My First Time at a BDSM Club

Or, how not to visit a BDSM club

The first time I went to a play party was a hoot and I can’t help but laugh out loud each time I think back at that rainy fall night three years ago. It wasn’t bad per se — in fact, I had a ton of fun—but I definitely broke almost every rule in the book. Thankfully, no one got hurt, and, being a fairly street-smart cookie, I picked up the clues, adjusted my behavior, and have come back stronger (and saner) multiple times since.

Tess Dagger recently posted a very informative piece for anyone contemplating their first visit to such a club, and jeez, should I have read this some years back. But, hey, mistakes are sometimes the best opportunities to learn, so perhaps you can learn a thing or two from mine.

Without further ado:

How not to visit a BDSM club

I was barely two months into exploring kink and still wet behind the ears the first time I decided it was time to check out my first play party. I was seeing an experienced dominant who had inaugurated me into the world of private play, but he wasn’t much of a social butterfly and preferred to keep things private. I, on the other hand, was dying to explore the scene outside of our little bubble.

I’d been scrolling through the local event listings on the fetish social network Fetlife for weeks but they all intimidated me. Then, I found a party called Friendly Pervs and thought; that sounds…well, friendly. Let’s go! I clicked maybe attending and started planning my outfit—perhaps the one thing I didn’t get wrong that night.

On the evening of the party, I was working a corporate dinner event with free-flowing wine. As the event designer, I didn’t have to balance plates and dishes, and therefore, staying sober wasn’t a must. Tiptoeing anxiously at the thought of the approaching party, I sipped wine like it was water all evening, and once the ordeal was over, swayed back to my apartment to get dressed.

With fishnet stay-ups, over knee boots, a strappy playsuit, and hotpants underneath, I slid into loose jeans and a blazer, hopped on my bike, and made my way.

I drank another glass of wine getting ready, and yet another at my local bar, where I stopped on the way to gather courage. Needless to say, I was far more “courageous” than what’s recommended for a play party (or most social gatherings, to be fair), but, in case I didn’t already make it obvious, I was going all by myself to my very first BDSM party and didn’t know a soul.

I’ve been told I was brave to go alone, but who would I’ve invited? I was new to the scene and none of my friends were kinky—to my knowledge at least. The thought of asking anyone along seemed scarier to me than facing it solo, so here I was.

Enter the Dark Side

I’m not trying to sound dramatic, Dark Side was the actual name of the club, yet, I felt like I was entering unknown mythical territory; one that had existed beyond my knowledge, all along, right under my nose. The holy grail was located in the basement of a gated courtyard at the end of a small, residential street, not far from where I lived.

At the gate, I realized I needed to be buzzed in and that the people inside could see me on camera. Remembering their strict dress code, I figured I’d be rejected in jeans, so I ducked down between two cars and stripped down to my sexy-wear.

Half naked, I rang the bell, got let in, and tiptoed my way across the courtyard. I made it!

I later learned that all clubs and parties of the sorts have dressing rooms or cabinets at the entrance, simply so you don’t have to walk the streets in fetish wear in the middle of the night. Yep, that makes a lot of sense…

Since I already had my clothes tucked in a tote bag, I shuffled past the wardrobe, which is where you also usually get a welcome talk with a rundown of the party’s and club’s etiquette; another lesson I learned after. I, on the other hand, too busy taking it all in, and probably to get my hands on yet another glass of wine, blasted on by.

—Where’s your card? asked the bartender. —My what-card???

I was explained that they don’t deal in cash and that I needed a special card from the wardrobe, which tracks your expenses for the night and is to be paid when you leave. I went to correct my mistake and returned with a red and black piece of plastic to pay for my drink.

On the barstool next to me was a slim, nerdy looking guy in a neck-to-toe latex suit. He courteously introduced himself and held up a black clothespin, telling me he was participating in a party game where he’d been prompted to find someone who’d let him pinch them with it.

All that liquid courage mixed with the adrenaline rush had certainly worked since seconds later I found myself with my tits out and a pin on my left nipple. Just blending in with the locals, you know…

I wanted to play it cool, of course, and seem like I fit in, even if I secretly thought that this was one of the most exotic places I’d set foot in. It was like nothing I’d seen; with floor to ceiling brick walls, dark beams, black ‘leather’ furniture, and red accents, it looked like how Dracula would refurbish an old stable into a swag vacation home.

Deciding to have a look around, I started making my way through the crowds. Almost immediately, I was approached by two women who must have spotted my bright-eyed and bushy-tailed demeanor. They introduced themselves as sisters, which apparently meant that they were playing with the same partner—who was now doing a scene with someone else in the play area.

I had so many questions; how someone could date the same guy and not hate each other was one, and why were these random strangers so kind to me?… but, wait, there was a play area?

I don’t know what I’d imagined, going to a play party, but I was already satiated with new impressions and it didn’t strike me that anything could be missing.

—Come with us! They took one of my hands each and led me through a dark corridor. Turned out, Dracula’s chateau was full of secrets and continued into a large dungeon area split into three rooms. Here, there were cages and kennels, St. Andrew’s crosses, large bondage rings, spanking benches, and a bunch of other equipment I’d never seen.

In the first room, the shared partner of my new friends, a tall, dark-haired gentleman in a stately suit was whipping a naked woman who was attached to the ceiling by her wrists. Their performance had me spellbound and I couldn’t take my eyes off of it; the way he masterly maneuvered the whip, the way she screamed in a mix of pleasure and agony, the way he’d lift her chin with his fingertips after a strike to meet her eyes. And at last, the way he released her from the ceiling to catch her tightly in his arms after.

I was awestruck and mesmerized! Where do I sign up?

Edging the deep end

Eager to explore further, I ventured deeper into the corridors to discover multiple tiny alcoves where people were playing. Moans, yelps, slaps, and laughter echoed off the brick walls and provided a sensory overload that had me feeling like I was in the midst of a bizarre dream.

Far from well versed in the intricacies of consent within BDSM, I didn’t know how to act or what to look out for when a stranger approached me and asked if I wanted to play. I let him lead me into an empty booth where he started touching me and asked me what I was into. That was also the exact point when the amount of alcohol I’d consumed when straight to my head and made me feel dizzy, or perhaps it was also the realization that I was venturing into territory that I was not ready for—or fit to participate in.

Like Cinderella at midnight, I knew my time was up and, and without saying my goodbyes, I set course for the castle doors and ran to my bike. I noticed my back wheel had a flat, but my urge to get home and under my covers trumped everything else and I rode all the whole way on the bare metal rims.

I don’t even remember falling asleep that night as I must have passed out the second my head hit the pillow, but I do remember waking up the next morning. Dizzy with new impressions and a not-so-slight red wine headache I had to blink a few times to distinguish dreams from reality. I glanced over on the nightstand and there, next to my walled laid the proof that it was, in fact, no dream: a red and black piece of plastic with the words Dark Side printed on it.

Oh, no! Turned out, in my Cinderellaesque departure, I’d totally dashed the bill. What a lame move!

I promised myself to make it up to them next time—because, yes, despite some of my ill-advised moves, I was certainly going back. I had learned a lot the night before, apart from the most obvious; don’t be too drunk, change clothes inside, hang your things in the wardrobe, listen for the welcome speech and, finally, pay your bill when you leave.

Everyone I’d talked to had been kind, polite, and welcoming and I learned that kinksters are just regular ol’ humans with some slightly offbeat interests—much like myself. Going there had made me feel much less like the freak I deemed myself to be when I first reconciled my kinks. I had found, for the first time, that there are places out there, and even right around the corner from my home, where people come together to freely share and explore their kinks in a safe, public space.

By the time I’d finished thinking these thoughts, I’d already browsed through the event listings and confirmed my next event; one of the many I’ve been to over the past years. If you’re on the fence about attending your first BDSM event (once the pandemic has roared to a halt, that is), I hope this gave you some encouragement, and perhaps a few pointers on the way!