No really. I did.
(This blog is all about honesty, and true to that spirit, I'm going to tell this story as it happened. I know I'm not perfect so PLEASE don't jump down my throat for jumping to inappropriate conclusions. This post is an admission of guilt. Thank you.)
Last night was the first time I've ever stepped foot into Ground Zero Nightclub. It's the "pansexual" BDSM bar, dance club, and demo pit. I've lived in Minnesota for four years now and I've never been! It was just time to start a new adventure.
So I harrassed as many of my friends via text message as I could at the last second, pulled on my rubber chaps, and drove over there. Two problems arise: 1)The parking situation is terrible, so I had to walk the gauntlet with my ass hanging out across 4th Ave to get to the bar, and 2)Ground Zero is situated right betwen two other vanilla straight bars and a restaurant. So once I walked across the street, I then had to dive into a sea of vanilla people wearing cotton to get up to the door! *facepaw*
Ground Zero is a "pansexual" bar. I don't know what that means to you all as readers from other parts of the country and world, but in Minnesota? "Pansexual" means "straight men and women, oh yeah, and women who do it with women because that's hot". Gay men have their own leather/BDSM community - hell, we have our own bar. It's not surprising I felt kind of awkward going in there, but I suppose it's a nice gesture by the management to call the place "pansexual".
Straight bars in Minneapolis usually mix pretty crappy drinks; NOT Ground Zero. The drinks were STRONG! Perfect.
The bar is divided up into several different areas; there's a side bar, a dance floor, and then the performance space where there was a Pro-Domme (Mistress Mara) working over volunteers. There's a whole bunch of chairs set up in front of the stage for people to watch the various acts. So I'm puttering around a bit with my friends having a few drinks, watching the Domme perform on her subs. Most of them are women. Until the 2nd to last one.
Up walks to stage this buff guy with huge muscles, tanned skin, long hair, washboard abs, and a huge upside down triangle tattoo across his shoulders. He tips the Domme as his friends make fun of him (and awful tragedy which shouldn't be tolerated) and proceeds to get cuffed to the restraints hanging from the ceiling! Mistress Mara flogs him a few times and then scratches him some and does something else with an ice cube....
....and in my head, I fell into the slippery slope of discompassion. What I SHOULD have thought to myself was "Maybe it's his first time!" "Maybe he needs her to go light." "Maybe he injured himself already today!" There are any number of infinite possibilities that could explain why this Domme wasn't lashing out on those buldging muscles with every last ounce of her strength. All of them are probably legitamate too. But as I stood there watching, the rum in my drink took over my thoughts. My mind darted around all the other times I've been flogged. The only logical conclusion my tipsy mind could come to was simply that the guy was a PUSSY. I can do better than that.
Move over, Fabio.
I marched up to that stage and asked Mistress Mara what her rates were. I tipped her appropriately (side note: gay kinksters don't tip in our community. I THINK I tipped her appropriately, but I've never had to do that before. Hope she doesn't hate me now) and asked her, "Can you flog a gay-boy, Mistress?"
"Hell yes! How hard can you take it?"
I gritted my teeth, half expecting to regret saying it but also determined to show Fabio what a gay boy can take. "I've been flogged until I've bled before."
Mistress Mara just SMILED and secured my wrists to the shackles in the ceiling.
Being that it was the end of the night, it was a pretty fast flogging. But that doesn't mean she went light on me. It was tough to remember to yell "Thank you MISTRESS" as opposed to my usual "Thank you SIR" or "Thank you MASTER". It hurt, but like I said, I was determined to demonstrate what this gay boy is made of.
At a certain point I felt Mistress Mara slap a couple strips of duct tape against my back. "Just a little blood! No worries!" she said.
I didn't break. I didn't care. That wasn't the point. Before I even knew it it was over. I said thank you to Mistress, and walked out of the bar, euphoric, and proud.
This morning I wake up, look in the mirror, and realized what happened last night. I let my ego overtake the rational components of my brain, and I thusly paid the price. By getting hit. By. A. Girl.