- It all started with a party at The Suncoast Hotel, Suite 601 on Friday, March 27. The elegant venue had a receiving room containing a ghoulish welcome wagon, a large party room, and a bedroom off to the side, which, on this night, was decidedly where the action was not.
- There was a well-stocked bar and a snack table, guarded by an orgasmic alien statue that seemed to be ecstatic at the number of guests. Someone had made two batches of brownies, thoughtfully separating them into serving plates marked nuts/no nuts. The same could not be said for the attendees (and I count myself among the nut kind). There were rumors of a “happening” (my words) with the promise of “chicks getting tied up,” (Scott Anderson’s words).
- About an hour into the partying, just before the Diet Coke ran out, an elderly man in a black suit started sitting awfully close to a young girl in shiny black boots and form-fitting body suit. A large amount of rope lay on the arm of the sofa, and I made a mental bet that it wouldn’t be too long before it would touch her arm as well. 30 minutes later, Boot-Girl was hog-tied on the couch, face down, with a large red-headed woman smacking her helpless ass every few seconds while screaming “Who’s your mama?!”
- Boot-Girl complied by responding, “You are!” and asking for another swat. All this in the middle of the large party room in Suite 601 at the Suncoast Hotel, in plain sight of an orgasmic alien.
- Eventually, Boot-Girl, now bootless but showing off her black fishnet-clad legs, also ended up on her back, the sole supine offering on a square glass coffee table. Just the thing if you like submission as an hors d’oeuvre. Several guests (mostly men, go figure) wanted to have their picture taken with her, as if to prove that yes, they could finally get a date, dammit.
- DeDee White only wanted the circulation to return to the girl’s hands and tried to massage them for her (this time they were over her head, bound together). Alan White documented the proceedings like a photojournalist. A couple of young, frat-type guys were across the room from my friend and I, who were watching the proceedings with mixed feelings. I actually pointed to them while muttering, “Look at those mouth-breathers, gettin’ off on this” or something to that effect. To my surprise, one of the young men actually pointed to me at the same time and said something to his friend, probably something like, “look at those two tight-ass be-yotches. How can they not dig this?” or something to that effect.
- It was certainly a mixed crowd, but there was salami, and I had gotten one of the last Diet Cokes, plus, I wasn’t the one with a rope gag in my mouth. Life was good.\
- The next day brought the official start of the Sci-Fi/Bondage hybrid that was Xanadu II, and I was only able to come to the costume competition, where 7-foot MC Alien Warrior Comic, in all of his high-class weaponry, led the audience through an eclectic assemblage of characters. There were sexy sirens, a politician, a harlequin, several corseted Victorian/Edwardian steam-punk mistresses (and one mister) a cross-dressing I Dream of Jeannie monstrosity and a bunny-eared guy who just wanted some convention-al love.
- My very thin friend was asked if she’d like to be in the show (twice) and wondered why she was singled out. “Because you’re the only one who’ll fit the latex,” I replied. Many in attendance had apparently feasted more than just their eyes for far too long to ever dream of fitting into a corset, rubber body coverings or any other corporal adornment that called for a slim silhouetteHow many people in history I wondered became stars simply because they fit the costume? My friend demurred and the show went on to be won by a busty wench in a striped skirt topped off by a corset. Quelle surprise!
- Prowling around the exhibits was a teeny bikini-wearing cat woman whose selling point, in my mind, was that she was one of the few bondage women without implants. As I said the bikini was teeny, even on top, but it was made of black latex. Hey, consistency is important.
- Sunday brought the chance to see a short film festival and hear a published author speak on how to make your fantasy world more realistic. Wasn’t that a contradiction in terms? I wondered. Do I really want to know that Vulcans have their taxes prepared by H&R Borg? Or that the Overlords pay a gender differential for their dry cleaning? Maxwell Alexander Drake made some salient points about history, religion, customs, and speech patterns in fantasy worlds. Just don’t ask him to do it quickly.
- The short film festival contained everything from the thoughtful to the schlock-y in independent cinema, from Marko Sakren’s “Kill Order” to Chad Clinton Freeman’s “Super Undead Dr. Roach.” If I were one to wear a hat, it would be off to these filmmakers who hone a difficult craft despite funding shortages, schedule discrepancies, and unfair slams from half-baked critics (even fi Dr. Roach DOES have a leg growing from his forehead). These guys are creative mavericks, and I for one, do not need to be roped into seeing their work. There’s Boot-Girl for that sort of thing.Kudos to Scott Anderson and Alan White for another ambitious, funny, questionable, sexually ambiguous time. Thanks for the mammaries, guys. Can’t wait to see what the next iteration of X will bring.
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