The theme was bacchanalia, complete with medusas and centaurs flirting. Sadly, I turned up in a suit, which led to some awkward moments … A dark room containing a large fan heater and a lot of casual nudity. But don’t get the wrong idea. I’ve come to a sex club, is all. It was this or write a column about repotting my hydrangea, so I’ve decided to take a walk on the wild side. To those, like me, not on the scene, kink and fetish parties are little more than punchlines. It’s a reaction probably born of ignorance and jealousy, so I’m at an invitation-only club – discreetly signed, in a basement bar under a railway arch – to find out what they’re like. I quickly realise they’re, above all, dress-up parties. This particular event, run by two women called Chloe and Chlöe, changes themes every time – tonight is bacchanalia, and there’s a queue of gods and goddesses at the bar. There’s cabaret, an eclectic playlist. Medusas and centaurs flirt, having fun. At least some people are. Being a disorganised fool, I have no costume. The website said smart dress is encouraged, so that’s what I’ve worn, but I stick out like a sore bum. I’ve distilled my brand to its essence: a man standing in the middle of a Roman orgy, in a three-piece suit. “Did you not get the memo?” a man in a shoulderless toga grins. “It said Greek, not geek.” (Apparently, “munches”, low-pressure social events, often just a drink in a pub, are a good way to introduce yourself, learn the vibe, be invited to a party and generally make less of a tool of yourself than I’m doing.) Continue reading...
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