Review of the Halloween Fetish Ball at Exit 66 on Saturday.
Put your absolute trust in the Fetish Factory, because it will not let anything suck the energy out of one of its parties. Not even the Atlantic Ocean falling from the sky. Not even two months ago, when its venue of choice got shut down the night before the Fetish Apocalypse -- it found us a new venue. The Halloween Fetish Ball at Exit 66 on Saturday was an utter success.
Sure, paying the ticket price of $25 beforehand was also a motivator to get out in the rain, but the attendance of more than 1,500 folks who filled the multiple-level Exit 66 speaks for itself.
Sorry, no pictures. No one can bring a camera inside unless you're appointed by Fetish Factory itself. At the door, you get a card with a code on the front, so you can see the professional photos taken later on its website. These events are for the people, people who are teachers, pharmacists, web developers by day. Outsiders, you're not supposed to know what goes on at these events if you're not at these events. But by visiting the website -- and with the name of its company being Fetish Factory -- what can you really hide?
Upon first entry and noticing that Exit 66 was packed, the only thing going through my mind was: Shit, I'm going to lose my friends -- and I did. Nothing outrageous stood out -- everyone was dressed in typical yet incredibly fun costumes. Masks are the most delightful accessory ever created, and they are a fetish staple. Note: Guy, don't keep taking off your mask because you are trying to show a lady how attractive you are. You actually look better in the mask. Vanity that's not even justified is sort of gross. But, of course, when you do like what you see under the mask (if you happen to score a glimpse) -- that enhances everything.
There was a celebrious, thick energy in the air -- a homey, safe, chaotic, carnal frenzy -- that could be attached only to a fetish party. It's like the Choose Your Own Adventure books -- incredible shit will go down if you make that choice. Instead of speed dating, it could be speed hooking up -- in a place where boys carry whips. Everyone I met generally just seemed happy. You don't know the fetishes of 99 percent of the crowd who are drinking, dancing, and socializing. You would have to downright ask a person if you wanted to know her fetish -- and people don't do that. You can hang out with a stranger for hours and never even mention the word. Or talk about where you are.
There were many first-timers there, it being Halloween. My friend, who was a first-timer, was most impressed by getting to dance in a cage, about going up the stairs and seeing a "95-year-old" man getting spanked and having hot wax poured on his nipples. She loved that this was a place without inhibitions.There was an area where you could use sex toys and perhaps buy them -- but it was out of the way. I didn't even take notice of it this night.
The most uncanny attendees of the night were the two men lying down on the floor in the hallway to the bathroom and camped out there. To mention these men and to have everyone think this is what the overall crowd is like would be a disappointing misunderstanding. These two males were a rarity, but to fail to mention them would be a disservice -- because it was incredibly abnormal and fascinating to watch -- while you're in the bathroom line. The line was long and extended down the corridor. In the front, once you turned the corner to enter the hallway to the ladies two-stalled restroom, a man face-up on the floor wore a thick welcome mat on his torso (and perhaps that was his Halloween costume). This seemed harmless enough. He wanted to be stepped on. I stepped on him. Why the hell not?
The second guy was also lying face-up inside the hallway a few feet away. A first-timer lady asked me what could possibly be his fetish. Moments later, a woman in a tight boy-shorts bottom and tall, thick boots rubbed the bottom of her dirty-ass shoe on top of his face. She smashed her shoe further into his face -- grinding it into his mouth, nose. He was enjoying it immensely. There were no obscene gestures, but he kept rubbing the top of his pelvis gently. When a lady in a stilleto he liked walked past, he calmly laid his hand around her ankle. She shook her foot, and he removed it -- like a gentleman. I wouldn't want these guys just standing at the bar doing what society sees as normal if that left them feeling unfulfilled (wouldn't that be scarier?). I don't know why psychologically they desire this treatment. It would be fascinating to learn, but they get my respect for going after what they want. Do they get yours?