When I was asked by Coco de Mer to give a workshop about BDSM in the bedroom as part of their Salon programme I was of course delighted. I am a great fan of this elegant emporium of erotica and thought it the perfect setting for Miss Myers to share her pearls of wisdom. Also, I like to spread the word that BDSM is not all about extremes and being strung upside down in from the ceiling in a body bag; that there is a softer, more sensual side that can compliment bedroom time very nicely.
On the evening about 20 ladies were in attendance. I don’t know who was most nervous, me or the attendees contemplating the prospect spending the next two hours getting to grips with the technicalities of taking charge in the bedroom. For everyone’s sake, it was a good thing that the champagne was freely flowing.
However, after a tentative start, curiosity soon got the better of the ladies in attendance. The subject of CBT really seemed to break the ice and soon Algernon, our entirely realistic and life size male torso for the evening, was getting the sort of female attention that most men can only dream about. Hands were everywhere and there was definitely some rough fondling taking place, as the ladies couldn’t wait to have their turn at tournequetting poor Algernon’s testicles. From that moment on the female enthusiasm was well and truly out the bag and on the rampage. I was bombarded with questions, the props table was raided and the batteries ran out on the vibrator as everyone present wanted to test all the efficacy of all the different settings (on their noses, you really do all have filthy minds).
I like to feel I sent a few happy converts on their way at the end of the evening. And to any chaps out there, who find themselves at the receiving end of some unexpected enthusiastic and vigorous attentions, I suggest that you shut up and be grateful (hopefully you will have no choice in the matter if my young disciples have learnt well…)
Last night my good friends Nanny Nogood and Miss Vinci were kind enough to invite me to dinner and pour a large amount of red wine down my throat with a foolhardy disregard for the consequences; namely my obsession for the evening with Men’s Health magazine. I must say, I have never taken a great deal of notice of this publication before, as the target audience is clearly not female lushes such as myself. However, another housemate (of the male variety) had left one lying around and last night, through rioja tinted spectacles, it came under the brutal scrutiny of Miss Myers. Well firstly, I was astounded by the nonchalant chauvinism of the thing. Helpful tips such as:
‘You’ll have sex 1.6 times more a month if you leave “traditionally female chores” to your other half.’
Particularly caught my attention. I would love a man to explain the vigorous scientific basis for that one. Preferably standing in front of me with his pants around his ankles. Otherwise, I was just pretty depressed by the facile idiocy of the publication. I know, know, it is only portraying men as testosterone fuelled morons to even up the balance a bit with all the female “lifestyle magazines” portraying women as shoe obsessed neurotic airheads (well the shoe thing is understandable..) But still; it was pretty dispiriting stuff. However, it did have one redeeming feature. It had some most excellent suggestions for the playroom. For example:
Clean; Swap hands; Jerk; Swap; Squat; Swap; Repeat (12 times)
Now, do you want to tell me again why you think I should do the ironing?
I like to see myself as rather a connoisseur of London’s more leftfield theatre scene and the description of the Little Bulb theatre’s take on the classical tale of Orpheus’ ill fated descent into the underworld sounded far too out there to miss. Greek myth, meets opera, meets Django Reinhardt, Edith Piaf and 1930’s café culture promised to be quite the spectacle.
So last night I made my own descent to southwest London and the BAC where I met with my good friend Miss Dessiner. We were both a little unsure of how this somewhat surreal medley was going to work out. However, from the moment that “Django”, our Orpheus for the evening, strummed his guitar strings and French Songstress “Yvette Pepin”, in the role of Eurydice, began to sing we were absolutely transported. Hot club jazz, French Chanson and opera blended seamlessly together. Emotions ricocheted from the hilarity of a forest full of exceptionally camp dancing animals, to the poignancy of a male Persephone pleading the case for the lovers in a haunting falsetto (one of those should have been ridiculous but was quite the opposite moments). Performances from Django, Yvette and the supporting chorus were at once polished perfection and guilelessly joyful. It was all in all quite the creative tour de force.
At the end of the show Miss Dessiner and I felt like we had been on quite an epic journey ourselves and were exhilarated and exhausted in equal part. There was nothing for it but to consume several glasses of vin rouge in the French café tradition to bring us back down to earth again!