Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash: Pick Two (aghrivaine) wrote,
Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash: Pick Two
aghrivaine

Lord of the Dance

It was Friday and I wanted to go out. But my PA registration is expired, and my CA registration was pending a smog check. (In California, the safety of your vehicle is irrelevant, so long it doesn't cause smog.) Fortunately, thelastmehina managed to convince moonpie82 (he's the ginchiest!) to pick me up.

I whipped up a quick dinner for us to eat on the route to Sex Beat, a fetish/goth club in Hollywood at a sushi restaraunt. And the reason that Sean is the ginchiest is because he came all the way out to Van frickin' Nuys to pick me up. We got there early - the only people we knew were some folks from the game. We were all gothed up, and the crowd at the restaraunt was otherwise pretty normal looking. We felt a bit out of place... you know, like goth kids at a sushi restaraunt.

Eventually though, people showed up for the themed event. At first it was a very few, and we wondered if maybe we'd made a mistake. The "free shooters" that they spoke of actually turned out to be A, as in "one", "singular" "Uno" "Ichi" free Skyy Vodka cooler. But eventually the dance floors got going. And I danced.

Now, gentle readers, consider those words. "And I danced." Many is the night I have gone to a night club, and never once had I previously danced. With the exception of awkward dances in Jr. High and High School, and the occasional mosh pit... and a memorably fumbling attempt to swing dance with my excessively tall and far-more-graceful-than-I ex... I've never been a dancer. But something came over me that night, my friends -- and that something said, "Dance, fool! Dance!"

So I did. I got up and jumped around with my friends. Then I went to the other dance floor, and because old school Peter Murphy was playing, I danced there, too. And there was no one else on the dance floor, but who cares... I wasn't dancing to try and impress anyone, it was just fun to jump around and move. I had to resist the urge to turn my dancing into aikido movements, which is what I've spent more time moving through than anything else, and therefore have muscle memory... but the point is, I danced. I doubt it was good dancing, I'm sure it was spastic-monkey-dancing. Eventually lots of people were dancing, and the night just flew by.

There were little shows where people did a fetish act, too - and while the guy weilding the various implement of spankage wasn't terribly skilled, the girl he was inflicting the spankage on was quite fetching. An odd backdrop to a nightclub, but certainly novel. The people there were generally very attractive,too - and so the final effect was that it was a fetish club that actually looked like we imagine a fetish club to be like, rather than the sort of disconcerting bowl of jelly squeezed into too-few square meters of PVC and rubber that most fetish clubs are. BDSM is the new jazz, according to revsaintmichael, it's that thing that everyone claims to be into, but really only has a very superficial interest in. But in this case, people seemed to be sincerely "into it". Well some of them. Others of them were just gawkers.

But dang, there were some pretty girls in outrageous outfits there. When we left I was hot, sweaty, tired, and very happy. The exercise was good, the music was good - I had a great time. So many times I've left clubs in the past and heard my friends say, "I had such a great time!" and I thought, "When? What did I miss?" Who knows why, this time, I was so ready to go out and shake my money maker. New city, and no expectations? Lack of inhibitions, here, where no one knows me? I couldn't say.

I'm just glad I danced, and look forward to the next time - so long as people can forgive my spastic monkey dancing!
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