It's a tall enough task to sum up the decadent madness that was the 2006 San Francisco Fetish Ball. But to make things worse, an impending press deadline demands that I do it when my eyes are still blurry from the cocktails, I can still feel the bass pounding through my backbone, and -- most importantly -- the scent of sexual transgression (and latex) still fills my nostrils. Woe betide your too, too dedicated reviewer, who feels like he oughta be standing in front of the refrigerator eating cold pizza and contemplating a little hair-of-the-dog Monday-morning malt liquor therapy, not gulping down French roast and wondering whose latex panties those are -- the ones hanging from the chandelier.
So let's get to it: The 2006 SFFB was a weekend of debauched lunacy
the likes of which too rarely infects our hilly metropolis. If the
unspoken intent of the SFFB is to give the Great Balls of London,
New York and Berlin
a run for their money, I think it's pretty damn clear our frontier
outpost has long since swept the sawdust off its floor. This past
weekend -- and a long weekend it was! -- had all the class, style
and sophistication you want from an elegant ball mingled with the
wicked depravity of a high-society shindig gone delectably, deliriously
BAD. What's more, the SFFB has a distinct flavor to it, a pansexual
edge that makes it different than most other fetish events, and makes
it, unquestionably, something that could only happen in San Francisco.
From the first moments of Thursday night's Gallery Opening at the
DNA Lounge, it was clear that we were in for some high-class hijinks.
Live classical piano music lilted through the bar while early arrivals
browsed the assortment of breathtaking photographs from Aaron
Hawks, Ken Marcus, Kelly
Lind, Paige White,
Larry Utley,
Steve Diet Goedde,
and Perry Gallagher.
Casually-garbed art fans mingled with dressed-to-the-nines latex lovelies
sporting fuck-me-pumps and skintight minis. Many of the models featured
in the photographers' works were in attendance, and the show overall
was as amazing as one would expect from such a top-flight list of
exhibitors.
Friday night's Club Enslaved event at Club Z, right across the street
from the DNA, promised to be most notable because of the reunion of
two legends: Allen Falkner and his mentor body-mod guru Fakir Musafar,
the father of the modern primitives movement. After years of rumored
estrangement, the two came together on the Club Z stage for a performance
guaranteed to become fetish legend. Unfortunately, the event was made
even more newsworthy than anyone wanted it to be. After a stunning
suspension performance, while being let down from his harness, Falkner
sustained a serious injury while cutting himself free of the harness.
With Falkner rushed to the hospital, much of the talk at the following
night's Ball concerned his whereabouts and well-being. As of press
time, reports were that Falkner was just fine, and had recovered enough
to attend
Saturday's Ball.
Friday's Club
Enslaved
by Spanksonic Miko
Like any major Fetish
Ball, the SFFB is more than a one-night event. Most of the models,
photographers and other fetish luminaries were in town and ready
to party by Friday night, and the Club Enslaved party at Studio
Z was the perfect time for it.
The headliner for the evening was Fakir Musafar, who brought
primitive body decoration and ancient piercing rituals to the
United States more than 50 years ago -- founding the modern
primitives movement. It had been rumored that this would be
his final performance before retirement. Before his performance,
he meditated backstage with longtime student Allen Falkner and
his longtime partner Cleo DuBois. He then performed one of the
suspension-piercing rituals for which he has long been known
-- made the more amazing by the fact that Fakir has been doing
this for more than five decades.
Act two, however, was Allen Falkner's performance -- which ended
in near catastrophe. Falkner pierced himself with meat hooks
and was hoisted high above the dance floor, placards bearing
the words "Despair," "Worthless," "Hopeless" and "Depression"
all hooked into his flesh. Falkner had been concerned before
the show that this piece might be too dark -- too disturbing.
He had conceived it when he was emotionally down, some time
ago. But now, for him, life felt good and he was worried about
reclaiming those dangerous feelings. Nonetheless, he decided
to go with it.
Sure enough, something went terribly wrong.
Towards the end of his performance, when cutting himself free
from a harness, he accidentally sliced a gash in the back of
his head. No doubt surprised, his handlers lowered him to the
floor with a resounding thud -- not the effect he was after.
The crowd roared, thinking it was part of the act. But from
my vantage point at the edge of the stage, I could see Allen
was upset -- and bleeding in a big way. He was rushed to the
emergency room. Fortunately, he suffered no serious injuries.
And
Saturday night he was partying with everyone else at the ball.
Even after that show-stopper, the party went on. The cream of
the crop of Bay area female dominants were on the dance floor
and in the play party room -- Simone Kross, Gina Grant, Mistress
Kendra Knight and Mistress Selina Raven among them. Additionally,
some of L.A. hottest models partied long and hard and were among
the Last to leave. These women define the term eye candy in
their vivid latex outfits, hugging, squeezing and spanking one
another at the bar. Nikki Vega and Pia Kaamos are not only gorgeous,
but also two of the sweetest, funniest, most personable people
in a weekend that proved to be have the most amiable "good vibes"
of a SF Fetish Ball weekend yet.
Keep your eyes on Pia -- she could be this year's hottest discovery.
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That ball is, of course, the main event of the weekend -- and it didn't
disappoint. I actually arrived at 10pm, half an hour after the Ball
was scheduled to begin. Anyone who's ever attended a fetish event
knows showing up three hours late is pretty standard, so I felt like
a bit of an idiot waltzing in so close to the opening. That said,
the ball was already getting started -- and by showing up early I
had the pleasure, before the fashion show, of meeting up with several
photographers and models I've long admired but never met, including
but not limited to Anyssa, Ken Marcus, Kelly Lind, Alex
LaMarsh, Malcolm Weir, Michael Helms, a kilt-clad Perry Gallagher
and a tuxedo-clad Aaron Hawks with his lovely partner Lilith. Before
the end of the night, I made contact with Scar,
Miss Conduct, Fuckin'
Gerry, and so many others that I'm still sorting out calling cards
-- it was a veritable who's who of the fetish community.
By the time the fashion show rolled around, the Ball was packed -- and I do mean PACKED. The guests proved that any fetish ball is only as good as the people who attend, and I'm not talking about the fetish luminaries -- who are important, fun to meet, and definitely give the ball a certain flavor. But I'm mostly talking about the just-folks -- the accountants, lawyers, college students, nurses, florists and everybody else in town -- and from all over the world -- who pull out their freak costumes and get their kink on for one frenzied night.
To put it bluntly: The costumes on the "average" partygoers were nothing short of amazing. It became quite clear early on that enforcing the dress code was not going to be a problem. People pulled out all the stops for this gig, wearing everything from latex to leather to PVC to hard plastic to -- my personal favorite -- uniforms. The SFFB summoned a healthy contingent of San Francisco's male, uh, "uniform community," meaning hot guys for whom dressing up like a cop, a US Marine or a Canadian Mountie is nothing short of an obsession -- and they do it with an attention to detail that boggles the mind. That was only one of the many indications that SF's gay male community was enthusiastically here for the party -- adding an element that felt deliciously different than many other fetish balls, since San Francisco is, after all, San Francisco. It made me proud to be at a ball in my hometown where pansexuality is an art form -- and the mingling of pervs who dig all sorts of different stuff and every conceivable gender is, as they say, a given.
The fashion show was a lovely affair, admirably guided by MC Paul Nathan -- who opened with a bullwhip card trick that had to be seen to be believed -- and showcasing brilliant designs from Puimond, HW Designs, Libidex, Lust Designs, Fierce Couture, and of course Mister S and Madame S. The designs ranged from Asian-inspired to classic fatale, from Grand Guignol to Circus Freak Couture. Fetish femmes frolicked with gas-masked human pets and old-school leathermen with a twist. After the fashion show, the beat pumped on into the night, and action on the dance floor and in the upstairs VIP gallery went from flirty to heated to downright DIRTY. Nobody was keeping track of who made out with, spanked or fondled who, to do so would have taken a NASA supercomputer. Let's just say that what happens at the Fetish Ball stays at the Fetish Ball. Maybe.
Especially considering the uncertain future of the LA
Fetish Ball, it felt good to see San Francisco putting on such
a spanking good time and hosting so many of the fetish figures of
Los Angeles; it made me feel all warm and fuzzy toward our
Southern Sister. In fact, one of the best things about this ball was
the sheer variety of people visiting from all over the world -- and
the enthusiasm they brought with them. It makes me happy to connect
with the fetish world at large, and it also makes me damn proud of my
hometown.
No need to leave your heart here, folks -- take only photographs; leave only spike-heeled footsteps. And maybe a pair of black latex panties, hanging from the chandelier.
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Click
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• EROTICA / ZINE
