She'd said she wouldn't go sniffing after gay couples anymore (see the history), so I took her to a club again. This was a Goth/fetish club we'd been to once before, where she pointed out the Asian knockout. Tonight she wore an electric blue catsuit and tooled leather cuffs with nickeled D-rings and buckles and I wore my black leather trousers with a black linen shirt. No camera. We were going out to party and I was leaving the business behind.

"Biildaire, it's too early. I want beer." I bought a six pack of America's finest (at least most popular) and we sat in the car and drank it. Around 11:30 we went into the club.

I introduced her to several friends and aquaintences. We talked to an artist that's using some of my photographs as the basis for her art, and to a woman who has been thinking about modeling for me, but seems to be hesitating because of my rough exterior. She's now seen the artist within and we're working next week. With a corset her waist can't be much bigger that twenty inches. And the rest is big. Big chest, big black hair, pale skin, all velvet and leather. Last time I walked by when she was dancing I ran my fingers through her hair and onto her shoulder, and she stretched her arm out so my fingers would trail along it as I kept walking past. She made nice noises too.

And I introduced my date to "Boy."

I know Boy from various of my underworld haunts. He's a bottom, a sub, in the parlance of the BDSM crowd. He likes being controlled.

I clipped her cuff to his leash, and when she put her hand down, he followed, going to his knees. She tittered. She exercised him a little and was taken by this new power she had. I unclipped him and told him to go away, and he did. Then I clipped her cuffs together behind her back and played with her a little myself, just to make sure she wasn't getting the wrong idea about where she stood in relation to me. She understood. So I gave Boy back to her to play with.

They danced. She exercised him. She gushed.

When the club closed we couldn't find a party, but some of the people were going to an all-night diner, including Boy, and the Goth chick I was going to photograph. We decided to go too. We ordered breakfast and the smokers among us went outside. A promoter from a competing club came in and invited me to shoot his newest '80's club, and some of the goth crowd from the other place came in, and we chewed the fat. Breakfast came.

The smokers came in and sat down to eat. Boy had my date wrapped around his finger. Funny how a "sub" can be in charge like that. She flirted more with him. She wanted to take him home.

I didn't have to cuff her to get into the car - barely. She did whine, "I want Boy," all the way home.

Now that's a standard whine. Like, "I want beer," and "I want chicken."

Fran Bilder, Private Photographer