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Cupless Corset Biography
When I reported on the swinging scene here in Ireland, the article was like a crack in a door through which many people got to peek at another world. Most of us view the hedonistic values of swingers as sinful and hellish. Yet the dark side of us all wants to know what goes on and what type of people consent to such pleasures. The truth, as I discovered in the last piece, is that it's not just your lonely, horny, middle-aged neighbour who can't bag a fella who goes swinging. It's your bank manager, holistic practitioner, barber, plastic surgeon and perhaps, as in my case, your best friend. So where do these people go if there are no swingers' clubs in Ireland?
Last year, I discovered that a group called bbibaby, which has 600 regular clients, hosts monthly parties at inner-city Dublin apartments. This year, I phoned the organiser, Simon, and he said the parties are more popular than ever, so much so that they've upgraded from regular apartments on Parnell Street to penthouses in Temple Bar. However, the number of people enquiring about parties far exceeds the actual number of people willing to take the extra step and show up, ready to swing. "Ninety per cent of people who email enquiring about my parties never attend, out of fear of being exposed," Simon said.
"A lot of people who are interested in swinging wouldn't dream of doing it in Ireland," he went on. "But with the advent of Ryanair, it's feasible for Irish swingers to take two to three trips a year to cities like Berlin, and the main reason is for anonymity.
"A lot of people who live in smaller towns in Ireland like Castlebar, Sligo or Letterkenny would be in terror of going to a local swing club because they'd be afraid of meeting their second cousin once removed," Simon said. "These are the type of people who go abroad to swing. Most of the people who come to the parties in Dublin are in their early 20s. But it's the more mature people in their 30s who swing abroad because they have more disposable income."
I spoke to a few Irish couples who swing abroad and they all raved about two clubs in Berlin: Insomnia and the KitKatClub -- or Kitty, as the swingers call it. Guests are allowed to engage in sexual intercourse openly in both venues. An Austrian pornographic filmmaker and his partner opened Kitty in 1994 and the club, consisting of three dance floors and an outdoor pool, is open 24/7. When the club first opened, its sexually uninhibited parties attracted patrons from all over the world. More recently, though, Kitty has been tamed, becoming more about music and dancing than doing it in front of your fellow clubbers. Also, the gay presence in the club has grown more significant. As result, in 2006, Dominique, a dominatrix and ex-employee of the KitKatClub, noticed how things were changing there and decided to open a hetero-style sex club with her partner. Insomnia was born, where sex, not music, is the main selling point.
To make the most out of a trip to Berlin, Irish swingers often start off at Insomnia and, when the party ends there, move on to nearby Kitty, partying there till the next morning. Some of them told me they don't even book into a hotel: they party all night at swing clubs and fly home the next morning. You probably think that's a bit unhygienic, and so did I, until they told me the clubs supply showers and beds, not to mention room service.
I rang Insomnia and spoke to Matron Dominique to check out the possibilities of a non-member gaining access to the sex club. She assured me that if I looked the part, entry would be granted and said that although every weekend is a carnival, the very best time for me to experience the club would be the weekend of the Berlin Love Parade. Hundreds of the club's swinger clients from all over the world travel to Berlin for the Love Parade to party on the Insomnia float, so if I came along I'd be sure to witness the true ethos of the club and its members in action.
The Love Parade is a huge celebration of love and music. Over a million wonderfully dressed party people from all over flock to watch and participate in this parade. As in any parade, there are lots of different floats with various themes.
The Insomnia float is like a concentrated, mobile version of the club. The mere thought of partying on a truck with the most liberal, kinky, hedonistic crowd of wanton exhibitionists on the continent made me completely forget about the recession. I was going to need some serious styling, though, since leather and bondage gear is not really my forte. Rooting through my wardrobe, I pulled out an array of sexy clothing, ranging from Agent Provocateur lingerie to raunchy, pull-up tights, corset tops and a one-off, S&M-style dress a designer friend made for me years ago. I knew that I could pull it off, but my boyfriend Rory had no chance.
Rory said that he'd probably wear what he had on. As I looked at his baggy beige cords, the blood drained from my face. I panicked at the idea of him being stripped down to his jocks at the door of Insomnia -- I had already seen on the website that if they did not like your clothes, stripping you was the last resort before refusal. Eventually, I dragged Rory, kicking and screaming, to Dublin adult store Miss Fantasia, and handed him over to the infamous Justin, who set about styling him.
Justin shared his expertise on the Berlin club scene with us and reckoned the bare minimum you could get away with, as a man, was a pair of leather trousers and a vest. With such couture, Rory would both fit in and be cool. So Justin produced a pair of vintage black leather trousers with zips and buckles, for which we were most grateful. The vest we could take care of ourselves. As we were leaving, Rory asked, almost as an afterthought, to buy one of Justin's collar-and-leash chain sets, as he thought it might be advisable to keep me on a short leash! This was also a way of sending out a signal to the other dogs that I was his bitch and he wasn't sharing.
We landed in Berlin at 10am on Friday, got the underground to our hotel, cream pastries in a bakery, and took a taxi straight to Dominique's apartment. As the taxi pulled in, this extraordinarily tall, blonde, Jessica Rabbitt-esque woman waved at us. I felt like a tiny girl when she bent down from her towering heights to kiss me on the cheek. As the bombshell strutted into her apartment, her blonde hair bounced and her pert bum moved in slow motion. A little, snappy dog ran along at her feet as she handled its leash like the professional dominatrix she is. On first impression, Dominique epitomised Amazonian beauty and confidence, but I guess this image and act are part and parcel of her profession.
Inside the apartment, I asked Dominique how she came to open a sex club that hosts parties with titles such as Angel in Bondage, Saturday Night Fuck and Circus Bizarre.
"Sex is one of the most interesting aspects of my life. I study it, I talk about it, I do it and I teach it," said Dominique, in a very matter-of-fact tone.
"In 1984, when I was 17," she continued, "I started working as a table dancer. Then later I began working as a dominatrix, and shortly afterwards I found out that my mother also worked as a dominatrix. So, the sex industry is in my blood. When I was 20, my mother wanted to retire, saying that she didn't want to see another naked man crawling on the floor in front of her. But she reluctantly agreed to manage my S&M studio and leave punishing the slaves up to me. It was hugely successful: 10 years later we had a thriving family business with 20 girls working full-time.
"Then, four years ago," she says, "myself and my partner of six years were partaking in guilty pleasures -- although without the guilt -- at the most notorious sex resort in the world, Hedonism, in Jamaica. While lying in a hammock one day, we looked at each other and decided to open our own fantastic sex club back home in Berlin. I had been organising parties in KitKat for years and I felt that as the club expanded the wrong people were gaining access and diluting the sexual vibe. I decided to create a condensed club, with a strict dress code, where the primary focus would be on creating an environment where visitors, all driven by the same longings and desires, could meet to enact erotic fantasies and sexual dreams."
The following morning, I found myself being pulled by a leash out of our hotel by Rory and through the streets of Berlin, both of us suited and booted in all the crazy gear, ready for the Love Parade.
At the Insomnia truck, Dominique, the mistress of ceremonies, in a dark cloak under which her big boobs poured out of a little bustier, welcomed us onboard, enthusiastically approving of our attire. She looked fierce and she proudly held a flag for the entire six-hour procession which said, "I fuck, therefore I am."
As the day went on, I began to feel claustrophobic in the confined space of the float. We were among the most open swingers on the continent and although I'm pretty sure they read from our body language that we weren't up for the cup, every once in a while one of the revellers would get carried away and try it on, in some subtle or not-so-subtle way.
In the swinging scene, it's mostly girls who organise the partner swapping -- we noticed similar tactics and politics when we explored the swinging scene in Ireland. Guys send their girlfriends off to flirt with girls they'd like to be with. Usually the girl manages to score the girl her boyfriend likes, and then the two girls swap their fellas.
As the hours passed by, the merriment got a little more intense and I had to start whacking off girls like annoying flies. There was a lot of bum slapping, playing, whipping and people generally copping a feel.
A group of aroused girls were kneeling on the ground, rubbing each other's bodily parts and swabbing each other's throats with their tongues. A stunning girl with long black hair was sucking the ample bosom of a lady in a cupless corset and she smiled at me, revealing a piercing in her gums above her two front teeth, and invited me to join in their action. For a lot of people this would be a scene they'd script if they got to produce their own sexual fantasy. But I started thinking that when fantasies become a reality, perhaps they lose their shine. Maybe they should just stay fantasies.
Women and children cheered and waved at our truck while they munched on frankfurters. Sweaty, middle-aged men were in a frenzy, drooling at the mouth, trying to keep up with our truck, taking photos that they won't forget to develop.
If this was the mobile, watered-down version of the club, I shuddered to think what would go on in the inner sanctum.
Two scary-looking guys who were clearly into S&M or something sordid started running their nails down the back of a beautiful woman who was naked except for jewels covering her private areas. Swollen red welts appeared down her back, as if someone had pressed a red-hot grill against her skin. An unwelcome guest stuck his hand in and grabbed the girl's naked bum. The men reacted violently towards the intruder, because nobody had invited him to touch. This particular scene turned my stomach a little as the atmosphere changed from tongue-and-cheek, Benny Hill-style fun to something aggressive and threatening.
There's only so long you can sit on the pot, so to speak, without doing the business, so after hours of playing the role of voyeurs on the float we felt it was time to make our exit.
We went into Tiergarten, a nearby park, and lay on the grass for a while, a little overwhelmed. Techno and trance was still echoing through my eardrums. Then, having headed back to the hotel for a quick freshen up, we headed for the club.
From the exterior, the club could be mistaken for somebody's home except for the name Insomnia over the door. A couple, who had a look of money about them, dressed in long, black, leather trench coats and huge, black leather boots made even bigger with metal attachments, stood with us as we waited on the damp street to be let in. It was like a scene from Eyes Wide Shut. We were about to enter the sanctum sanctorum of one of the craziest clubs in the world. A burly bouncer opened the door and the four of us slipped in.
Rory paid a cute brunette kitted out in provocative lingerie and high heels a cover charge of €20 for the two of us -- very reasonable, given the nature of the club. The other couple were obviously members because they were warmly received. A girl with a mane of black hair and a silver, chain-mail top removed their trench coats, revealing outrageous, designer costumes, which must have cost thousands -- the outfits looked like something Thierry Mugler would create for Klingon rock stars. The man wore a top with a huge, metal breastplate, complete with lights and different gadgets attached. And in contrast to the giant armour he wore on top was the skimpy little leather thong on his lower half. His huge boots totally restricted the way he walked.
We went up a few steps and into this huge, red-lit ballroom with a ceiling that reached for the sky. A huge dance floor, with a bar down one side, was littered with deviants. Hardcore porn was being projected onto a massive, 40ft cinema screen overlooking the dance floor. Topless bartenders were shaking cocktails and above the bar was a mural of a giant, cartoonised, glammed-up orgy.
Cute blondes were sitting at the bar in just bras and jeans, laughing; girls were walking around wearing nothing but collars and high heels; but I was beginning to feel that nothing seemed to shock me any more. As a gentleman was standing at the bar ordering a drink, I noticed a girl was indulging him through the Velcro flap of his leather trousers, and I barely blinked.
The dance floor is where the foreplay takes place, but little adjoining rooms are where the real action is. A couple of scary girls had a big henchman stripped down to a red thong. The muscles on his arm bulged out either side of a thick metal armband and he wore a studded metal collar around his neck. He was bound in chains and while one of the girls was whipping him, the other tightened his leash each time he howled.
We moved on to see what else this cornucopia of sin had on offer, naughtily walking though the sauna area in our shoes. I felt like a teenage boy perving on the girls' changing room after sports. In the shower area, a couple were behaving like lovers who had just met after years of separation. In the jacuzzi a couple were having fun while their respective partners watched.
A crowd was gathered around some action in a little side room. We stood on our tiptoes to get a glimpse of the action over the shoulders of the spectators. Some kind of operation was being performed on a girl who lay completely exposed and bound to a medical contraption of some sort.
The next room had a gynecological chair into which I jumped for a sneaky photo op, a keepsake to prove I had been there. The flash was still flickering when a swarm of horn dogs who must have sniffed us out had surrounded the chair. I climbed out in a hurry, feeling slightly raped, when I heard a guy comment in a sleazy German accent, "Zat vas very erotic."
I felt like a fraudster as we ventured further into the maze and found a mezzanine level overlooking the dance floor. The entire area was taken up by several enormous tented beds occupied by couples, threesomes, foursomes and, in some cases, whole teams. The lighting was so low I could hardly make out what was going on, but I could make out bodies moving rhythmically with bums here and there. Naked bodies were sprawled out in different states of arousal. Battery operated toys were on sale and in use.
I'm not sure if it was overexposure or overtiredness, but by around 4.30 am we decided to call it quits and go back to the hotel. A little dizzy and shell-shocked, we strolled up the quiet street of Tempelhof, past a small park with beautiful, mature trees. I could hear sweet twitters of birdsong, though whether it was the lark or the nightingale I couldn't say. I was glad to be going home to bed with my own man, unkilled by the heathen.
Europeans have a huge openness towards the sex industry, Berliners especially so, and it seems the city's uninhibited erotic scene is enjoyed or, if not quite that, at least tolerated by all. This city is a magnet for non-conformists and creative people and as a result, anything goes. They exude an irrepressible attitude of acceptance, freedom, and they embrace all things decadent
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