So last night was the Big Birthday Date, though not to the boxing match, to La Nouvelle Justine.

It's this fabulous S&M bar in the East Village, safe without being too touristy, the staff is clearly serious about their work, not S&M dilettantes, but the crowd is very bridge and tunnel, lots of rugby shirts, which I liked because it meant that I wasn't the straightest person the room, but yet it wasn't this Disneyland version of the scene, "Welcome to S&MLand, the Naughtiest Place On Earth! Teeheehee!"

When we were walking down the street on our way there, Fran said, "Whenever I go to a place like that, I always think that I'm going to see my high school Shakespeare teacher or someone," and baby, we weren't in that place for ten minutes before hearing, "Francis!" and he cringed like a cur, turning around to see an old acting pal at the bar there on a toot with a friend.

The four of us chatted for a little while, Fran not offering the slightest bit of explanation on why he was at a fetish bar with a woman who is not his wife. This guy is part of the Thursday night poker group that they sometimes join, so the story should be whipping through that crowd even as I type this.

Fran was rather chuffed at the idea that, in rumour at least, he's living this wild life.

At first, when we walked in, I thought, "This just might suck." It was loud and dark and there wasn't a seat at the bar, but then Fran's friend found him, and then they left and we took their seats, and then a tall blonde woman in leather started spanking a girl who looked just like Jennifer Aniston, who turned around in surprise and said, "Ow!" at the first whack, and I revised my opinion to read, "This just might be fun!"

And it was!

The staff, who were waiters and waitresses and bartenders, but also masters and mistresses and slaves, were all really cool, but they were led by this one barrel-chested master in black leather pants and a red leather shirt who was the fucking rope master, he could tie a girl up like he was a sailor, and his big trick was taking the cat-o-nine-tails and running it between the legs of the girl who was cuffed to the wall, and then lifting her up by her crotch.

It was really just so fine. He had such amazing charisma, even though he is not conventionally good-looking, that Fran was mesmerized by him as much as I was--it crosses sex barriers. He could be quite a movie star.

But he wasn't the only one, not by a long shot. There was this one woman who had what can only be described as a supersonic ass. She had a tiny waist and a heart-shaped butt and the whole package was encased in tight shiny black plastic vinyl. Tight shiny black plastic vinyl was created by God specifically to encase an ass this perfect.

I am not into asses, I never notice them, and even less do I notice girl's asses, but this was an ass that would make an atheist convert. Jennifer Lopez goes to sleep nights crying that her butt isn't as perfect as the fucking nuclear ass of the mistress with the really long hair in La Nouvelle Justine in the East Village.

Fran said if they made an S&M action figure, they'd model it on her. I think it's a great suggestion--they should have figures of all of the staff for sale at the bar. I'd buy a couple.

Let's see, who else?

There was the black dominatrix that Fran fell in love with on sight, chafing at the fact that Cynthia told him that he couldn't be disciplined without her being there, who was so cool when she worked that she sucked on a lollypop the entire time.

There was the blonde slave boy who did a foot worship onstage with this woman who was totally into it, and it was so intimate that I felt like I was peeking through a window.

There was the tough-looking little dark-haired goth girl with a center nose piercing, a black vinyl vest tied shut and a plaid schoolgirl skirt who took one look at my Chococat purse sitting on the bar and squealed, "O, I love your bag, it's soooo cuuuuute!!" All bow before the power of Chococat.

And then there were the patrons! There was the guy who looked like George Costanza who could barely be kicked off the stage--he is totally a stalker of dominatrixes waiting to happen. There was the guy who flinched gratifyingly when the candle wax was poured on his back. There was the girl who basically climbed up the master in the red shirt like he was a tree and refused to come down. There was the guy who, after being spanked by the blonde mistress, traded places and spanked her back, none too impressively, might I add.

And was there me as well? There was not. Fran kept offering, and I kept refusing. I would have loved to get up there, but that's not the kind of thing I am capable of doing on my first visit. Maybe after a few times. I'm definitely having my bridal shower there when I get married, if I don't get married too late, because you can definitely get too old for fetish-wear.

There were a couple of old men there who really should hang up the leather vests and put on the leather slippers.

Basically, we closed down the joint and staggered off home sometime after 2a, somewhat the worse for drink but not too bad. Only maybe two sheets to the wind.

As I said to Cynthia the next day, "That was a really great night out, but I don't know how pathetic it is that my best night out in rather a few years is a fake date with my brother-in-law" and she said, "But doesn't he make a good loaner?"

That he does. Thanks for the birthday present, Callahans!

Today's horoscope:
Fun with friends is in focus. Your children (and/or your inner child) enjoy lighthearted activities with other people today.

One year ago today:
And the old bats getting all high was the least funny thing that I have seen all year, it's cheap humour and it bores me, but I was clearly the only person in the theatre that felt that way, 'cause there wasn't a dry seat in the house.

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Last Updated Tues 28 August 00:07:09 2001