IN THE BIZ

As a proprietor and long-time member of the phone sex fetish world, I decided it was finally time for me to step out and BECOME Mistress Symone, the fetish goddess of the phone lines whom I’ve portrayed for years.IN THE BIZ

As a proprietor and long-time member of the phone sex fetish world, I decided it was finally time for me to step out and BECOME Mistress Symone, the fetish goddess of the phone lines whom I’ve portrayed for years. What better place to step out and do that, than the Exotic Erotic Ball!

The ball was held at the legendary Cow Palace in San Francisco, and was well organized in two sections. Inside the stadium area, there were different musical venues. Unfortunately, I was only able to catch one of them because I was immediately dazzled and distracted by the naked super-freaky antics carrying on in the convention hall area. The band I did catch, Temptress, was an incredibly high-charged super-octane pop explosion, with a lead Diva who would make Grace Jones quake in fear.

I was in my element – all geared up in my black PVC nurse outfit, complete with rubber cap – a recent gift from one of my former phone slaves. (A testament to the staying power of phone sex, if I may digress for a moment. This man has been giving me money to maintain his hard-ons since 1996.) Although I didn’t know a soul when I walked in the door, there were many familiar faces. The usual cast of characters from Symone’s colorful past were all there. Every fetish fantasy that has ever crossed my red-hot lips was in attendance. I secretly wondered how many of the men who walked by I’d made cum in the past.

The event continued on in spectacular form. Immediately upon walking through the doors, guests were thrust into a flurry of leather, feathers, latex and nudity. It was hard not to gawk at the more bold company, though I’m not sure they would have either noticed or given it any mind; it seemed that at every turn, people were hamming it up for the cameras. The Dionysian atmosphere was contagious. Before I knew it, I found myself seated with a slave across my knee, posing for pictures, which, come to think of it, I have no clue as to the whereabouts of!

I suppose this is a testament to how right at home I was comfortable in my fetish attire and thrilled to be around so many others who felt the same. Of course, the use of the word “comfortable” in a fetish situation generally has nothing to do with the physical. My feet, clad in their platforms, underwent their own private masochistic session throughout the evening. (A word to the wise – although six-inch patent leather platform go-go boots look killer, I wouldn’t recommend wearing them at long intervals unless you don’t have any plans on using your feet for a few days afterward. Today, I give thanks to the man who invented the wheels on my office chair.) Sore feet are a small price to pay in the name of remaining fabulous, so I endured.

No, I didn’t just endure. I fell right into it. I became Symone.

I have been remiss in not mentioning the event area until now, but this was most definitely the place to be, reminiscent of an industry trade show floor. Booths were set up with fantasy-makers peddling their fetish wares and bondage demonstrations doing their thing. Some booths even featured real dominatrixes – whips in hands, performing and enacting live scenes behind mysterious red curtains.

Adjacent to the booths, there was a side stage where all of the fetish acts were performed. I flocked to the entertainment, just one of many fetish parishioners sitting in worship, entranced by what we witnessed for, quite literally, hours, awed by the parade of Burlesque shows, sword swallowers, bondage scenes, contortionists and other spectacles and oddities. My personal favorite was a sexy striptease delivered while the performer was atop a pogo stick. You just don’t see that every day.

In my case, I was fortunate enough to be in the company of the ladies from The Gates, a bay area fetish and fantasy exploration dungeon. Let me tell you something – these ladies know their stuff. Slave boys scurried about their booth, waiting on them hand and foot and taking care of all the preparation for the night’s performance. Among the many fetish acts on the stage that evening, the ladies from The Gates presented a three-scene fetish performance based on Charlie’s Angels, each ending in a hot tangle of wrestling and bondage involving sexy ladies and the resounding slap of rubber on flesh.

The Gates’ slaves were not the only male eye candy to be had, though. There were so many naked men running around, pleased as punch with themselves for just simply being naked. I was surprised at how comfortable I became while openly eyeing this below-the-belt feast. It occurred to me that in a strange extension of reality, this was one place where the tables were turned. Men who cannot make eye contact when there is cleavage present had nothing on women like me who were casually comparing shoe sizes to a man’s general membership statistics. I allowed myself to be smug for a bit, and then realized that penises are only interesting for a short time. After that, if you’ve seen one wagging about, you’ve seen them all.

If I have any criticisms to report, they are on behalf of two bad planning decisions.

First, the offer of VIP areas and privileges was shamefully exploited by the organizers. I paid three times the price of admittance for a VIP ticked which had little, if any, advantage over the standard entry fee. I wasted a good chunk of time looking for signs of a VIP section and asking staff who were clueless as to the location of any kind of VIP privileges. When we finally found it, it was just a very small bar area, with bagged nachos, salsa from a jar, and a veggie tray. Not quite worth the extra $100 in my book.

My only other disappointment was discovering that there were no non-alcoholic drinks being served, and the bar staff was not allowed to serve me a mixer without the alcohol. I found this outrageously irresponsible. Among a subculture whose mantra is “safe, sane, and responsible” to not have consideration for designated drivers and people who might be in recovery from alcoholism is unacceptable. I truly hope this decision is revisited the next time this event is organized. When I left to go home, navigating my way through a huge parking area full of vehicles, all I could think about was how I hoped everyone had stopped drinking early enough to make it home safe.

All in all, the night was definitely a positive occasion. Aside from lots of people mistaking Halloween for fetish, the bulk of those in attendance looked fabulous and they provided a memorable atmosphere. After all, once you’ve seen a man dressed as a Jack-In-The-Box steadily jacking off into his box, it stays with you. I couldn’t even stop at my local JITB for a soda on the way home without breaking into giggles.

Sara AKA HotLipsHooligan has been in the phone sex business since 1993 and runs Hot Lips Cash phone sex affiliate program.