Saturday, 23 May 2020

23rd May 2020

Back in 2006 I had become a little despondant with the fetish scene in the UK.  The heyday hedonism of the 1990s era, where just about every night was a sexual thrill and adventure, had gone.  The scene was floundering, looking for a new direction, but was hampered by busybody and prudish councils.  Many of the northern clubs had disappeared, and as always a visit to London was an expensive night out.

So, looking for a new 'home', I persuaded a vanilla but curious girlfriend to accompany me to a fetish/swingers night at a club in Blackpool.

Yes, Blackpool.  It doesn't have the greatest reputation for hosting the wildest nights, but was close enough for us from Manchester to explore.  The club offered rooms as well as the club space, so that saved us on taxis, too.  The first time we visited it was... OK.  Good music, surprisingly.  Perhaps that's sounds unfair - I wasn't expecting Black Lace and Agadoo, but you get the idea... and it was a decent turnout of not ugly people.  Perhaps that sounds unfair, but I was kind of expecting it to look like the bar scene from Star Wars...



Anyway, although I didn't really get up to much that I recall (and if it had been special I would have remembered it!) and as much as the rooms were somewhat dated and the facilities a time-warping trip back to 1975, we decided the next morning on our way back down the M61 motorway that it was worth another trip.

It was the following month, September, that we journeyed back up the motorway to Blackpool.  It was early evening when we arrived, so we checked in and got ready for the club night.  There hadn't been much in the way of out-there fetish outfits on our first trip, so this time I dressed in a lace, see-through mini-dress, high heels, lipstick and perfume.  The panties, I decided, could stay off - I WAS UP FOR SOME FUN, dammit.

We headed downstairs to the bar area.  The music was still OK, the crowd was... thin.  Oh, OK, maybe it would pick up later.  We got drinks, got seats (there were plenty, of course) and waited for some interesting people to arrive.

Let me digress a little here.  When I say 'interesting' I don't mean like someone from that Star Wars bar scene.  We all look for those little tell-tale signs that inform us of potentially like-minded souls.  Gentlemen with the right appearance - I don't mean good-looking, here, but well-groomed, well-mannered, perhaps a naughty-but-polite brief flirt.  Ladies are similar, but can offer additional signs - gorgeous and expensive fuck-me shoes are a very good example, where sexiness overrides comfort.

Let's just say there weren't many people in the bar that either of us wanted to talk to.  Eventually a male/female couple joined us.  She was gorgeous, long dark hair, sultry looks, a hint of the very sexy Gina Gershon...



...but unfortunately her partner looked a little more like Rodney from 'Only Fools And Horses'...




... but only after being hooked on crack cocaine for a year and then getting beaten up by a gang of bikers armed with baseball bats and motorbike chains.  He'd lost a fair few front teeth and didn't look... healthy.

Never mind, Gina-lookalike was worth investing some time on, I thought.  The bed upstairs seemed enticingly close, and envisaged her spread out before me.  Rodney, however, kept interrupting me as I attempted to find out more about Gina.  It was all in vain, we all soon realised.  Gina was most definitely straight, and not interested in women.  Rodney, sadly, was very interested in me.  It was an unequal triangle that would never be right.  They soon departed to find new fish once I kindly let them know that I wasn't ravaging Rodney that night.

More people came in, but none that looked 'interesting'... and it really was now beginning to look like the Star Wars bar scene.  Not that it was particularly populated by freaks, just it was quite cliquey and they may as well have been speaking a language we didn't understand.  "I'm ready to go home," said friend, who had not been drinking so was OK to drive.  I looked around the bar, and thought about Room 1975 waiting for us upstairs.  It was only an hour's drive to get back home.  "Fuck it, let's go," I concurred.  We went upstairs, packed our things... then realised we couldn't get the car out of the car park, as it closed at 11.00pm and only re-opened at 8.00am.

Fuck.

We spent the rest of the night back in 1975, complete with the small and fuzzy TV screen that wandered in and out of TV reception - but neither of us could bring ourselves to go back downstairs and mingle.

I never went back, and I think the club has long gone now.  The world didn't shed a tear, I think.

Today's photo was taken before we headed downstairs that second night.  Ah, I remember the optimism for a fun night even now... and I remember the decor even more vividly.

Dexi Delite Altrincham Escort

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