He’s not the only one

Barely a week after a business contact did a good job of potentially outing himself as a kinister, my social media feed notified me that one friend planned on visiting a beer festival, another was going to a wedding fair, and Claire was interested in attending the

Taboo Bazaar.

Taboo (adj) prohibited or restricted by social custom … and I don’t know about you, Incoragable Reader, something about which I invariably and to know more.

I clicked on a couple of links and found …

The first thing that caught my eye was the logo in the top right corner.

Being a fan of all things fetish, Rubbery Reader, you won’t need me to tell you that TG stands for Torture Garden, one of Europe’s premier fetish clubs and latex clothing lable.

I then noticed the list of attractions on which the bazar was focussing:
Latex
Leather
Lingerie
Not exactly the sort of interests I’d want squirted all over my friends social media feeds.
Obviously Claire could have been going for the …
Accessoriess
Festival wear
Oddities
Artwork
Costumes
Zines
… however vague some of those categories are.
But knowing how dismayed I’d be if I were inadvertently outed as a rubberist, I felt it only responsible to let her know her interest was being broadcast. I dropped her a text message.

It turned out Claire was not aware her interest would be shared across social media. She knew that the Taboo Bazaar was an event run by Torture Garden (hey, I assume knowledge of TG’s existence is not exclusive to the fetishistas) and she was looking for something to wear to a cabaret night she was attending. She was also grateful for the heads-up as it showed that I care.

To think, many moons ago, when Claire and I were not infrequently reluctant to go home after last orders were called in the pub, we ended up busting some moves in sleazy night clubs. Whilst we must have consumed more than a couple of sherberts, I have no recollection of impropriety, and whilst there was something about Claire that fascinated me, I don’t recall any particular urge to get into her pantsuk.
Nor had I yet discovered the depths of my preferred disparities.
Now she was heading for a cabaret night that requires costumes. Costumes from a bazaar that toys with taboo and retail latex, leather and lingerie.
Ah what opportunities I might have missed.

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