By Amy Silverman
By Olivia LaVecchia
By Monica Alonzo and Stephen Lemons
By Chris Parker
By Michael Lacey
By Weston Phippen
"It's at the Venetian," she informs me. "Rem Koolhaas designed it. The juxtaposition of those two elements I find fascinating, the casino and the museum. Rem said it was all part of the same thing. In Vegas it's all about putting on a show, whether it's classic or modern architecture."
"So what do you dig about this scene?" I inquire.
"I've been in it for a long time," she replies. "When I was growing up in Toronto, the underground was becoming mainstream. It was something everyone was into. Eventually, it went back underground, but it's an aesthetic I really like because of the artistic and performance art aspects of it."
Chatting with Effie is no chore, though I wish I'd brought my cerebrum with me instead of leaving that sucker at home. Who'd have known I'd need it at Club Hell? Jett's finally back from paparazzi-ing stage perverts, so now we can ignore that crap for the rest of the night. We corner Saucy Bastard Ben, a.k.a. DJ Nfin8 (as in "Infinite"), and drag him outside. Dressed in a red-and-black-striped shirt with a perpetual boyish grin and black horn-rimmed glasses, he seems like a deranged Torah student on X. But later on, we'll catch him humping some hottie in the loo, without a Bible in sight! For baggin' a babe in the bog, he gets big ups from us, for real. We ask Ben what's the dilly with the De Sade shtick inside, and he gives us a run-down on how Club Hell came to be.
"We're filling a need," Benjie tells us. "When Tranzylvania first opened, it had that gothy feel to it. It's a really nice venue, and the music was pretty good. They advertised themselves sort of like a fetish event, and at first they drew in that crowd, but it was quickly driven away."
"Why's that?" queries the Jettster.
"You used to see in every dark corner people spanking each other, some light BDSM activity, but it was strongly discouraged by security," he relates. "Those of us who used to go to that club saw that there's a big crowd that wants that. Additionally, a lot of us go clubbing in other cities like L.A. or San Francisco, where there are dance clubs that have a strong fetish vibe."
Ben asserts that Club Hell is meant to be different from the AZ Fetish Ball, which has more of a "convention feel" and isn't "so much of a party." While he's breaking this down, Jett becomes enamored of Ben's package, visible in the dark outline of his black britches.
"Um, what's this?" asks Jett. "Ben, are you hung?"
Ben gives it a squeeze. "Well, I am Italian," he says, smiling. "The front of it is my cell phone, but if you want to see what I've got, we could go to the green room we have set up next to the stage."
Before the Jettster can take Big Ben up on his offer, this cute lil' breezy in glasses stumbles past us, blood streaming down her head, and a maxi-pad-size hanky in her hand, red with hemoglobin. Her name is Starlyn, one of the go-go dancers. So at least we know Club Hell's go-go dancers are hot, even if the hags onstage aren't. Adorable Starlyn claims she ran into a speaker in the darkness of the club, and shows us the cut on her head. Somehow, Starlyn seems even more alluring because of her gory gash.
Starlyn's heading home, and Ben has people to punish, so the Jettster and I dive back inside for another drinky-poo. Back at the bar, we rub shoulders with this dom-sub couple, the male being the subordinate half, and the female being the dominant party. The gal Paris is fairly fine, with long black hair and pale skin, and she's literally got this fella Sugar on a leash. I'm no fan of the male form, but at least Sugar's no gross old dude. Thanks be to Yahweh, I'd say these two fall in that category of the non-hideous.
"You could say we're friends in the lifestyle," Sugar confides, kneeling before his mistress. "I have a job where I'm very responsible, a high-profile position. This is totally opposite of what I'm normally accustomed to."
"So you basically give the orders?" Jett asks of Paris.
"For the most part, what I say usually goes," she admits. "Currently I have four other male subs, and one female. But I've had up to 10 or 12 at a time. It kind of just depends on how bored I am, I guess."
"Kreme, this would be perfect for us!" exclaims the Jettster. "All I'd have to do is get a dog collar big enough to fit around that tree trunk of a neck you have."
"I'll wear the collar, Jett, sure," I tell her. "Just give me a crack at your ample ass with a leather paddle first, then I'm all yours."