“How does that feel?” he keeps asking, as he deftly weaves the rope around my body and limbs, “Are you doing ok?” Psigh works slowly, constantly explaining what he’s doing. His name is Psigh and he’s been “rigging” for a decade. And the question of why people enjoy this kind of “play” is still baffling to me.Īs a way to try and answer it, I ask one of the veteran shibari artists – the people who use rope to tie others up with intricate geometric patterns – to work on me. To be able to ask frank questions and get honest, unrepentant answers.”įor my part, I don’t consider myself that kinky. When I press him about how this could be the case – it’s a kink club for heaven’s sake – he says: “I go to be around people who are in a space where they can leave that ridiculous, untenable, and disproven veil of normalcy. People in the kink scene come from all walks of life.Īnd what they mainly have in common is a desire to connect “in an authentic way”. He skips all the boring Canberra public service talk, looks straight at me and says: “Why do you get up in the morning?”Īs Shy tells me later, this type of communication isn’t an anomaly. One of the first people I meet is 47-year-old Ken.
You can make a cup of tea and grab a cookie, jelly snake or icy pole. Some people are having sex on beds in dimly-lit rooms or getting spanked.īut there are also comfy couches to chat on and people getting into deep and meaningfuls in the smokers’ room or the kitchen.
Yes, there are people of all shapes and sizes and genders walking around naked or semi-naked. Yes, the club is littered with BDSM gear – suspension points in the ceiling for rope work, a human-sized wooden star with wrist and ankle cuffs, a swing to get strapped into, a queen bed with a cage underneath it. “It’s coercive control.” (In case you don’t know, BDSM stands for: bondage, discipline, dominance and submission).Ĭonsent is key to all encounters in the club. “It’s not BDSM,” one kinkster says to me of the book. In fact, those who live a kink lifestyle scorn this problematic novel. I’m embarrassed to say that in the back of my mind is the so-called “mummy porn” book, 50 Shades of Grey – bland yet sadistic, demeaning and unconsenting. It takes Squirrel a year to convince me to come along to KZ. Newcomers get a brief induction, although most people already know each other.
Hugs, kisses and exclamations are exchanged. Mistress Shy* and Squirrel,* two of the women who work here and Kim’s good friends, take people’s coats and welcome them in. KZ bills itself as “an alternative lifestyle club”, where guests come to attend kink and fetish parties, swingers’ nights, rope bondage parties and ladies-only nights. Everyone must be vetted before they come. For the sake of safety, these parties are invite-only. A few people hold bags of “toys”: whips, ropes, electric play wands.
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Others are decked out in full kink gear – leather and PVC harnesses and corsets and six-inch stilettos on the women. Some people arrive in ordinary clothes – jeans and shirts. RELATED: Unicorn trend at swingers parties RELATED: What really happens at a Sydney sex club “Maybe is Moscato,” she muses, turning the bottle around to peer at the label over her glasses. It’s just past 9pm on a Saturday and Kim offers glasses of pink champagne as guests come in. A candelabra adorned with crystals sits next to Kim on a glass table. Lockers, towels and a coat rack sit to the left. The entrance lobby is painted a smart fawn colour. Once inside KZ, it’s like stepping through a portal. She’s wearing a black and pink corset, caged around her ribs. The tall, curvaceous blond, who is “past her 40s,” has a mischievous glint in her eye. “That’s on purpose,” Kim, one of the co-owners of Kink Zone (KZ) says, laughing. It’s a darkened shopfront at the end of a nondescript alcove in the Canberra suburb of Fyshwick, best known for selling porn and fireworks.įrom the outside the building looks like nothing much.
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