was. And in the Household of the Grand Dame, there was but one definition, and it was all encompassing: Hers.

After the young interviewee had fled the House (whom we never saw again, I might add), Papillon had shook her head and sighed. “I really thought that one had some promise as a new houseboy”, she said.

“He seemed nice enough” I had added. “You must have seen something in him to invite him for a personal interview, my Lady?”

“Aye, I did. But like so many others, my dear little duckling, this boy wants to carve out his own personal grain of identity and be the center of his own world – not be an integral and loved part of the whole. He wrote an amazing letter and sure talked a good story on the telephone, let me tell you. No, Swann, he won’t be welcome as a member of this House. He is clearly too fixated on his own agenda.” She let out another exasperated sigh. “At least this one had the class not to mail me a Polaroid of his crotch.”

She had managed to glean the “factual” information from his interview. There was no question about it. This boy was applying to serve and was expected to fit comfortably within the rules and regulations that we all observed within that strange family compact. Papillon always took great pains to clearly inform all who wrote to her, or had a telephone conversation with her, that she rarely if ever required anymore houseboys. On the occasions that she was seeking, like this instance, she also clearly outlined her expectations: you were entering a family – unusual to conventional eyes this particular ‘family’ may be, but the applicant was still reminded he (or she in some cases) would need to conform to the rules of the Lady of the House.

Yet, he had not been able to understand that, even though he shamelessly protested just how experienced a servant he was, ultimately his relationship with the Grand Dame was destined for confrontation. He simply wasn’t interested in a true partnership, a true mutual understanding. His interest was vested in what can be summarized in a single paraphrase: “I have a chance to live in a house with a Domina! Oh, the fun I’m going to have!”

I had understood and recognized this. It was a former house boy’s possessiveness, sadly, that ultimately led to the fracturing of an intense relationship with Papillon. No amount of protestations, tears, or even threats could move her: her faith and her trust in him was destroyed with his sullenness and his obsessive possession of her, and for all intents and purposes, he was simply dead to her now. She was going to move on.

Having gone through such a painful experience, Papillon was determined to find another boy who was – unabashedly – exactly like her other houseboys. It would prove to be a fruitless search. Through the weeks and months she entertained numerous suitors for the third position within the Chateau. Eventually, Papillon was resigned to having but two attendants in the house. The workload between the two of us, of course, increased, as we had to pick up the lion’s share of the chores that formerly were assigned to the boy who was asked to leave. Thus I knew exactly what she was referring to when she claimed this new boy was fixated on his own wants and needs and seemed to care little for hers – or ours.

“Why is it so hard for you to find another boy, my Lady?” I had asked her at the time. This boy was one of the very few in the coming months that would be invited for a personal interview, even though literally dozens of potential supplicants were writing her letters on a daily basis, virtually begging to be seen. Some even offered ‘tribute’ or ‘compensation for her time’, but those she deemed as unacceptable she just politely sent a note to decline their offer.

“Duckling, surely I’ve expressed my views on what is happening – and what is going to happen – to our lovely little proclivity as time progresses? This very exercise with this boy today is a prime example, I’m afraid.”

“No, my Lady, I don’t recall that. Care to flesh it out some?” I never failed to enjoy the opportunity to learn something from her: she was a fantastic, animated and fascinating teacher.

She had sat back in the sofa and crossed her legs in her familiar lotus position, a stance she took whenever she had the chance to impart at length a great lesson. “Swann, do you happen to know where the terms “Dom” and “Domina” come from?”

“Sure, they mean Dominant men and women … don’t they?” It seemed like too easy a question to answer.

“Of course, but the words themselves, at least as far as SM is concerned, have a distinct genesis, if you will. After the Second World War, especially in Europe, the horror and strife may have stopped – but people’s desire for deviancy didn’t. Considering that most of Europe had been overrun and administered by a German army which in itself was controlled by a fanatical administration, people sure as hell weren’t about to parade into pubs and cabarets, let alone dare be seen in public, wearing a pair of riding boots and brandishing a riding crop. That would have been extremely insensitive given the circumstance of the time. I mean, does the name ‘Julius Streicher’ happen to sound familiar, perhaps?”

“But the desire to play with deviancy was still very much ingrained, Swann. In places like the Netherlands, France, Norway, and especially in Great Britain and what was left of Germany itself, people still needed an outlet in which to congregate and freely exchange not only ideas, but engage in “consensual hostilities” as well. It simply wasn’t considered appropriate for people to be seen as involved in ‘deviant behavior’ when the entire continent itself had just undergone what had amounted to a gigantic rape.”

“Naturally, those who stepped to the forefront of the various European SM communities decided they needed some way in which to recognize, and eventually address, each other. Europe may seem like a big place, Swann, but in reality most of the major underground SM gatherings took place within an easy driving distance of most of the continental cities and large towns. A Portuguese community leader at one of these informal gatherings, I believe it was in Brussels (where he lived at the time),  commented that since 1932, the Estado Novo movement, and its ruler Antonio Salazar, had an iron grip on Portugal and had legislated away the Portuguese nobility – and thereby eradicating the titles of Portuguese nobles.”

“Portuguese noble titles, Swann, were simply “Dom”, meaning “Lord”, and “Domina”, meaning “Lady”, in the entitlement sense only. It wasn’t like the English gentry that today still desperately cling to their toothless titles of Baron, Duke or Lord. This innovative community leader originally from Lisbon, whose name escapes me sadly, suggested that perhaps throughout the European Continent that dominant men and women could “adopt” the now-defunct titles of “Dom” and “Domina” in an effort to identify each other, somewhat secretly and clandestinely, even in the most public of venues. The words came from the old Latin of the Romans, of course, the kings and queens of festivals and pageantry in an occupied Europe of another era, so it seemed a completely natural fit.”

“Of course, this idea certainly wouldn’t do in Portugal: but for the rest of Europe and then eventually The New World, it truly was a uniting factor and a godsend after the horrific experience of a world war. The only downside, I’m afraid, is that when the 1950’s rolled around, there sure was an awful lot of seemingly ex-patriot Portuguese Royalty being introduced at tea and dinner parties. Naturally, the ‘word’ got out about the ‘titles’ and the rest, as they say, is history. In the English speaking world especially, “Dom” and “Domina” seemed the natural phantom titles because of their closeness to the word “dominant”.

“Now, Swann, at this point I want you to picture, in your mind, a Parmesan wheel.”

Old School SM

Now I must confess, at this point in my life I had no idea what a ‘Parmesan Wheel’ was, nor could I recognize one if it was laying before me. I also knew by this point well enough to admit to not understanding something Papillon was trying to teach me. Ignorance she could tolerate: trying to fake your way through a lesson and be oblivious infuriated her. Outright indifference to her teachings sometimes was cause for outright dismissal. That was a part of the rule of the House, and everyone obeyed and understood them. When Papillon wished to impart a lifetime worth of experience, you had best listen.

  “No, my Lady, I assume it’s a kind of cheese, a kind of Parmesan cheese?” She had laughed. “A Parmesan wheel is Parmesan cheese before its cut and grated down into a fine powder for your pasta, Swann. And they’re huge! Heavy suckers! Now, I want you to picture this gigantic, round disk of pure cheese, perfect in its simplicity, and I want you to imagine that the letter “S” and the letter “M” are emblazoned on the top surface of that cheese.”

“Got it? Good. Imagine that the initial definition of ‘sadism’, as given to us by the lovely Richard Krafft-Ebing in the 1880’s which he based mostly on the writings and depravities of the infamous Marquis de Sade and Krafft-Ebing’s own literary contemporary, Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, is represented by those two capital letters, ‘SM’ on that cheese wheel. Yes, I know that Sigmund Freud, good old narcissistic mother-lover that he was, receives credit for further defining ‘SM’, but all he really did was just join the words “sadism” and “masochism” into the single phrase we all know and love today. Ironic, really, because due to a nasty war in Europe, there is the perception that in order to be further identifiable, you must separate the “sadism” from the “masochism” and prescribe obsolete titular terminology based on a bygone European noble class to the “sadism” part of the wheel. How do you separate the “S” from the “M” on that wheel, Swann?”

“I guess you have to cut it, my Lady. I guess you’d cut it right between the “S” and the “M?”

“A perfect answer, and the correct one, of course. By the way, don’t ever let me catch you using the term ‘S and M’, ever. There is no ‘and’ or ‘ampersand’ in the middle. It’s ‘SM’. That was the original published phrase and it dishonors the originator to alter it in any way. Now, you’re got Krafft-Ebing’s definition of SM divided into two equal, identifiable parts, but each half can still be put together, side by side, to resemble the original. Even though the de facto definition of Krafft-Ebing’s ‘SM’ has been severed, at least both parts of the wheel still can be recognizable as a whole.”

“Moving ahead a few years now, someone in the New World takes an objection to being labeled as a ‘sadomasochist’. He decides that the connotation is entirely too negative and entirely too inherently violent for him. So this gentleman writes about and coins the term ‘Bondage and Discipline’ in an effort to sanitize the violent connotations that have come to be associated with the word ‘sadomasochism.’ This notion is entirely embraced by the New World communities, especially in San Francisco where the Free Love and Freedom of Expression generations already have established a firm foothold, so that ‘Bondage and Discipline’ now is representative of those who still want to be identifiable to their peers as kinky: but not as deviant as those who still believe that it’s still all part of the same whole, namely ‘SM’. So let’s take out our knife and cut the wheel into quarters, cutting the ‘S’ in half for the Dominants and the ‘M’ in half for the submissives. Now we have four quarters, each identifiable as a separate piece, but still able to maintain the illusion as an entire cheese wheel when reassembled.”

“Into the latter part of the 1970’s, a female doctoral candidate comes along and decides the wheel needs to be separated even further. This person coins the term ‘Dominance and Submission’, and deftly creates yet another acronym, ‘D/S’. Somehow, the connotation is that ‘D/S’ is an antiseptic version of the harder core SM, yet is a little more stringent, organized and more dedicated than those who simply wish to identify under the ‘Bondage and Discipline’ banner.

“What happens next, I suppose, is inevitable. It isn’t just about ‘Sadomasochism’ or ‘Bondage and Discipline’ anymore. Now, there has to be an entirely separate sub category of people called ‘Tops and Bottoms’. This category is in response to those who want to partake of the sensual and sexual excitement that is still SM – but they don’t subscribe to the commitment, the pageantry, the ritual and the loyalty that at one time made the Parmesan wheel so complete and strong. These ‘Tops and Bottoms’ want no part of a real power exchange. They just wish to tie and be tied; whip and be whipped. They only wish to experience the superficial pleasures of the flesh rather than subscribe to the entire notion of a community united on the basic premise that there can be joy through consensual ownership and servitude.”

“Invariably, what you end up with is what I call ‘honeydews’, as in ‘honey, do this to me’ and ‘honey, do that to me’. The mutuality that was so very integral to our growth and survival as a community in the mid part of the century is starting to become fractured. And as a result, when you slice our original cheese wheel into further portions, the integrity of it – and symbolically, ‘SM’ – becomes suspect as well. The further cuts that are made in an effort to personalize and identify each sub-interest further work to destroy the Parmesan as a complete wheel, and it becomes nearly impossible to reconcile all the parts as a whole again. Naturally, as more and more people have access to information and more and more people insist on scraping out a niche for themselves as an identifiable part of ‘SM’; it is no longer possible to continue to slice the pieces of the original wheel.”

“Well, that means you have to start grating the cheese with a grinder!”, said I in a moment of crystal clarity.

“Exactly, Duckling. That is what has happened in our day and age. That beautiful, complete and whole Parmesan wheel that was ‘SM’ Krafft-Ebing so eloquently wrote about over 100 years ago has now become nothing more than a pile of grated Parmesan cheese. The integrity is gone. The cohesiveness is destroyed forever. True, it’s still Parmesan cheese (that is to say, technically it’s still all ‘SM’), but the wheel has been ground down into so fine a powder through the demands of individual labels and titles, it is nearly impossible to recognize how strong the initial wheel was in the first place – let alone attempt to put it back together again. Hell, there used to be a single word that adequately described each and every one of us that enjoyed our sensual and sexual pleasures outside the normal fidelities of the boudoir.”

“And that word is?”

“Kinky.”

“Of course. That makes sense. It should be obvious to everyone.”

“But it isn’t, Swann. I do not fault those whose commitment to SM as a pursuit is merely to find partners who will oblige them their temporary fantasies. Whether people wish to admit it or not, everyone of has preferences and fetishes to some degree: ours just tends to be a little more extreme than others and, in these times, a little more socially acceptable than it used to be. That’s been both a blessing, and a curse.”

“Then why bother with these boys, my Lady? If you’re certain you won’t find someone suitable who understands, why put yourself through that kind of aggravation?”

And here came the punch line to the entire lesson. My Lady smiled at me, cocked her head to one side, and simply said: “We can’t rebuild the wheel that has already been ground down to nothing, Swann. But maybe, just maybe, we in our Home can simply work to acquire another wheel, so to speak, and keep it within our own sphere of influence. I do believe it is never to late to rebuild if you have solid traditions already well in place. Those who wish to build a community, based on mutuality, responsibility, trust, communication, loyalty and above all honesty and respect will always find a Sanctuary with us.”

My Lady was absolutely correct in one regard. Even she couldn’t possibly fathom just how precise her own prediction of further decay would become. Over the years, people being the animals of obstinate selfishness they are, have further tried to grate down the original whole of what was once just simply came under the auspices of ‘SM’. Because of, but not restricted to, the daily lessons provided to me by my Lady Papillon you can call me to this day an unrepentant purist.

Kardynyl SynysTyr

News Item: Screen Adaptation of Classic 1980′s graphic novel Watchmen opens in theatres March 6th, 2009

Doubtlessly there will be hundreds of thousands lined up today in theatres across the United States and Canada eagerly anticipating the latest “comic book” adaptation to hit the silver screen. Based on Alan Moore and Dave Gibbon’s mid-1980′s sensation (and called “the seminal text of the comic book medium), Watchmen has already been hailed as “gritty and visually striking” and has received an enthusiastic “thumbs up” from no less a critical eminence that Roger Ebert himself.

One of the super-characters featured in Watchmen is a head-to-toe latex clad heroine curiously named Silk Spectre. I am quite sure I’m not the only one who is scratching his head at the logic behind a character so named “doing her hero thing” in a skin tight, ultra-fetishistic black and yellow rubber suit …

Original graphic novel Silk Spectre and current film adaptation version.

… except the obvious answer: skin tight latex superhero costumery obviously will attract more viewers than a silk-clad, albeit ass-kicking one would. Take a gander at the original representation of Silk Spectre in the original graphic novel and compare her to her celluloid counterpart. You be the judge.

While the 2009 film version certainly is based on her original pen and ink counterpart, there is little question that the art directors/costume designers wanted to give Silk Spectre more “sex appeal” (even though a good percentage of the viewing audience is sure to have not even been born until years after the original graphic novel was produced). It is certain that every costume party from New York to Los Angeles, from Blackpool (UK) to Montreal, and probably even from Fayetteville, North Carolina to Yellowknife, Northwest Territories (Canada) will feature at least two “Silk Spectres” amongst their midst. Much of the costume adorned by the actress in the film (Malin Akerman) is readily available for purchase online, after all – including the gartered collar and shoulder length gloves.

Oh, all that latex! Oh, to be Michelle Pfeiffer and Michael Keaton!

You can still purchase those boots, of course, at any number of exotic footwear outlets. The distinctive Catwoman mask can be found for sale at any number of costume shops, and even the catsuit itself isn’t really that difficult to alter (the white stitching look) if someone were to order or pick one up from a local fetishwear specialty emporium. It is my belief that the “Catwoman” is timeless and will remain an embodiment of feminine power and persuasion well after all of use are long, long gone. Perhaps the years will be equally as kind to Silk Spectre. Whether or not these characters and their costumery remain near and dear to our twisted little hearts, there can be little doubt that the mere imagery and suggestiveness alone portrayed by such representations is, in fact, timeless. Who, for instance, could have know in 1954 that Pauline Reage (re: Ann de Clerq) and her “little book”, L’Histoire d’O (Story of O) would become a virtual handbook for the “rights”, rites and rituals that we all enjoy as fetishists and hardcore SM practitioners? There will always be trendsetters that will have a genesis as a tiny seed of thought – and quickly mushroom into a “movement”.

There have been many, many examples of (initially) fetish-exclusive accoutrements and adornments that have found their way into mainstream culture, either as “fashion” or “lifestyle aids”. High heels have always been one of the pure symbols of feminine sensuality – and despite what you may think, thigh high boots have been “in fashion” since before the turn of the century. Uniforms of all kinds – whether the typical and mundane such as military garb, medical professional wear or law enforcement attire – have always had a strong following among fetishists throughout the Information Age. Access to imagery and information has gotten so sophisticatedly simple now that virtually anything we desire to view, covet and ultimately purchase is merely a mouse click away.

So the question is out there: Are you influenced by mass media imagery, such as costumes in films and plastered all over the internet (following the example above) in your buying patterns or do you consider yourself truly individualistic? Do you welcome the “mainstreaming” of fetishwear (especially latex) that is so prevalent in our modern age, or do you wish the outter and inner trappings with a fetish or SM edge remained secretly and safely in the realm of whispers, shadows and “secret” gatherings?

Hell, I submit that even a burlap sack with a rope tied around the mid-section could be considered mainstream and “fetishy” with the right marketing and exposure …

Kardynyl SynysTyr

“… Fashion is the science of appearance, and it inspires one with the desire to seem rather than to be …” ~ Henry Fielding 

First and foremost:  I believe everyone that has decided to explore some kind of “alternative living” is standing and applauding Sean Penn this week for having taken home an Academy Award from the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (otherwise known as an Oscar) for his dead-on portrayal of slain civil-rights leader, Harvey Milk.  In his acceptance speech, Mr. Penn said ,”It is a good time for those who voted for for the ban against gay marriage to sit and reflect, and anticipate their great shame, and the shame in their grandchildren’s eyes, if they continue that way of support. We’ve got to have equal rights for everyone.” I personally do not believe anyone could have said it better, or so eloquently. Wherever you are, Harvey – be proud.

A few months back, Your Humble Narrator did draw some attention to the life and the time of Harvey Milk. One of the bit-players in that all-too-real life drama was the woman who took a violent, filthy and foul little creature off the very streets and decided (despite the best efforts of those around her, I might add) to give that Dodger-like rascal a life. She raised him as were he her own flesh and blood and, in so many ways, allowed him to live a life that indeed would have been cut all-too-short due to the very nature of an existence living from garbage can to garbage can.

That Artful Dodger … was me. Her name was Papillon and though I have not been to San Francisco or her second home in the Canadian Rockies for years, I daresay the mere mention of her name must bring whispered reverence amongst those who not only knew her, but could proudly count her as amongst their best of friends (if not, perish the though, family).

What I wish to focus on is somewhat of a transformation – and the transmutation itself revolves squarely around the feel … the scent … the near obsession … with rubber. Let’s use the more fashionable term for ther remainder of this piece, shall we? I freely admit that I had thought latexwear a little odiferous, looking uncomfortably tight and seemingly a nightmare to maintain, judged by comments made within the house and by latex-enthusiast guests within it. I therefore had little use for the stuff.

Northbound Leather Latex Mini-Dress

However, latexwear personally was introduced to me completely by accident: I was charged one day with having to clean out some older cabinets and closets within one of the Chambers of the Chateau – and I won’t soon forget that overwhelming essence that permeated throughout the room the moment I unlocked and then pried open the top drawer of a somewhat old chest of drawers. What the hell is that? I remember thinking quite clearly as my nostrils were filled with the aura of … well, what smelled like an old bicycle tire collection … loving folded into individual black plastic bags. I had caught a whiff of rubberwear at a party or two, of course – but this was truly overpowering. There must have been over one-hundred latex garments in that one drawer alone.

Being still somewhat young, and curiousity being what it is (an indiscreet murderer of inquiring felines of all kinds), I gingerly reached into the very first bag and withdrew the item within. It very quickly unfolded itself – into a three-quarter length mini-dress, made from fairly thin black latex. It had a deep cut across the breast area but a fill back, and the arms appeared to be about three-quarter length (just below the elbow, I think) as well.

What I had also managed to do was create quite a mess: I had no idea what the hell all this fine white powder was that was now silently and delicately wafting around me – and seemingly all over the room. To the best of my knowledge my Lady certainly wasn’t one of the premiere suppliers of “consumable white powder” in the neighborhood – so I made the (correct) assumption that it must be a biologically-friendly latex protectant.  That powder continued to spill merrily from the upturned black bag until my senses snapped back to attention and I managed to pull the gaping “mouth” back to a normal, upright position. Minus, of course, almost every last residue of that powder. How can one small bag hold that much powder, I thought? While I still held this wondrous little black rubber dress cautiously in one hand, with as much grace as I dared I put the black bag on the countertop of the chest of drawers – only to have it immediately drop forthwith from the ledge and plop with a small, cloud-like thud onto the carpet below. Whatever remained up until that time in the bag, was now free to travel the known universe.

Now, naturally, Gentle Reader, one thought kept going through my mind the entire time:

She is going to kill me.

Frantically, I looked about the room for something – anything! - that could immediately scoop up and hide the merry little evidence of my curious stupidity that now swirled about happily in the dimly-lit room. This being not quite the age of the ‘Dust Buster”, my immediate thought was, of course, to casually seek out Good Old Reliable Mr. Hoover (the vacuum cleaner, kids – keep up with the tour!) – but in my panic I could not for the life of me remember where it was. I also realize with horror that to move about the room … would be to create little powdery footsteps behind me, anywhere I went. I could not leave that room … I could not even move about in that room, in truth, and a secondary thought just went through my mind, over and over again:

She is going to kill me. I’m doomed.

Now, you must understand one thing about the Lady Papillon, my friends: This was not a woman who abided other people’s messes. Her own? Sure! She was perfectly at home traipsing in and out of the kitchen with dishes piled as high as Mount Sinai itself: as long as each and every one of those dishes had been placed there by her. Just like a certain credit card always states, “membership has its privileges” and being counted in the Dominas “R” Us club certainly ascribes an identical idiom. There’s always some servant or six to clear the mountains of plates, after all, n’est-ce pas?

Regardless, Dear Reader, as my terror mounted, and in oh-so-too-short a time, I heard the distinct sashay-sashay  of my Lady’s long silk skirts and the gentle click-clack of her booted heels walking through the library area – and inevitably, excruciatingly and methodically towards the open door of the inner Chamber. I closed my eyes, waiting for the inevitable banshee wail that was sure to follow the moment she passed the threshold …

No, this isn't your Mom's kind of singing and dancing "Cats!"

… except that two of the three household felines, at that very moment, decided to investigate the proceedings first. Your Humble Narrator will not go into a long, detailed description of exactly what it is like when two cats, intent on playing a rousing game of ZOOM! decide to take their delightful game directly through your silkenly-dusted general area. But, allow me to say this much: it isn’t pretty.  One pure black cat became near white! One brown and white cat became even whiter! Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer themselves could not have caused more mayhem! One cat tail zigged wildly to the left! Another cat tail zagged drunkenly to the right! Mushroom clouds of latex protectant are forming right before my terrified eyes, and yet another, tertiary thought raced through my mind as I watched the tail-swishing horror unfold before me:

She is going to kill me. I’m doomed. But … at least the garden is far too small to effectively hide a body.

For one, precious, but brief moment, I remembered where Mr. Hoover was currently stashed. I thought all I had to do was quietly pick the two rambunctious kittens up, silently drop them into the bathroom right next door until such time as I could sponge them down, creep down the hall, retrive the vacuum cleaner, and deflty eliminate any evidence of my powdery, Clouseau-like buffoonery.

Alas, my feline housemates had other ideas. The moment I even gave a hint as to bend down and pick one, if not both, of them up, they immediately made a bee-line straight towards the door. Oh well, I thought, I’ll just have to figure out something else. So, Your Humble Narrator doth cringed the tightest cringe I believe yet foreseen on this good, green Earth and pondered just exactly where my remains would, eventually be found.

Especially when the cats went hissing and flitting out the door directly underneath the skirts of one very annoyed, boot-tapping Domina now standing firmly entrenched between the room – and my extermination.

What a scene, that must have been to behold in her eyes, O My Cousins and Only True Friends.. As the two beloved household felines continued their mad romp and dash through the house, leaving a trail of white powder with each swat, leap and roll on anything and everything in their path, my own beloved Mistress of the House simply raised her infamous brow … very deliberately placed her slender, tendril-like fingers upon her hip in a dignified yet dramatic and commanding curl, tapped the toe of her black leather boot once – just once – for maximum effect … pointed her other hand and one very elongated finger at the dainty rubber dress I now held clumsily in my hand, and said:

“So, boy. I see you’ve been a little busy. Would you like to try that on?“

That was my first exposure to the wonderful world of latexwear. I do not need to tell you, I look terrible in a latex mini-dress. Pray tell: What was your first experience like?

Kardynyl SynysTyr

 “Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer had a wonderful way of working together.
 And some of the time you would say it was luck, and some of the time you would say it was weather.
 They would go through the house like a hurricane, and no sober person could take his oath
 Was it Mungojerrie – or Rumpelteazer? or could you have sworn that it mightn’t be both?”

~ The Immortal T.S. Eliot, “Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats”

The Feast of Eros, otherwise known in the modern world as “St. Valentine’s Day”, is generally regarded as a time for lovers to renew their commitment to one another. It is also a time for youngsters to shyly exchange paper hearts and expose secret puppy-love crushes on their classmates of the opposite gender.

To quote Sir Stephen in L’Histoire d’O: “There is a degree of childishness in everything we hold dear to the heart.”

It isn’t a coincidence that the general hedonistic celebrations that take place in the dead middle of February are all shared, in one fashion or another, “religiously” amongst several ecumenical traditions. Early Christians expropriated the Feast of Eros from the Romans (whom themselves “borrowed and improved upon it” from the Greeks), invented a patron Saint for the day (Valentine, allegedly an amalgamation of several early Roman Christians with the popular Latin name ‘Valens’, or “Valor” in English). In the Hebrew mythology, the Feast of Purim falls roughly around the same time period (“Drink and carouse until you do not know the difference between ‘blessed be Mordecai and cursed be Haman!’”). Squished usually somewhere in the middle, of course, is the gigantic party known as Fat Tuesday, or Mardi Gras, which is in reality just an ancient Purim celebration taken to typically debauched extremes.

So, Guys and Dolls, what did you do to celebrate any one of the hedonistic outpourings of lust and love?

 

My beloved lady, up and coming male to female transformation afficiando and artist Mia Mariposa,  and I hosted a couples weekend at our Leather Butterfly Loft in Toronto, Ontario. It is very rare indeed, in these days of instant access to information and sensual gratification, to encounter people with whom you share an immediate connection – and know that you have made good friends for a lifetime.

Beginning Friday the 13th evening (delicious irony!) with a lovingly prepared Chateaubriand dinner, expertly flamed with non-traditional Jack Daniels over a bed of zuccini, asparagas, Parisienne potatoes, whole chili peppers and organically-nurture button mushrooms (and washed down with a delightful Australian Shiraz with the unlikely name of Shingleback), our evening of superstitious wonder and merriment soon evolved into a full-fledged display of modern ecstacy between Mia, myself, and our incredible houseguests for the weekend – the unequalled and amazing Mistress Lynn and her perfect, adoring boy, Slave J. Having spent a harrowed entire day of travelling from their United States home, Mia and I naturally would have completely understood had our lovely houseguests had just wished to sleep after such a fulfilling meal.

But of course, Mistress Lynn being the devoted hedonist that she is, would have none of it. “Up on the rack!” and “Over the bench!” soon became catch-phrases for the entire weekend – and when our quartet was joined Saturday evening by another couple who made the trek from a nearby Toronto-area burgh, there simply was no stopping the incessant and unrelenting “commencement of mutual hostilities” between like-minded adults.

This was a rare weekend, indeed: Our small group ran the gamut of exploration from everything to boot worship, exchanging extended whipping technique and torment, to much more intimate – and very loving – physical interaction. It has been eighteen years since my late Mistress, the incomparable Mistress Papillon (more about her in particular next week: she was a true latex pioneer and worthy of remembrance) left her mortal coil, and it has been nearly that amount of time since I personally have felt so comfortable expressing our “other way to love” in the presence of people with whom we formed an instant, loving and (we believe) ever lasting near-familial relationship.

What started out as a weekend of apprehension and uncertainty ended in tears of joy and warm embraces tinged with sadness at the need to part. The weekend has taken some of the “jaded edge” off this cynical old buzzard, and we are so very proud to have met dedicated SM practitioners who were patient, kind, enthusiastic – and willing to share knowledge and experience about certain things with which Mia and I admittedly had very little experience with.

I can’t wait to fit Mia in a tight leather or latex corset complete with 10 to 12 garters, for instance. I didn’t even know those existed until our Valentine’s Day adventure. We also can’t wait to see our friends again … and that, in these days of inevitable and perpetual disappointment, is something to be cherished, nurtured and developed in the years to come.

How was your Valentine’s Day weekend? Does anyone have a similar tale to share? Did you manage to meet someone over the Valentine’s Day weekend that you are destined to have close for the rest of your natural lives? Inquiring minds want to know …

One last thought, sort of related: Is it just me, or is anyone else mystified why Cupid has been chosen as a symbol for the representation of Valentine’s Day? I mean, when I think about love and romance, truly the last thing I want to think about is a short, fat infant stalking me with a weapon …

Kardynyl SynysTyr

“… Oh, if it be to choose and call thee mine, love, thou art every day my Valentine! …”  ~ Thomas Hood

Last weekend, Your Humble Narrator and True Friend took at trip down to Toronto’s iconic leather emporium, Northbound Leather, in order to procur a couple of new sets of wrist and ankle restraints. What I needed was quite specific: I wanted sets that lock and cannot be worked loose by a bratty submissive boy or slave girl. Naturally, in the past, Northbound has been extremely reliable as a premium source of exceptional quality restraints, headgear and - of course – fetishwear.

Imagine Your Humble Narrator’s surprise and ultimate dismay to discover that my favourite leather emporium in the lovely city of Toronto really didn’t have all that much to choose from: and none of it with acceptable locking mechanisms. This isn’t a criticism of Northbound Leather at all: far from. In fact, despite what appears to be a sudden lack of wonderful toys, their store (recently re-designed and far more eye-catching) has seen a marked increase in some incredibly delicious body adornments and fetishistic wear.

I would venture to say there are few fetish-focused brick and mortar establishments where customers can walk in and be visually and wondrously assaulted by such a beavy of beautiful leather, PVC and especially latex outer and inner wear. Northbound’s latex collection, especially, seems to rival in the number of pieces available for purchase to the tried-and-true staple of leather pants, chaps, coats, corsets, gloves, hats, britches, etc. etc. etc.

My question is this: Does this reflect the current overall trend in the SM marketplace? Are more leather stations, usually associated with the production and distribution of peripherals and accessories, moving more towards fetish fashion? And on top of that, has anyone else noticed that interest and demand for latex in particular has skyrocketed?

Your Humble Narrator is anxious to know, from the general populace, if YOUR area’s stores have moved towards this trend as well? Is it a case of North America slowly and finally catching up to our colonizing cousins overseas – particularly in Great Britain, the Netherlands, Germany and Scandinavia? Can you share some thoughts of local establishments perhaps quietly selling out their fetish gear stocks and replacing the shelves with lovely latex, leather and/or PVC wear?

A final thought and question: does anyone else notice just how mainstream latex in particular is becoming? Over the past few weeks especially, I have walked into several “conservative” establishments and was more than a little shocked to see a pretty young clerk dressed in a pair of thigh high rubber boots and a short latex mini-skirt, top or even a dress. Does anyone else have similar experiences to share?

Of course, I still need those locking wrist and ankle restraints …

Kardynyl SynysTyr

“… Fashions fade. Style is eternal …” ~ Yves St. Laurent

The following is not designed to be any kind of critique on anyone’s use of certain English words. It’s more of an opportunity for Your Humble Narrator to impart some teachings … I do not condemn or cast disdain about current opportunities and discussions … But I make no apologies for making editorial comment in regards to a past exchange of unpleasantries …

Continued discussion on potentially new and exciting events took a bit of an alarming side exit towards the end today … and rather than continue to extend the length of that particular topic, I thought it might be a good idea to start an entirely new, but somewhat related, discussion.

Someone suggested in Toronto recently it would be a good idea for a new “fetish event” to have a “board” consisting of certain demographics within our ‘community’, mainly consisting of a Dominant man and woman and a submissive man and woman, responsible for making all key decisions.

This is starting to sound a little bit too much along the same lines as the “rules” of a GTA area “group” that, in my opinion (amongst many others) has thankfully DIED a wretched and deserved DEATH.

That group had, as its leader, the installment of a person who seemed to insist upon being recognized as a “queen”. While that particular person and her ‘minions’ thankfully seemed to have faded from view, it is a bit alarming that some of those conventions have managed to work their way, by way of casual mention, into this mostly positive and enthusiastic discussion. I am quite certain every large “SM Community” in the larger Western Civilization cities have experienced similar, if not the exact same, problem.

For the record, I won’t entertain angry banter between former members any of that imperialistic kind of  ”group” and myself. It is fairly well remembered in Toronto that I personally found this one particular group quite pedantic and only worthy of open and continuous ridicule, while I was told by more than one person “in confidence” that I was Public Enemy Number One in their collective eyes for pretty much their entire existence. This isn’t designed as a “kicking when they’re dead” attack on this group of people, but more to draw attention to one of their misappropriated conventions that, sadly, seems to be hanging around a little far too much for my liking, or the collective GOOD of our proclivity …

“Protocol” is a badly – BADLY – misused term in our peculiar predilection. “Protocol” refers to, by definition, diplomatic agreements including treaties and trade arrangements; an imperical and internationally standardized set of rules for medical research and the publishing of papers; a published statement relating or reporting on scientific observation and verification; and an international computer language, again with universal standards, in which machines can communicate with each other.

When used as a verb, “Protocol” refers to the the issuance of any of the above nouns.

Just because so many people use the word doesn’t mean its usage is correct.

I didn’t start hearing the use of the word “protocol” in am SM related sense until I started reading some of the (eye-rolling) posts that was being offered out by that aforementioned deceased tiny group. I’ve since seen it virally spiral and disseminate through the internet in other major centres as “acceptable terminology”. Now, I really don’t care who started using the word “protocol” first in an SM sense, however: the truth is, its WRONG.

Is there difficulty with using the terminology we SHOULD be using? How about the words “ritual” and “etiquette”, which both actually fit FAR better as proper terminology for a procedural SM setting?

I have always thought the insistance of the use of the word “protocol” stemmed from a very poorly written but over-popularized series of books by a certain popular “vampire” authoress: she created a fantasy ‘Kingdom’ and environment with fantastical, ‘regal’ people – and a recently silenced ‘queen’ started making claims that people in SM subculture “world wide” used that term when referring to the code of conduct that took place at their gatherings. That claim was a farce – but it seems to continue to propagate … I could go into a long dissertation about the many, many misused examples of the English tongue in the Gorean “life” … but I don’t really feel like having the “tarns” and “sleens” of the Gorean “masters” unleashed on my formerly-fat ass in retribution …

At least, not tonight …

Could we possibly have a discussion about this and perhaps make a committed effort to actually stop propagating the illusion that we are deserving of some kind of “Kingdom” status – which would somehow justify the use of the word “Protocol” in a diplomatic sense?

I know – it’s very hard to stop a runaway train. But I can at least try and throw some switches to force it off the tracks …

Kardynyl SynysTyr

“… If the English language made any sense, a catastrophe would be an apostrophe with fur …” ~ Doug Larson