On saturday night London Boy and I went to the Torture Garden party, after our day of walking around the tourists sights (and all the sirens, and the cops, and the trains being stopped for suspicious packages, etc.). The highlight of the day was a trip to Coco de Mer, which I think is pretty much the most awesome sex boutique I’ve ever been in; it’s like a kinky and sweet sex museum but everything is for sale (pics). Just gorgeous, with amazing toys and lingerie… I bought Hornboy a kinky souvenir (I’m in major trouble when I get back, tho).
We were pretty tired from all the walking and the stress, so we went out pretty late; luckily the club party was from 8pm-5am. The club was right around the corner from a tube station where they’re still digging bodies out of and so the taxis aren’t allowed to stop anywhere along there…
The club was really cool inside; Morroccan style decor and with two dance floors, balconies, bondage cages and most of the upstairs rooms decked out with dungeon furniture. The outfits were really amazing; truly what you’d expect at a British fetish party, with lots of outrageous rubber and costumes from adult baby to…. Nazi. Unfortunately the only folks that I met were in rubber Nazi uniforms (there were a signifigant number of Nazi fetish outfits), and the only girl that wanted to play with me (that I knew of) was in a rubber SS outfit, which is like, so not a turn-on. We ended up just leaving after two drinks. We hung out upstiars for a bit first, people-watching while a couple had sex with each other next to me, however we mostly watched the videos on the screen above the bar — videos of people I know like Stelarc and my dear, dear departed friend Tim North. Overall, I was surprised at the diversity in the fetish scene at that club; lots of different body sizes, skin colors, dykes, gay men — though there were very few trans people.
I’d have photos, except there were no photos allowed — unless you had a press pass, which they wouldn’t give me. I asked, but they didn’t think “Fleshbot was a site club goers would look at,” though it seemed like the staff and their pals had plenty of cameras… typical clique mentality among fetish people, I think.
Yesterday (sunday), we slept in and then went to the supermarket which I have to admit was a pretty neat experience as a foreigner. (Walking to the market: “That’s the 30, the bus line that was blown up.”) I’m staying in a neighborhood called “the murder mile” because of all the stabbings and shootings that center at a club and park one block from the house; it’s a diverse but poor neighborhood, like most I’ve seen so far. I hear a lot of languages, even African dialects I think. We walked in the 80 degree heat to the market — in the parking lot there were people selling pirated DVDs, just like at home in Hunter’s Point. I’m such a cooking dork, I bought spices at the supermarket as my souveniers. On the way back we cut through the cemetary, where they’ve moved the headstones off to the sides to make it into a park, though they left the bodies… while we walked through all these military planes flew overhead: biplanes, seaplanes, all because this weekend is the WWII anniversary, which has the city full of old vets in full dress and dripping with medals. All such weird timing.
Walking back, I learned that this neighborhood — the murder mile — used to be wealthy until WWII, which is when it got bombed to pieces, and it’s easy to see the difference between old buildings and the newer ones built to replace bombed ones.
We hung out around the house and garden and I worked on the Sex Blog Roundup, at which point I sent an email off to Girl With a One Track Mind, and to my surprise she emailed me back right away and said, hey let’s get a drink. She wanted me to meet her in a district about 20 min. away by car, but by public transit and the tube stations that are missing, that meant likely over an hour to get there. London is so big that it already takes an hour to get anywhere, but with trains unreliable and stations removed completely from service, it’s more than daunting to take a trip. It’s totally confusing, and the tube maps online are not to scale, nor does the trip planner take into account the bombed-out stations.
So I figured, fuck it, I’m only here three more days so I’ll take a cab. Here, there are basically three kinds of cabs as far as I can tell. One is the black cabs with the drivers whose knowledge of London streets are legendary. These cabs are not around late at night. Next are fairly legit minicabs, basically guys driving cars (their own) through a service. After that are the minicabs which are guys driving their own cars that are much less legit, I think, as everyone seems to want to avoid these. Add to this the very VERY real problem here of single women getting abducted by these minicab drivers. Oh, and the minicab drivers know fuck-all about the streets of London.
I took a minicab from a legit service that I called from the house. Still, he was late because he couldn’t find the house even though the numbers are clearly above the door. On the drive to Camden, he went on and on about how quiet the streets of London are and how no one is going out, how it’s been quiet all weekend. He motioned to empty places as we drove by and told me how they were usually full of people. I asked him why, he said he through people were staying in because they are scared. I asked how long he’d been a London cab driver and he said 15 years. I asked if he’d ever seen it this quiet before and he said, yea, once in 1985. “Brixton.”
He dropped me in Camden and in less than a second guys on the street were approaching me. Luckily GWOTM was there to meet me, and looking insanely sexy in a low-cut dress. In case you’re wondering, she’s gorgeous, built like there’s no tomorrow and smart as a whip. We walked around to bars drinking and getting kicked out as they shut down (weird drinking hours here), and getting followed around by creepy guys. In the last bar a bottle-over-the-head fight between five guys nearly landed on us… London charm? Regardless, I had a really great time with her, and it was cool to meet and chat with a blogger from the UK about sex, writing, politics and the delicate balance of having a sex blog but still having a life. She wouldn’t tell me her name, though, which left me feeling a little more of London’s mistrust in a weird way — I realized when I finally made it back to the house how odd it was to spend an evening with someone who won’t tell you their name (though totally I understand GWOTM’s personal needs for privacy). It just adds to my feelings of unbalance and disconnect. (“Who did you go out with last night?” “Um, I don’t know.”)
We had to walk ten blocks to get me a legitimate cab ride back, one where I would be safe. I can’t tell you how glad I am that she made sure I was okay. On the way to the cab office I watched a group of taggers hit a building, then cops chase them around the corner. The cab driver got lost on the way back to London Boy’s house and I had to call (and wake) my host. $24 each way, fucking ouch.
Today I’m packing so I’ll be ready to leave on wednesday morning; I’m hoping tonight to meet up with one of the Londoinst guys for friendly faces and drinks.
