a scene pariah is easier than you might think. People do it all
the time without even trying. Its really quite simple: just keep
breaking the rules of scene etiquette and frankly human civility,
and you’ll be a pariah in no time. Its largely a matter of attitude:
Keep repeating: This is all about me. Me getting what I want now.
Do this and the transformation will occur as if by magic. How
to become a scene pariah? Lets visit a leather event in town,
and see how its done.
begins when you arrive. “Dress discretely” said the invite but
you know it doesn’t apply to you. You wear leather chaps, engineer
boots, a military cap tipped at as rakish angle and a belt like
Batman slung with every toy you own. Look! There’s a friend in
plainclothes talking with a couple clearly not dressed for the
scene. He’s carrying a gym bag and seems uneasy, as though he
wasn’t expecting to meet these people here tonight. Greet him
by his scene name as you pass. “What’s up, Floggermeister?!” and
smirk at the poisonous stare he hits you with as you step inside.
you pony up the admission, consider whining about the price. Seven
dollars? Someone had better play with you tonight for that kind
of money. To put yourself in the mood you sidle up to the bar
for a double scotch. Hell, make it a triple. Don’t forget to stiff
the bartender so the house comes to regard us as cheapos.
wave at Frazier who glowers back at you. He can’t still be mad
about the wax drippings you left all over his equipment last month.
Isn’t some submissive supposed to take care of cleaning up? You
join some other friends including Jack who offers a frosty hello.
He’s not ticked about you showing up empty handed at his party
two months ago, and swilling the modest stash of beers that he
had stocked, is he? True, bringing a vanilla first date without
letting her know what KIND of party it was, was questionable form,
but that’s water under the bridge, right? After some banter, you
start telling stories about some pretty girl you want to play
with “We get together all the time” you assure your skeptical
friends. Share lots of details about her play interests, and to
show your equisite tastes, confide what a boring player she is.
Repeat whatever snippets of gossip you’ve heard to add validity
to your yarn, while your at, invent some elaborations of your
woman joins the circle and expresses interest in a dominant named
Steve. “Do you mean Steve Johnson who claims to work at Lockheed
but really works for the CIA? What a dweeb! He doesn’t know anything!
Why not consider playing with me?” She hits you with a look you
might give someone with a large insect squashed on his forehead
and excuses herself.
other friends show up but you’re already bored. You can form friendships
in the office. Your here to score! Tonight!! To liven things up
you tell a hysterical joke about two Irish Faggots that had ‘em
howling at the bowling league, but strangely it does not go over
well and once again you find yourself on your own.
second woman approaches: pretty enough, but a bit on the heavy
side. Grimace at her full hips, and comment on her weight. Women
love honesty right? Besides Kate Moss could walk in here any minute.
Still, she bravely asks if you would like to play. But dismiss
her commenting on the busy schedule you have planned. It shows
your time is in high demand.
here comes someone you would like to play with. No Kate Moss,
but more attractive (to you) than the other one, and dressed in
dominant attire. She’s already talking to someone else but butt
in anyway. Keep repeating how pretty she is, and stare, if you
wish, at her breast line. Ask again if she’s sure she doesn’t
want to play right now. Hey, She might have changed her mind!
You paid seven bucks after all. It’s the houses job to keep you
entertained. Plead with her. Beg. “Can I please!!!!!” you whine,
trying politeness as a last resort.
that fails to work out, you go prowling for others. You spy a
new girl, swarmed by guys, and thinking quickly, you differentiate
yourself from the rest grabing her ass. She turns slowly and laughs.
It worked! She’s in the bag! “My, what a friendly place.” she
purrs. “I think I’ll get my coat now.”
a shame. Such a pretty girl, and yet, obviously not serious about
the ways of the scene. Perhaps its time you checked out some scenes
in progress, so you duck into the back where the real play usually
takes place. A gorgeous dominatrix works on a plain looking gentleman
stretched on the St. Andrews cross. “Boy she’s a real piece, Huh?”,
you demand loudly to the guy standing next to you. “What’s she
doing with him?” Heads turn, but by now you’re used to this response.
Inch forward into their play space. Who knows? Perhaps they’ll
invite you to join them. Instead, the dom stops and asks politely
if you would mind moving back a bit. You depart in a huff, without
returning her apologetic smile.
good ! Here’s a whipping being done by a man who clearly doesn’t
know what he’s doing. Step forward, laughing a hearty laugh, to
help him with some good old fasioned "mentoring" You
barely missing getting swatted in the head yourself, as you begin
offering helpful advice. He gives a half smile, and a polite “thanks”
but shakes his head when you volunteer to demonstrate. Dumb shit.
How does he expect to learn, without consulting a “real” master
such as you. Why are there so few “real dominants” like yourself.
And how does such a dweeb have such a nice girlfriend anyway.
snarls and turns away when you smile at her. Strange. She used
to be so friendly before the first and final time you played together.
That was some night, you must have had her on that cross for two
hours. It was packed, people were waiting for their turn, but
you showed your mastery by holding it as your own. Perhaps you
overdid it by ignoring her "yellow" safeword, but it
was important to show how stern and commanding you are. Why is
she being such a bad sport? Come to think of it almost no one
has played with you since then. What is with these people?
Stop everything! There’s a woman you HAVEN'T hit on yet, quietly
talking with Mistress Judy. Kind of big boned but sexy. . . in
a Sigourney Weaver kind of way. Ogle her all over, and switch
into pickup mode. Good! She’s smiling and batting her eyelashes
oh so coy! Judy’s smiling too. You’re getting laid tonight after
all! As you begin your pitch she’s smiling and - my, what a deep
laugh! What?? No! She - Good Lord! “FAGGOT!” you yell over your
shoulder as you stride angrily away.
it has not been a good night. To make things even worse, Big Mark,
the unofficial one-man-security-detail is eyeing you intently
from a nearby stool. You flash him a big grin, but he responds
by just staring through you. You complete another circuit but
strangely find no one to talk to. You hear snatches of conversation,
people making plans to get together and recollecting parties you
didn’t hear about. What is everybody’s problem? Can’t they see
from your gear what a serious player you are?
time, and a crew begins dismantling the equipment. Instead of
offering to help, grab a last round for the road, stiff the bartender
one final time, and head out.
Another night with no play. Maybe you should stop coming. Everywhere
you go its the same: People you don’t understand how to accommodate
a genius such as you.
people were so friendly when you started coming six months