the valentines day night i spent with a gay porn star

So a friend of mine from the radical fairy party and I had been messaging back and forth since the party, mostly as friends hearing about him and his boyfriends adventures. Until one day, out of the blue I get a message saying “hey, I’m hosting a party in stoke as my alter ego “ripper moff.” As almosot all of my stories go, I was intrigued. 

So the weekend stumbled around and I rock up in Stoke, headphones in and staring down at google maps like it would save my life. When I arrived into central Stoke it reminded me of a town in a zombie film. Shutters and gaggles of strangers. A zombie hipster horror film. I squirmed around for a while, getting increasingly aware that the bar I was being summoned to was the other side of the town. Not open yet.

I get in and having smoked the place out, receive a message saying come to the hotel. I tag along and halfway through, find a glittery red figure in a Mary Poppins hat, a cruella devile coat, and a thickly coated crimson glitterbeard. I shouted over something charming. “oh hello darLING” they grinned with open arms. Their boyfriend trailing behind with a leaning tower of bags. I thought the boyfriend was supposed to stay in Scotland. I tag along and they scurry me into the nightclubs “back passage” with a few cheap jokes.

I’m introduced gradually to a gaggle of transdudes and NBs with an assortment of tattoos and slightly genderfucky clothing. I tried to smile and mingle, helping out behind the scenes (read: hovering awkwardly and saying the wrong thing, why do I keep having the scooby doo “their right behind me” moment?) until the Scottish boyfriends says to me with a grin and an accent. “hey, the games are beginning in a few minutes, you should volunteer” he smirked. “we’ll see” I replied with a tilt of the head. “oh heads up, we might be having our friend Max over, he’s a Frenchman in the adult industry” he half warned half advertised.

We watched the first song. Ripper in giant red boots lipsyncing to "popular" from the wicked musical, glitterbearding the owner of the venue and dressing them in sparkly spandex. I mingled with the crowd, and tried to make friends. There was a moment when I nipped to the loo, hearing a notable french accent from the sink as a skinny guy with a pair of oversized glasses washed his hands and mumbled to himself. After I returned to the dancefloor I was joined by the scottsman and the burlesque act.

 “so the games begin when our friend comes” I get told.  “wait, skinny guy? French? I think he’s already here” I admitted. At this point I wasn’t aware of who the blind date was. All i knew is my name was on the list.

So I got called to the stage alongside a larger, slimy dude in his 30s, and a pink/purple haired gentleman who lacked the gift of conversation. The host grinned “So these fine folks are here to compete for the evening affections of a French porn star, they will be asked 3 questions and rated on their answers.” The penny dropped. The penny totally dropped. The penny practically death-dropped.

The slimey guy was asked the first question “so as a Frenchman … I love food but I personally cannot cook. What would you cook for me?” he was asked. I froze. Think. Think think think.

“I totally fancy yooooooooooouuuuuuuu” garbled the drunken first guy. I was next and I smiled nervously. “I would cook you pancakes … because it won’t be the only thing getting flipped” I stuttered. Pretending to be more confident than I was. The purple guy froze like a rabbit in headlights. “well. I would cook you bangers and mash because I'd bang your mash” he replied. I winced gutterally from my soul at such a terrible line.

“Question Two, as a porn star I’ve seen it all! What would your USP be in the bedroom?” I was chosen first. I didn’t have time to think of a funny answer. “You wouldn’t have to impress me, and also I’d let you have snack breaks” I winced. Fully aware that wasn’t the peak answer to that question.

“Question three, I’m travelling to Vegas soon, if you were my date where would you take me” the Frenchman asked. I can’t remember the other answers. I suggested “the festival circuit. So you can watch someone else perform for a change” I gulped. The host made the audience cheer us, and the draw fell down to me vs the purple guy.

Purple guy won and I was given a kiss on the cheek, “it’s a shame, you’re cute too” he confessed in passing, me getting lost in the eye contact and the politeness for a solid ten seconds. Him and purple guy vanished upstairs for his drinks, and I carried on, thinking that was my entire connection with Mr Max Angel. I scurried around chatting and mingling, and getting told how handsome I was by a passing drag queen. I reacted a knee jerk “thank you” that thinking back was totally in my retail voice.

Hours later I found the scotsman and his friends in a gaggle. I joined them drunkenly and mingled. Joking and complimenting the assortment of monochrome tattoos in my area. Max and the purple guy were both called to the stage for a parlour game involving an oversized bedsheet. 

The purple guy didn’t turn up and max stood there alone. 

I was quick to pick up the slack! I hopped on stage and stood in the bedsheets. Ripper strode the stage and gestured to me and max, next to a pair of the Scotsman’s friends. “the aim of the game is to swap clothing. You will get more points based on who wears more of the partners clothes. You don’t have to swap anything and we wont judge you for that, but you get two countdown timers, or one minute.” They explained.

Now I had auditioned for naked attraction. Nudity doesn’t weird me out. However it REALLY didn’t weird out Max. this was his bread and butter. The first of the two timers went and I flung off my clothes like a mad man, scrapeing up white skinny jeans half my size and a suffocating black tee shirt. The zip wouldn’t go up. These jeans weren’t designed for me. the second timer finished and the bedsheet dropped. My genitals hidden by strategically held underwear from the entire crowd.

In the flurry to switch back I accidentally kneed max in the forehead. Apologising profusely as I bent down to grab my jeans from the dark, very aware that I was now at face level with Max’s quite sizable genitals. It wasn’t arousal. It was a deep awareness that I could lose an eye. When the timer stopped I managed only just to zip up my jeans. I was still topless. Max however, revelled in the nudity. The boss, whom I’d accidentally insulted earlier than night bought be a cider as a thank you for being a good sport and I wandered away. So pink guy was a coward.

I managed to find a topless Max slumped at the end of the night, focussing on his phone. I joined him and the seat and got talking idlely. Partly out of desperate curiosity, partly out of the charm. he compared notes about the people in the photos and footage of his twitter, his day-to-day stable job in computers, and how he got ghosted by the purple guy without him even saying goodbye. A new friend, I smiled. We headed to the hotel, and I discovered he was staying in the same building.

The next morning we shared an uber and a coffee. It was a small gesture, but I was gradually becoming smitten. *his job is literally to make people fancy him* I reminded myself sharply. But the cheek kiss goodbye and the lilting French accent was too much for me, I melted and hoped I’d see him again. Maybe sometime.

a weekend with love dragon 2, in Manchester the dragon trains you

After a night in a hellish 1930s hostel I got back to the venue with minimal faff. It was going well. I made it to the cafe and met the mish mash of young and old. Grateful Phoenix at the bar with a smile. The first one I met was pax, a vaguely dude shaped Scotsman, who was either 14 or not as loved by puberty as I was expecting. It was warm. Wholesome almost.

We entered the "sexy vampire room" and sat in a circle, learning sensation via rope against skin. The black hemp rope was much softer than the other one. It tickled, not entirely a distraction but enough to make me escape some of the background noise in my brain. There was some questionable knot lessons (that I failed) and then a hushed cheese toastie break. During this break I met a mistress in a shiny necklace who seemed to embody a much more mumish energy to the kind I was expecting. Her name was mistress Susie and she was much more civilised than I expected.

I remembered a thing that was mentioned in passing last night, about the sessions being £100 per go. A "tribute". Maybe a side hustle for mum, I thought, aware that no one could clock me passing for either butch or domineering.

Of course after hearing all the horror stories I began to wonder if I was in too deep ... before really springy couple arrived. Mid 30s, not particularly kinky looking. "Its a second date" one of them admitted with a giggle. Bold move, I thought. But to their credit, their presence defused all the tension in the room. made me feel safe.

So the playfight session began, and I was paired for a warm up with Phoenix. Getting close enough to smell his aftershave in what was essentially competitive cuddling ... to start. It eventually escalated, each person having a different flavour, a different style. Some were goofy, some had a machismo rivalry, and some were borderline flirty. It was fascinating seeing peoples entire dynamics explained in a 10 minute scrap, people who'd never met before. I found out later that day, that Pheonix wasn't wearing aftershave. apparently my dry spell was much longer than i remembered.

So I completed that day, eating cheese toasties and listening to an 80s music mix with a dominatrix, a cutesy semi-hetronormative couple, a trans guy who looks about 14, his genderqueer master, and a completely zen German with a daft moustache!

that night i was walked to canal street and released. having been point blanc referred to as "ayyyyyyyyyyy Cardiff boy!" by a random stranger. it took me a solid 30 seconds to work out the welsh badge i was wearing. head above the waves, a mental health charity found near Cardiff. I never got to confirm that theory. she vanished before i could. i browsed the pubs before heading home, a box of chicken and chips in my arms, cradled like a child. i called it a night!

Day 3 crawled up. I didn't think I would come back, but they convinced me. So I went back to the dungeon. At this point I don't even associate it with its primary purpose, its just a gothy house to me now. There's an almost familial vibe with the main 5. Dragon as the cool older brother, Susie as the mum, and Phoenix as the dad.

This time around for the rope stuff, I was partnered with love dragon. This was doubly intense, partly because he chose to be topless and because he smelt palpably of pheromones and gruff manliness. I was then paired with Susie, and intimidated by her legacy, I began to second guess myself. My 3rd partner, Pax the trans guy, almost fell face first in a trance state. So all in all a success?

I also heard dragon, a tall German man with the voice of a hippie and the body of an otter in a kink bar, awkwardly stutter talking about the cleavage of an attendee. Starting off with "I'm super SUPER gay ... but I found it really interesting doing this task with a female bodied person with such cleavage" he stuttered, still graceful in awkwardness. His unusual combination of fascination and fear making Susie blush right into a fuscia colour scheme that matched the walls.

In the break between the events we chatted, and Pax was walked to the station. "I'm fed up of people who keep asking me questions about the event without reading the thingy" Phoenix ranted at me. I thinned my lip awkwardly, hadn't I done that? was this a weird critique? "I wouldn't say this in front of customers ... but you've been here all weekend so your part of the family now" he uttered bluntly... so I've been adopted by a German hippie, a dominatrix, a transgender puppy, and an awkward drama kid grown up. What is my life?

but joking aside i was strangely honoured. how did i feel comfortable skipping to nudity and wrestling with these people, hell to be considered part of their group. so much closer than i would be with my housemates or anyone else, yet only having met on the Friday, in a dark lane by an industrial estate.

a weekend with Love Dragon, the first day

How did I end up here? Huddled by the wall of a strange yet warm pub on the sketchier side of Manchester. waiting for a German bondage expert to introduce me to a ton of hippies known as "the radical faeries," in what was promised not to be a sexual activity despite taking place in a literal Rihanna music video style dungeon.

It all started after Dragula, when I discovered my life in the suburbs wasn't exciting enough, and required some queering up. I've met rad faeries in the past, strange people with unusual clothing, glitter, and funny names like Dandelion Chalice. I didn't think much of it beyond the novelty. I would have never been able to guess that half a year later I'd be in a pub in Manchester in late January, meeting them for a hippie training thing.

After waiting half an hour more than expected and having to pretend I'd been stood up for the sake of the pushy bar owner, I met them. Two amab people, a bearded figure with a soft German lilt, and a person with chaotic white hair and a glitter scarf. They called themselves Love Dragon (the German) and Grateful Phoenix (the blonde.) Arguable the polar opposite of the sorts of people I'd be expecting using the venue.


The first room emulated a fun bar that lead into a rich wine red upstairs, filled with bedrooms. Each starting off normal until I found the top room, a red and black chamber with chains and medieval imagery and the kind of restraints required for an exorcism. As far as first times go, I was getting mixed signals.The walrus-y man, the German, took charge. The soft accent being this paper thin veil between me and the overwhelming feeling of "this is how I die" that flooded me. He sat on the central bed and spoke, securing eye contact.

We started off with a trust exercise, me in a ridiculous black vest technicolor legging combo. We joined hands and the two people on the outside had to guide the middle person while keeping their eyes closed. I held their hands. Soft hands. How can their hands be so soft? And walked, waiting to feel the energy and guessing at my destination.

After that occurred we were debriefed and I was asked whether I wanted to start off as the massager or the massaged, and whether I had training. I chose massager. I could imitate, the mountain of pure German that stood before me, and so the grateful Phoenix stripped off and lay still.

We vibed well, the German and I. maintaining eye contact and brushing coconut oil across the strangers body. I shifted in my leggings, in order to hide any physical reactions to the stranger arse naked on a bed in front of me. I felt it then, all the vague poetry the team had spouted at me, the eye contact making me feel like the hesitation before a kiss. It was somehow both incredibly homoerotic and yet entirely wholesome. My affections seeming to magnetise more to the partner masseuse than the body in front of me. "How do you not fall in love with everyone you massage with?" I attempted to ask. Dragon smirked back at me calmly "what makes you think that's a bad thing?" Counter-riddled the dragon.

Sooner or later it was my turn. I wasn't phased by nudity, so I stripped off following suit with the Phoenix and lay there cadavourously. (Is that a real word? I like it regardless!). Soon I was lost for a moment, in a limbo between the present and my thoughts. It wasn't as sexy an experience as I imagined it to be, I felt like a hedonistic Greek emperor getting serviced by his team. My little joke about "accidentally joining the cult of Dionysus" suddenly becoming increasingly relevant. At one point the hands joined forced into some kind of across the body massage rumba.

Finally love dragon took his turn, stripping off rapidly and laying there. For the second time that day I had to remind myself that although the butt can and should be handled. Everything has to be done professionally and not in an uncomfortable way. This time the magic didn't stick tho, Phoenix and I often missed the frequencies required for a silent joint meditation. "Don't focus on the experience for me, I'm a forest I don't care. The important thing is your exploring the forest in tune together" he prescribed. I tried to read the braille of the body, but there was no spark this time and I suspect Phoenix felt that too.

I left in a bizarre state. Deeply turned on yet somehow deeply turned off at the same time.