In a new series going behind closed doors, The List’s man in spangles goes hell for leather at a Glasgow fEtiSh Clllb. Words: Jonathan Trew Photographs: Craig Sanders

18 THE LIST 9—22 Jan 1998

‘COME UPSTAIRS AND get changed,‘ says a gentleman who introduces himself as Fluffy. He is wearing a little black dress, a leopard skin jacket and a light sheen of sweat on his

shaved head. I also have a glistening slick of

sweat beading my forehead worry beads. I‘ve never been to a fetish club before. The only leather l have ever worn is on my feet and the only rubber has been on . . . well. go figure. The last time anyone spanked me it was my mother. as a punishment for eating all the raisins out

ta 0 rash 9 r

miniature pitchfork through his nipples, assorted women with whips and, most scary of all. a wide, short man in a dog collar and white T-shirt with the word ‘slave’ written across it. Hanging suggestively from his back pockets is a pair of brown leather gloves. Being an innocent in these matters, I have no idea of the gloves’ significance. but for some reason I can’t help pondering how much customs officers enjoy theirjob.

Through in the back room. Fluffy has been chained naked

ofa batch of rock cakes. That A to a bed and seems to be

was two decades ago and I’ve never really had a hankering 5 to spank or be spanked since. I think I went to the wrong sort of school.

Making our way gingerly up the stairs into the Hellfire Club. held this time in a Glasgow restaurant. we pass a man dressed from head to toe in black rubber. the entire ensemble finished off with one of those dehumanising rubber masks. That rather unpleasant basement torture

enjoying an affectionate horse- whipping at the hands of his

wife. They got married recently

and after the registry office ceremony, came back to the Hellfire Club for a more intimate piercing/bonding ritual.

‘So where were you pierced?’ I ask. Stupidly. Fluffy whips out his old chap and proudly displays what he assures is an ‘ampalang’. It looks like a bloody great bolt

scene in Pulp Fit-rim, springs ‘The last time anyone spanked me it was ‘0 "‘m‘L “3 d0“ “‘0 PhraSC my mother, as a punishment for eating all

‘bring out the gimp‘.

we want everybody who the raisins out of a batch of rock cakes. comes to the club to make That was two decades ago_' Jonathan new

some effort with their

appearance. whether it be

rubber. leather. cross dressing, sub/dom, whatever,‘ explains one of the Hellfire Club’s organisers. ‘It makes everybody feel more comfortable and discourages people who just want to lech.‘

In a piss poor attempt to fit in with the assembled fetishists. l’ve painted my nails and purchased a woman‘s spaneg top. It’s too small and vividly demonstrates the damage a few pints a night can wreak 0n the unexercised paunch. The end result looks less like some dangerous transgressor of sexual boundaries. more like a corpulent tranny who can’t decide whether to look like Lily Savage gone to seed or a ruggcr bugger’s idea of an ugly prostitute. Pretty it ain’t.

Still. as outfits g0 mine is as tame as a spinster aunt. Some of the others would frighten horses. There’s a wrinkled sexagenarian in a leather waistcoat with a

through his cock to me but there you go, each to their own.

The most bizarre facet of the entire evening isjust how quickly the uninitiated can become acclimatised to the Hellfire Club. What at first looks shocking, quickly appears normal, or at least what passes for normality. Everyone at the club is extremely open and friendly. Talking to a submissive male about his predilection for water sports seems as natural as, well, taking a piss. Even the bloke in the mask turns out to be sweet as pie.

‘lt’s a social thing more than anything heavy,‘ reckons the organiser. '

You could take your mum. She might already be there.

The next Hellfire Club is at Prince Armany's, Clyde Place, Glasgow on Fri 9 Jan. doors open 8pm.