Kink Parties Versus Vanilla Parties

Last night I went to a kink party. I met a domly Arctic Explorer, a brat in spectacular braids, and an Uber Dominatrix in fishnets, who ‘splained the benefits of dying in a zombie apocalypse. If it had been a vanilla party, a Karen in florals would have ‘splained the benefits of voting for the Democratic Alliance and a Chad would have ‘splained the benefits of tampons over cups.

I also met a sub on a leash who spent the night doing her best rendition of Lee Holloway’s good-girl expression. She was prolly plotting the demise of her dom’s white shirt via glitter bomb—something a Karen in florals would never, ever do. I was introduced to three floggers, one gleeful sadist who looked exactly like a Karen, and 16 vanishing cupcakes that were almost certainly stolen by a sub on a leash.

I would really like to know where my cupcakes went, but since you all explained the benefits of dying in a zombie apocalypse, I’m willing to overlook the missing bakery. I did, however, see an awful lot of giant suitcases that were clearly invented for stealing cupcakes. Just saying.

Last night I also saw a white-collar corporate type take of his tighty whiteys and get caned without screaming once. A scream would have been fun, but if I’d been at a vanilla party, I would have had to listen to a white-collar corporate discussing the gold price, so what are you going to choose?

I once spent a vanilla party drinking Stroh rum and talking about the ecological challenges of the Overberg Region. This is why we don’t drink Stroh rum at kink parties: We don’t need to. We might like to say it’s because we’re into consent and risk mitigation, but the truth is we’re just not bored enough to bother.

I, myself, am a teetotaller now, but nobody looks at me weirdly at kink parties when I bring an impressively stylish, nose-mingling bottle of orange juice. Not so at vanilla parties, where nobody’s getting caned, and where an impressively stylish, nose-mingling bottle of extra brut is the only way to survive the evening.

Last night’s newest newbie was a 20-something man who was delighted to be learning more about consent. This, if I need to tell you, does not happen at vanilla parties, where consent is what you talk about after you get caught groping Sharon in front of the Stroh rum bottles. I’m sorry, Sharon. I just didn’t know you were against strangers touching your butt, but maybe you shouldn’t have hung out in front of the Stroh rum bottle.

I usually don’t get groped at kink parties. I’m not gonna say it’s never happened, but it’s happened an awful lot less often than in vanilla environments. And if I explain why I’m anti-groping, kinky people usually treat me with respect. At vanilla parties, they just stare blankly and then get back to the important business of drinking extra brut.

I rarely bother with vanilla parties anymore. I’d sooner spend my vanilla time in smaller groups because I know my friends are awesome, and that few can match them. I feel perfectly au fait mixing with 170 kinky peeps, though. That’s because I know most of them are going to be as spectacular as my vanilla friends.

You’re free to avoid play parties if you like, but just be sure to take a bottle of nose-mingling, prodigious extra brut.