The first Skin Two rubber and leather bash I went to, my habiliments consisted of a pair of rubber cycling shorts, the Bernadinian T-shirt bearing the legend, “Bernadinism: How to Dominate Men, Subjugate Men and Stupefy Children,” and over this my Jesus jacket, which I wear to draw attention to my genius. It is dark red like the blood of Christ, with tassels and a picture of Our Lord on the back. I look a bit like Elvis Presley in one of his even more gaudier moments.
Most of these pallid debauchees were dressed in black – even their hair was black. So as I walked in adonised in my vestments, I created a sensation. I was a sunburst, all eyes honed in on my effulgence. I bristled. With my talismanic legend at my front and the Nazarene at my back, I felt insulated against these Gomorrans.
I took up my position near the bar and observed them. All artists are voyeurs. We are anthropologists of the human condition, we observe and take notes. The notes become works of art.
In the gloom, I espied an old man dressed in a leather thong, kneeling head bowed at the table of a couple.
I do not think they knew him. On the dance floor, turgescent breasts bobbled under lacily transparent body stockings. Transvestites walked about in twos, dressed in stilettos, long wigs and rubber leotards stuffed with the simulacrum of tits. There was a gorgeous beauty in a leather bikini with a riding crop positioned between her lascivious bosom and another with bare chest, covered in glitter. Here and there one could see the odd pierced nipple. A voluptuously built female was being restrained from gouging the eyes of a homosexual who had offended her. There were women leading men on all fours like dogs. It was then that I saw a most wondrous sight that transfixed me.
I saw a man in a white shirt and jodhpurs carrying a dog lead and attached to the other end was the pierced labia of a women whose pubic hair was depilated. Her nipples were also pierced and depending from them was a red plastic tray. Occasionally he would send her to the bar and she would return with the drinks balanced on the tray. She was completely naked apart from stilettos and had a fantastic bum, but her small tits were droopy through years of this kind of abuse. I was absolutely transported by this couple. I had gone there searching for a model for a picture I had planned for the Skin Two magazine. It was to be of a woman, nude in my kitchen with washing lines attached to her nipples and clothing hanging from the washing lines. I subsequently made the picture and it is entitled The Most Scurrilous Washing Line in Christendom. It seemed that reality far surpassed the most perfervid of my imaginings. If Lot could have seen this, he would have called upon the Almighty to invoke the red flame of wrath to smite these alienates from God.
I went to the toilet for a leak. As I stood at the urinal, eyes were upon me. A man in high heels was fixing his make-up in the mirror and God alone knows what was going on in the cubicles. My penis shrivelled like a slug under salt. I rushed out again to see the Dog Lead Man slapping his slave’s bare arse in time to the music, then sticking lit candles on to her tits with the aid of needle-sharp holders.
Back at my post, a pale cadaverous looking voluptuary came up to me. She was wearing a tight leather dress that flared around her feet, her breasts were bare and she carried a whip. I eyed her appraisingly. She tried to chat me up. I acted blasé. She said she wanted me to be her slave. I said nothing. She told me what she was going to do to me. I was disgusted! Chiefly because I had not thought of it first. Alva Bernadine a vassal to the demands of others? Surely the world stood on its head! It was I who should be having my caprices catered for. How impious. I dismissed her!
At the stroke of one o’clock, while the Dog Lead Man was flaying his slave’s arse with a cat o’nine tails on stage. I fled that iniquitous pit, not looking back lest I be turned into a pillar of salt. I had looked temptation in the eye and I had outfaced it. I was still virgo intacta.