Coco Locos Nightclub at the Ramada Inn
September 10, 2011
Your boyfriend not into whips? That's too bad -- unless you can drag him to a Fetish Factory party. Saturday was the Fetish Apocalypse, which nearly didn't happen after its original location, Fort Lauderdale's Sky Nightclub & Lounge, was shut down by the Broward Sheriff's Office the night before. After a scramble, Cocos Locos inside the Ramada Inn became the land of vinyl panties for the evening. These are a few things uttered during this exposure-filled night:
"I'm just a guy who likes to feel your ass, that's all."
"I'm so into armpits."
"Show me your pussy -- if you're a woman."
Among the evening's sights (photography is strictly forbidden): a man sucking the entire front of a woman's closed-toe platform stiletto, tits rubbing against a bare ass, and a guy rubbing the clit area of a girl who is getting intensely dry-humped from behind by another woman who is getting whipped by another male.
The fetish Santa Claus was in attendance Saturday, although he wore a silver mesh knight shirt, but, yes, he was still old and jolly -- and a master spanker. While conducting the spanking, his body bounced up and down -- he hopped with his feet secure to the ground. After this man was done spanking a girl in pigtails, her guy enthusiastically said, "Thank you, thank you" -- to Spanking Santa.
Although I appreciated the laughter he brought me when he would hop, the paddle is not for me. (There is a reason incoming freshmen and pledges get paddled and not whipped -- it does not feel good.) I placed my hands on a scaffold-type piece of furniture. After a few lighter taps (still painful), he would give an intense smack: "You gotta get it hard every once in a while," said Santa. Note: It's a completely different feeling when you let an older professional guy paddle or whip you than when you go off with a fellow fetish partier. The latter definitely is a hookup, whereas the former feels like the free massage station at Whole Foods.
After the professional spanking, a guy walked straight up to me: "Your butt hurts?" Yeah. "Good, then you'll remember it in the morning."
Later, a man hiked up his old-fashioned Scottish kilt so his bare ass could be whipped. One lady spanked another lady using her bare hands. It was plenty of fast taps, pushing the bottom of the buttocks up. Smack that tush up! Then it was hard, dead-on, in-the-middle-of-the-cheeks slaps. Patty-cake prepares us for something. Then she grinded the other woman's butt with her pelvis.
A guy in high heels, a light brunet wig, and a beige and black leather ensemble did a phenomenal job showing that a dick was absent from his body and turned out to be a dancer. Very skilled dancers were on high-in-the-air blocks next to the dance floor. The music was not the most elegant to dance to -- but this wasn't a problem for them. It got better as the night wore on, but earlier, it was Jimi Hendrix with a techno beat, "Thriller" to a techno beat, rave music. Then came the gems: Tunes that had choruses like "skull fuck you" and "pussy" on repeat.
"I would rather face you," I said to my friend as we danced in a cage, planted at the side of the dance floor. Two guys in camouflage gear started dancing near the cage's door. They slowly gyrated seductively up and down those skinny bars like they were stripper poles. A man in leather pants hopped on the cage and sat on top of it. I kept stabbing the bull's-eye of his butt with the top of my pen. My friend, who had to defend herself from Mr. Grabby Hands by pinching his nipples hard, said: "We're fucking stuck in here, and someone is sitting on top of us, and there're titties behind us." A thin, full-mouth-masked man slithered through the cage bars. The three of us danced; then he lifted up his legs and interlocked them on the bars on the top and hung down and danced.
The shirtless and bare-assed man wearing a chain kilt (chains covered only his package in the front) handed out free earrings and free massages: He had on a vibrating mitten. I got earrings. ("What would look good on me?" "Me.") And a massage.
At Cocos Locos, there were no private areas. At one point, I was told that I was being led to a "booth," but that turned out to be a separate three-walled room, complete with a scaffolding to hold on to and a spanking/whipping bench. You have to not mind doing this shit in public. Caution: Watch out for hands.
Famously on Fetish Factory's website, it says, "No sex allowed in the club," and I believe they really mean this to keep everyone comfortable. But they can't keep checking dark corners the whole night. In the back corner of one bar, for example, one woman was definitely fucking another woman on top of a cushioned bench. From how the woman rode the other woman at one point, there had to have been some sort of strap-on involved. They both definitely got off while others just sipped their cocktails and chatted around them.
Personal bias: After a guy found out I was at the Fetish Apocalypse for work, he asked: "Does your boss know you're wearing that?" Exactly. It's too much fun dressing up. I got to wear a little, decorated cloth, safety-pinned.
The crowd: Very nice. Very self-aware. Very straightforward.
Fashion: A very old man wearing a fitted Colonel Sanders black-and-white, pin-striped suit. An exotic alien/sea creature -- a hot male version of the opera singer in one of Bruce Willis' many outer-space movies, The Fifth Element. A black-and-hot-pink-haired woman, with pigtails on the top of her head and braids by her face, wore a shimmery silver cone bra and a panty bottom, complete with a utilityesque belt with cool things hanging off. Guys dressed as women, guys in leather panties not dressed as women, lots of masks (the majority of which covered only the mouth -- I was told that the intrigue of the mask is that you don't know if that person is smiling or not), some full-head masks, white-haired goth couples, young couples holding hands, Army clothes, Army gear: guns, gas masks.
Safety measures: Security guards and police at the door in the front of the hotel were present.
Overheard in the crowd: "That guy with the metal chest plate -- that's so he can always be hard." A guy who went to one party ten years ago: "Everyone was mad ugly... here, everyone is good." A guy: "I'm not a monster!" Me: "I'm not a monster!" Him: "I'm not a monster!" Me: "I'm not a monster!"
What I missed: The main performance: After a little marching-with-guns routine, a male performer on stage pretended to rape a girl who wore vinyl panties and tape covering her nipples. A fake, rubber penis ejaculated blood over the pair.
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Self-discovery: I am not yet ready to try making out through a mask with bars.
Final question: In the fetish world, if a man wears a collar with a chain (leash) attached to a black band around his biceps, does that make him an independent?
The next one, which is Bloodlust on October 8, is a more intimate affair -- only 250 people allowed. Go and get to know yourself way better.