November 8, 2009 7 Comments
Walking aimlessly down the aisle passing booth upon booth of conservative naughtiness, I came face to face with this hefty shorter round faced girl.
“Oh.My.GOD!!! You would be PERFECT for this!” she excitedly exclaimed, as she reached in for my arm.
I didn’t even have time to stammer out a “What the hell are you talking about, girl, why are you touching me and who the fuck are you?” she had me at a complete 180, and I was being lead by this strange looking girl.
“Have you ever worn a cor…?” I barely heard her say as she dragged me along.
I couldn’t really make out what she was asking me as Lady Gaga’s Disco Stick (♪♫ … let’s have some fun this beat is sick I wanna take a ride on your disco stick… ♪♫) bellowed over her… but I quickly figured out what she meant.
I didn’t even have time to resist her… or ward her off with a disco stick.
Within moments, I was stripped of my jean jacket, sweater taken off; purse, purchases and my Starbucks Grande Non-Fat Earl Grey Latte as they were swept off to a corner of the display by one lady, while the other was measuring my bust and rib cage.
Nice. I stood in the aisle in my tank top and jeans, awkwardly smiling at passer-bys as my sudden derobing made me feel all… nipply.
You see, I was being fitted for a corset.
Because apparently, I am the perfect full-figured size to wear a corset, beautifully.
Well, that’s what the hefty shorter round faced girl said to me. And I believed her.
And what was sweet music to my ears was, no – not Lady Gaga – but those most precious words I haven’t heard in a very long time: Oh, this corset is way too big for you. Lemme find you a smaller one.
It was orgasmic to hear such sweet melodic words echoing… validating once again, my recent weight loss.
So with a few squeezes, a few pushes and a few pulls… I was presented to the mirror like a gift is bestowed to Zeus. Helped by more than three maidens, reflecting back at me was what I had been aiming for for a while now… an hour glass figure. And my girls, they weren’t popping out anywhere! They were perky and bountiful! Oh yeah… I felt GREAT! No longer was I donning an hour glass figure that ran out of time but that of a shapely curvaceous beauty. Dangerously curvy. Oh yeah!
I couldn’t help but touch myself. And not in the Divinyls way.
I was wearing a full out doubled fishbone silk corset.
And it was blue. My favorite colour.
And I felt SEXY.
I could see myself out in very sexy black pants/skirt, stiletto heels/boots and the corset… out and about… turning heads.
Oh yeah. I felt THAT good.
The kind of good that would get you laid… kinda good. Laid – many times over kinda good. The kind that would make me go “oooh oooh oooh” kinda good.
THAT kinda good.
And as I stood there, hip-checking any other girl who wanted her time in front of the magic mirror, I lost all sense of self-consciousness about my body. I mean – there were girls there being squeezed into things that just weren’t meant to be stretched out that much. I kept looking for the Costco size vats of Vaseline but nope. None were required. But hey, we all have our insecurities. Mine just went out the window.
And then I asked.
The million dollar question… How Much?
Dammit. I just HAD to go there.
Well let’s just say that the Cadillac of all corsets wasn’t cheap, in fact, they wanted all my money AND all rights to my first born child. And since I am childless without any true desire to have bambinos of my own anytime soon – I was shit outta luck.
Damn. Double damn. Seriously.
What I quickly learned is that it’s a whole lot faster to get out of a corset than it is to get into one. They had it off me in no time flat, rolled up and shoved away on a shelf so quickly that made Gone in 60 Seconds look like turtle play.
And much like a bad “first-time-having-sex-with-your-date” experience – it was said and done within minutes…. So close to ecstasy but soooo far away that, well for a brief moment, you actually thought he knew what he was doing… and then voila. Over. Done. Finis. He didn’t know as much as you’d hoped. Selfish bastard.
Nope. No walking away with a corset for me. Not today anyways.
Oh but mark my words… I WILL get me that corset. The smaller one too… maybe in a few different colours so long as I don’t have to sell my soul to the devil (unless of course he comes wearing pleather and a flogger smelling of BO with a bad makeup job … oh wait… that was at the other booth – sorry my bad) just to afford them.
That was about as good as it got at the Taboo Naughty but Nice exhibition. Well it’s really the Taboo Naughty but Nice Sex Show. But really, honestly, calling it an exhibition isn’t really accurate either. There were not exhibitionists there. There was very little semblance of sex shows there either.
Booth upon booth of toys, lubes, bad dress-up costumes, hedonism resorts and naughty clubs vying for your membership, a few whips and cheap floggers, bondage tools, cheesy vintage videos, body painting/piercings/tattooing, alternative to drugs, while you watched the shadow strip dancers as the guy at the booth next to you was trying to sell you on the values of investing your hard earned money in 8%+ yield plus growth mutual fund from China. Yes. Vancouver is strange that way. It’s very conservative AND confused in their sexuality… until Pride weekend comes along…. And then everyone is over the top hedonistic and highly sexual, no holds bar. Sorta. Kinda. In only a hippie-pot-smoking kinda way… if you can remember after toking what is means to be sexual.
The problem being is that there was NOTHING new for me to see, explore, peer-into voyeuristically (purely for educational purposes only, really, I swear!) on the BC sex scene. No. It was all far too tame! I’ve watched cheesy B-movie porns more graphic and sexual than this so-called Sex Show. No. Even the naughty costumers bore me. No Red-Light district here.
I walked away from Taboo with my obligatory purchases and freebies… but my thoughts are still lingering to that corset. And one day, while donning my very own corset, I will show what is truly naughty but definitely not nice… my way.