Page 177 of Naughty November
Q and A ran the X Club with a few other leaders in the San Francisco kink community, and Cielo was an educator there as well. It was where I met them first, before becoming friends outside of the queer leather community. Now, I also went to the gym they owned, but hadn’t been going to X Club as often with work being busy. This list sounds like a fun way to jump back into kink.
“We’ll have the next open play party to introduce the list on Halloween, then in November, for the first party of the month, we’ll set up spaces to try all the kinks safely,” Cielo explains, their hands moving around and making Pumbaa bark in excitement, hopping up to see if his youngest pet parent is going to play. “Safe, sane, and consensual, isn’t that right, Pumbaa?”
The puppy huffs another bark and settles back on my lap for me to scratch his head. “Well, if Pumbaa put his seal of approval on it, how can I disagree?”
My friends chuckle, and we move on to other topics, but the idea is stuck in my head. I need to do more research and see the list, but I’m excited about the idea of trying new things and learning new kinks. Maybe meeting others into the same things as me…
TWO
BECKETT
There is something about wearing latex that always puts me in a different headspace. The material is smooth and somehow inherently sensual. For some, it feels empowering to wear the sexy, tight-fitting outfits, and for others, the constriction is an act of submission.
For me, latex is about submission.
I’ve been exploring submission since I stumbled into a kink party in college. A casual acquaintance in the theater department heard me talking about dungeons and masters, and neither of us realized the mistake until I walked in dressed as a wizard while everyone else was in leather or lingerie. I was still a virgin at the time, only nineteen, and almost had a panic attack. He offered to walk me back to my dorm, but my curiosity won out.
Ten years later, I am still a nerd, but I’m also involved in the kink community. My current outfit is red latex with zippers for my mouth, eyes, and nipples, as well as one that starts above my cock and goes all the way around to the top of my ass. The mouth and eyes stay open unless I’m in a scene. The nipples are exposed when the latex gets toosweaty or a top wants to torture them. The biggest zipper? It rarely gets used outside of the bathroom.
It isn’t that I don’t want to have more sex. My autism meant I was bad at reading social cues, but I had no issue sleeping with strangers. I just need a little extra time to warm up to people, and for them to realize I’m open to hooking up. I for sure never notice when they’re flirting with me! I’d recently been toying with identifying as demiromantic. It felt right.
The bigger issue waswhoI wanted to sleep with, but not because I think any way is wrong; I only need to figure out what I’m into—sexually. I’ve been with some women, and a couple of them are transgender. My current play partner, Charlie, is a trans femme Daddy Dom who’s letting me talk through my thoughts after our scenes. What I realized the last time we debriefed is that I find myself more into the women’s dicks or strap-ons, and how they make me feel mentally and physically, rather than their femininity.
“Maybe I like being fucked more than I care about gender. Pansexual?” I ask my pet frog, Frank—a bright green Australian tree frog—and he smiles up at me. “So you agree? Demiromantic Pansexual. That works for now.”
Frank is six years old and only a few inches long, so I don’t need to feed him for another day or two. I look past his tank and heating lamp to the fog out my window. It’s almost sunset, so the fog is rolling in and obscuring the sliver of a view I can normally make out.
My studio apartment is on the hill behind my parents’ townhouse, the only way I can afford my own place in my tech support customer service job. Working from home means my mom stops by to remind me I need to eat and do my laundry. Looking around at the piles of clothes, I remember that I have a system. I know which ones are clean or dirty and which need to be hung up.
Mom and I cook together a couple of times a week, and I have a movie night with my dad at least once a month. Someday, I may want to have more space between my life and theirs, but my parents are great and let me talk about anything without judgment—even my kinks.
Walking across the space to the full-length mirror between mybathroom and bed, I run my hands across the slick material over my narrow hips. My suit is custom fitted to my tall frame—six-foot-three and barely over one hundred and thirty pounds isn’t a stock size—and imagine some of the things Charlie might do to me.
Charlie is great at making my body feel good in a scene, but she likes a little for age play, and is sexually attracted to women. I’m not a little or a woman, so we stay platonic. She is more of a kink mentor or big sister in our dynamic.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I have no clue if people find me attractive. My mom always says,“You have such pretty blue eyes and Fabio hair, Beau,” which I think is a compliment. She’s the only one who calls me Beau since I’m Beauregard Beckett the third, but Dad called me Beckett as a baby to distinguish me from him being Beau as well. It got me teased less in school, so I just go by my last name now.
Ruffling my long, shaggy blond hair that I also inherited from Dad, I slip a hair tie off my wrist to contain it. I’ll put my hood on when I get to X Club, but I need to head out if I’m going to get there for the pre-party class.
Shoving my mask, phone, and spare clothes into my kink bag, I throw on my black trench coat and matching combat boots. Taking the path down to my parents’ back courtyard and through the basement, I exit out the garage door and pull out my earbuds. The noise cancellation helps me not get overwhelmed by city noises and loud music, but they are made to focus on conversation, so I can leave them in at the club.
The neon X Club sign is lit up as the city goes dark after a twenty-minute walk, reflecting off the shiny material of my outfit. A man I recognize, but can’t remember his name, checks me in as a member at the door and I make my way up the stairs. They are clad in white leather, studded and winding, so no passersby can look right up into the club space. Cielo, who Idorecognize by their bright blue hair, waves at me on the way into the play space after I put my coat and bag away.
Cielo is teaching the pre-party class on rope safety, but I’ve been to that class before. I beeline for the lounge and find Charlie chatting with some other people I recognize as Doms in the community, some ofthem leaders of the club. I don’t want to interrupt, so I wait patiently a few feet away with my hands behind my back until Charlie is free.
Alright, so I might sway a bit, but I am able to tune out their conversation, mostly.
“... Kink list. November…Try new kinks…”
With my height, I’m able to go on tiptoe and see the wall they’re gathered around. There is a paper sign pinned to the announcement board with a grid of information I can’t make out, except the title ‘Naughty November.’
“Beckett,Beckett,” Charlie’s voice repeating my name draws my attention to her. She’s smirking, and I have to wonder how many times she said my name before I noticed. “There he is.”
“Oh, hi, Charlie. What’s this list thing about?”
“I was going to talk to you about it.” She gestures towards a nearby high-top table that’s free. “Let’s chat before you look, so we can set expectations.”
“Sure,” I agree, though my curiosity is begging to see what they were all talking about.