Sniffing the fumes of latex and desire at FetishCon 2011 (NSFW)

“Are you okay with wearing heels and crushing a guy’s balls?” Brandon asks Brooklyn Dayne, a platinum blonde porn performer.

Looking dumbfounded, she shakes her head, "no."

Brooklyn recently flew in from Dallas to shoot a series of porn scenes around Florida. FetishCon is the first time she has been exposed to the fetish world. At the meet and greet, Brandon serves as her manager, fielding questions from guys with SLR cameras searching for willing models.

A brunet struts by, smiling as she models the intricate rope-work binding her arms behind her back.

“I don’t get the whole ‘fetish thing’,” Brooklyn says. “I can only shoot a scene if I enjoy it, if I feel a connection to the guy I’m working with. It’s not just about the money.”

“Why is crushing a guys balls for money worse than having sex on camera?" I ask.

“I’m just not comfortable with it,” she says.

I explain how many fetish models take the opposite view; they are comfortable with doing most everything—tickling, spanking, bondage—but they see sex on film as degrading. Brooklyn shrugs.

A middle-aged woman consults with Brandon. He looks over at me and grins.

“She wants to know if you’re available to shoot a bondage scene?”

I blush and shake my head the way I do when men ask if I am single. Smiling, Brooklyn asks what I am so afraid of. She asks what is so much worse about shooting a fetish scene as opposed to writing about it. I shrug.

"We all have our kinks," I say.

* * *

A legless man lies at the foot of the bar, inviting women to use him as a stepping stool while ordering drinks. It takes me longer than it should to realize that he does not necessarily have a foot fetish; playing the role of a human doormat affords him dynamic views up women’s dresses. For a moment I find myself jealous of his handicap, as I doubt a man with legs would be so well received. While most of the other male conventioneers have all of their limbs, more than a few are socially handicapped. I cannot help but wonder how many turned to the fetish world as an outlet for unfulfilled desires.

* * *A handcuffed man whose deep tan accents his gray body hair is pulled around the room by a chain leash attached to his privy parts. He is naked save for his black leather accessories: a blindfold, shoes, and g-string. A slime of sweat has smeared the room number written on his chest beneath the qualifier, “Women Only.” He is one of many regulars at fetish events around town but I have never spoken to him as he constantly trolls the parties in search of women willing to take his leash. Watching him I cannot help but wonder what gimmick I will use when I'm a creepy old man to attract women half my age. I pray it will involve speedboats and money.
* * *A classically attractive man with enhanced muscles asks a woman in heels to kick him in the balls. The man steps back, spreads his legs, and puts his hands behind his back. The woman knees him. He swallows the pain, thanks her, and asks her to kick him again. She gets a running start and kicks him like she is punting from the endzone. Again the man swallows the pain and asks for another. Eventually the woman tires of the game before the man does. This demonstration is the ultimate proof that some people really do get a sexual charge out of pure pain, or at least the ego trip of demonstrating how much pain they can take.
* * *

Originally I did not invite my wife, Anezka, to FetishCon, though I am not entirely sure why. Maybe I did not want to feel bad about flirting with half-nude, sexual adventurers in front of her, or perhaps I was afraid she would take the same liberties. Of course there is also the possibility that I fantasized about accepting an invitation to be tied up in a dominatrix's room. Not that I particularly like being tied up, but I do have a fetish for lounging in hotel rooms with sexually aggressive women. And it would not technically be cheating if I was bound and forced to have sex.

* * *Fetish gatherings at dance clubs like The Castle are little more than sex-infused costume parties with an emphasis on latex, leather, drag, man-thongs, and nipples crossed out under black electrical tape. When I first started going to these events, my excitement for getting to dress like a lunatic made me wondered if I had a fetish for costumes. But, despite my wife's best efforts to replicate my love of costumes in the bedroom, the sexier her lingerie is the faster I want to rip it off. And while I love college cheerleaders, I just laugh when she tries to role-play as a cheerleader. I suspect the majority of costumed partiers at the fetish gathering feel the same way. Other than the people who get so far into their role as vampires that they actually drink their lover’s blood, no one stays in character. Even the guy dressed in the flawless Alien costume just strolls around taking photos with people. For the most part, these parties are an excuse to wear hyper-sexual outfits and ridiculous costumes in a setting where you will not be thought a freak.
* * *

Another word for fetish models is "alternative" models. Whether it is their amplified hair styles, tattoos, makeup, age, or build, these women rarely fit the stereotypic image of fashion models. Even the women billed as "International Fetish Models" are not dark angels of perfection. One has a saggy ass hanging out of her backless pants while another’s granny panties show through her spandex shorts. In the fetish world “flaws” are accepted, if not expected. This is a community that embraces what others cast out, that thrives on what mainstream media deems “grotesque.” These women have found a niche where they are worshipped like the anti-superheroes they dress as.

* * *Kilts are big this year. I want to pass these man-skirts off as a silly cry for attention, but they are no stranger than any other fashion. Every clothing style is a costume, a choice, a statement, and all are equally contrived.
* * *At the Vamps and Vixens party, a husband and wife position their girlfriend against a web of chains and remove her skirt. With a pink g-string slicing her perky ass, the girlfriend wiggles her goods for what seems like half an hour, enticing friends of the threesome to playfully spank and rub her ass. Occasionally she glances back and smiles seductively at the crowd huddled around her. The scene plays out in varying degrees throughout The Castle’s dungeon room. One woman is electrically shocked with glass instruments while another allows herself to be hogtied. But what is these volunteers' real source of pleasure: being lightly tortured, or the attention they receive in direct proportion to both their sex appeal and how extreme they are willing to play in public?
* * *The title “dungeon” seems a bit excessive for the carpeted convention center room at the Hyatt. Behind the curtained off section various kink equipment and restraints are set up like a hybrid between backyard jungle gyms and a life-size stations of the cross. A woman’s sizable bare ass is flogged, lightly. Two older women sit facing each other in the corner as their friends shield their play from view with a curtain of towels. Anezka and I join a cluster of other latecomers searching for a “scene” to watch before the dungeon closes. I ask one of the guys what the most extreme thing he has seen happen in that room. He describes a woman who was tied up in plastic wrap while holding a yoga pose, hung from a wooden frame, then spun. The thought of being spun endlessly makes me more nauseous than any of the stories I have heard about kinks involving body fluids.

"Is it just me," Anezka says, “Our does it smell like a dirty vagina in here?"

I suddenly notice the wads of towels around the base of the torture stations. While most anything can be sexy in the heat of the moment, what remains in the wake of the kinkiest of sex scenes is often less than desirable.

* * *Everyone I talk to at the convention says the real action happens after 2 AM in the pool atop the Hyatt. The atmosphere at the pool is relaxed but exotic enough that I feel comfortable stripping down to my homemade American flag speedo. Some people lounge in sun chairs sipping drinks while others huddle around pizza boxes. Two women play around on the exercise equipment in the adjacent gym, unable to strip out of their latex dresses or remove the nest of feathers in their hair to go swimming. Stripped of their fetish gear, the swimmers look like any other group having a late night pool party, though perhaps with a larger age gap between most of the men and women.

The hotel room windows rise over the pool like blank TV screens. Some flicker with a ghostly blue glow but most stay dark. A light comes on in one room where someone, or thing, is tied up against the glass. I point excitedly to the exhibitionistic couple performing for our amusement.

“That’s a teddy bear being tied up,” Anezka says, and she is right.

“But why would you tie up a teddy bear?”

“Why would you tie up a person?”

Anezka and I squeeze into the hot tub overloaded with bodies. A fetish model sitting on the edge asks a guy talking to her friend if he has a foot fetish. He nods. She dangles her foot out to be rubbed. He begins kneading it. Another man sucks on his girlfriend’s toe. I dangle my foot in the water but no one volunteers to rub it.

This is about as wild as the party gets while we are there. However, there is the omnipresent sense that something truly deviant is perpetually on the verge of happening. It's the same feeling I experience when I hit the bars with my guy friends; we stay out until last call believing that all of our thrusting and writhing on the dance floor with busty partners will somehow transition into a late night sexfest. The feeling is called horniness. Luckily I correctly identify this feeling and advise Anezka that we should leave before we stay out until dawn waiting for something kinky to happen. While neither Anezka nor I will admit wanting to have sex with anyone else, that does not mean we would deny an invitation back to a fetish model’s hotel room for pants-less cocktails.

* * *

“What else do you think is going to happen?” I ask Anezka on Sunday night after she expresses interest in returning to the Hyatt for a room party.

Anezka shrugs as she picks through the closet-full of clothes distributed over the floor. She redecorated our apartment the last two nights while putting together her outfits. She slides back into her costume from the previous night—a sequin miniskirt with attached suspenders that she used in conjunction with black electrical tape to censor her nipples. Where else but a fetish party could she wear such an outfit and have strangers repeatedly ask her what kind of modeling she does as opposed to quietly condemning her for dressing like a slut?

We all desire to be desired, whether that takes the form of a lover wanting to whip you, photographers hungry to capture your physical beauty, or a huddle of guys wishing they could find a girlfriend kinky enough to have her bare ass spanked in public. The only difference between the fetish and vanilla world is how this desire manifests itself.

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