Naughty Paris

Looking for something fun to do this Friday? Want to "peek" in on a fetish party without worrying too much about dress code? Then head over to La Cave de Justine Friday (March 3) for the one year anniversary party of the "Fetish in Paris" soirées on March 3. To celebrate in typical French style, they're having more of an "open house" atmosphere than you'd find at their regular soirées, with discussion groups, anniversary cake, and a bit of networking. Hey, don't ask me, it's what the invitation says:

Ce ne sera pas une soirée comme les soirées FetishInParis mais plus l'occasion de discuter, faire connaissance ... et manger le gateau d'anniversaire! Ilo et Hugo aimeraient que cette soirée soit l'occasion de faire plus ample connaissance entre les membres du site!

So there's no strict dress code (but you should at least be in all black, and do wear your leather, latex or vinyl if you have it), and the entrance is free. Drinks will be €5 (soft drinks) to €15 (Champagne).

The details:
La Cave de Justine
3 rue Villedo, 1st
Métro: Pyramides or Palais-Royal
Tel: 01 42 96 90 74 or 06 64 45 17 17

Check out the Clinique Cosmique at fashionista boutique Colette (213 Rue St-Honoré, 1st), where kitsch "sextrologers" Stella Starsky and Quinn Cox will read your horoscope on March 1-4 from 4-6pm at the Water Bar (downstairs) — gratuit — in English or fluent Franglais. The duo are authors of the book Sextrology: The Astrology of Sex and the Sexes. Be sure you know what time you were born!

Lady Carolyn celebrated her 25th birthday (again) last week. Practice makes perfect, I always say! A pile of us gathered at a new bar/resto in the 19th near Belleville called Le Ventre de l'Architecte (Rue Burnouf) about two hours before the lady in question decided to make her grand entrance. Note to the girls: getting one's hair done is always an excellent excuse for being late -- especially since it gives everyone the chance to immediately compliment your new 'do.

One of the ladies gave her this sexy little bit o'lingerie, which Carolyn's gallant homme is expertly fastening on for her in the photo. Note to the guys: Doing this helps you get a good look right away so you won't have to fumble around in the dark later!

PS: None of the other gifts could be shown on this blog -- her dad might be reading!

The biggest fetish party in Paris, Nuit Dèmonia, takes place every December. Of course I had to go. Not just for research, but for the wardrobe. Because while “echangiste” sex clubs may be all about increasing your odds of getting lucky -- very lucky, even! -- fetish clubs are all about le look. I recruited a brave lady friend of mine (we’ll call her Lila) who was intrigued with the evening’s strict dress code: leather, latex, vinyl or uniform. Lila is the kind of Parisienne who has the perfect outfit for every event. But this was new for her. “What will I wear?” she asked in wonderment. I asked myself the same thing; remembering sadly that I had recently given away a leather miniskirt from my college days because I couldn’t remember the last time I’d worn it.

But never fear. This is Paris, after all! And of course I knew exactly where to “get kitted out”, as the Brits would say. There are two excellent boutiques on Rue Quincampoix (near the Pompidou Centre) selling fetish wear, corsets, uniforms, stilettos, and even accessories like whips, chains, and hand-cuffs. The little police uniforms were cute, but we already had our corsets, so we were looking for skirts. I found a cute little black vinyl skirt, not skin tight but shaped a bit like a cheerleader’s skirt. But I felt a little, well, naked. A pair of long black gloves would complete the outfit. But they had to be shiny (to match the skirt), and they had to fit my skinny little arms.

“We don’t sell latex,” said the shopkeeper at the largest fetish boutique on the street. She explained that it was too fragile and the outfits always got damaged and couldn’t be sold. Meanwhile, Lila is an Amazon, too tall for most Parisian clothes. Not finding anything she likes, we both cross the Boulevard Sébastopol to the goth boutiques of Les Halles.

Goth boutiques are not the most elegant places in the world (nor are they trying to be), but it’s a great place to find black vinyl skirts in every shape. Lila finds her bliss in a long, flowing skirt (straight out of Cruella DeVille’s closet). I try on the elbow-length vinyl gloves. I frown at the way they’re baggu around myupper arms. “You going to the Nuit Dèmonia tonight?” the heavily-pierced shopkeeper asks. I nod. We’re obviously not the only ones who waited until the last minute. I pass on the vinyl gloves, and resign myself to a trip to the Dèmonia boutique on the other side of town, where I knew I’d find latex gloves.

But on the way to the métro, the window displays along the Rue St-Denis caught my eye. If you know this street, you know that it’s best to ignore the tacky sex shop and sex show store fronts. But of course there they were: latex gloves, for sale in one of the “toys and videos” shops. These are not places for Good Girls. But in the interest of time, Lila and I give it a go. It’s hard to know how to act in a boutique surrounded by absurdly-sized silicone body parts and even the more absurd covers gracing the XXX-videos on the shelves. We focus on the gloves.

One pair are made of rubber, so thick that I could have used them to clean up toxic waste. Impossible to bend my fingers, though, so we move on to another pair that are just too long. Finally, we find a pair that I think might work. Keep in mind it’s December, I’m wearing eight layers of clothing that I need to mostly take off to get the gloves up to my elbows. The owner is smoking heavily as he talks to us, and maybe we rush a bit because we’re sure we’re going to pass out. He includes the silicone-spray in the bag with my purchase and we burst out of the shop into the fresh(ish) Parisian air.

Silicone spray is one of the necessary accessories when buying latex, because it’s what gives the latex its shine. Otherwise you’ll look like you’re wearing deflated balloons. It’s only when I get home I realize the bottle is mostly empty. Maybe it leaked, but maybe it came that way. No way I’m going back, though.

Getting ready for the evening, I apply a ton of talc powder so that I can get my gloves on, smooth the air bubbles out of the fingers. This takes almost twenty minutes. I apply the silicone and buff them up to a nice shine. In the métro on the way to meet Lila, I wonder if anyone notices the shiny black hand clutching the steel bar. Otherwise I’m completely covered by my winter layers, my stilettos in my backpack.



The gloves look awesome, like a second skin. I feel like Aeon Flux. Fetish nights are, after all, really just Halloween for adults. Who doesn’t love to dress up all sexy? But then I start to notice a funny feeling. Or rather, a lack thereof. By the time I reach Lila’s house, I have to rip the gloves off, terrified that the loss of circulation will make my fingers fall off.

We have a glass of wine, pose for some funny photos (that will never see the light of day if we have any say in it), and head off to La Loco. The flyers advertise a “changing room” so that no one has to arrive in their outfits. But it’s really just one huge room with a coat-check service, and everyone is in different corners assembling their outfits. The first two people Lila and I spot are a fat man and a dwarf. But more on the actual Nuit Dèmonia in another post. We peel off the layers hiding our tiny outfits, slide into our stilettos, and – rather too quickly – I attempt to put my gloves back on. But since they’ve been silicone’d, they’re now “fragile” (the words of the first boutique owner echoing in my head). I put in one hand, give a gentle pull, et voila. I now have a fingerless glove. Lila glances over in my direction as I curse ever-so-inelegantly.

“No one will notice,” she assures me. I glance out into the darkened club, have another look at the growing expanse of exposed skin in the dressing room, and suddenly don’t feel so naked in my skirt and corset. I rip off the gloves and toss them into the backpack with my sneakers.

My latex love affair got off to rocky start. But I’m not ready to give up just yet. I saw these amazing latex thigh highs at the Salon de la Lingerie. To be continued…

Are all of those chocolate hearts and sappy cards making you malade? *

Head over to OPA (9 rue Biscornet, 11th, M° Bastille or Ledru Rollin) for the Soirée Valentin Musiques Secrètes by Gutaï Records, featuring vintage porn film clips from the early 20th century accompanied by "mystical and orgasmic" improvised music. I can't imagine how this won't be a good laugh! February 14, 8pm-2am. No cover.

* Interesting note: "vomit" is the same in French and English (pronounced vo-mee' in French)

Heather with Charlie (from Ireland) and Rachel (from England) at Paris-Paris.

Not every bar-club in Paris provides good hunting for ladies on the prowl, but Paris-Paris is definitely one of them. I met these young expats while waiting for the doors to open for the Who Made Who concert February 7. I heard them speaking English and asked if they came for the club or the band. They'd heard there was a good band playing, but had never heard them nor ever been to the club. Brave girls! But they didn't know they'd get in faster by asking to be put on "the list" in advance, so when it came time to go in I told the bouncer they were with me, et voila!

We got ourselves some strong cocktails from the bar (€10 each for mostly liquor in you cocktail). Rachel flirted shamelessly with the barman and ended up getting a few more free ones later on. I knew I'd like these ladies! We danced up a storm during the concert, and by 3am I was getting sleepy (should've ordered an espresso martini) so I thought I'd get their take on the male "talent" in the crowd before I headed off. But lo and behold, Charlie and Rachel were already exchanging phone numbers with some fine looking Frenchmen. Bravo, Naughty Girls!

Madame Gentry Lane on the left, checking out the merchandise, and Heather in the background, trying to maintain eye contact!

We thought it apropo to begin our Naughty Paris blog with a bit of eye candy from last week’s Salon International de la Lingerie (it’s the lingerie “Prêt-à-Porter”, if you will). Carolyn and I were lucky enough to be able to spy on this industry-only event by posing as assistants/slaves for Gentry de Paris.

For four days we behaved ourselves as the trail of lingerie models – male and female – paraded by. But on the last day we decided to do a little research (for the book, of course) and ask one of the male specimens if he ever had any, er, “proposals” from the women at the show. Carolyn chased down this sexy cowboy (you can’t see it here, but he’s wearing boots) and was halfway through her very tactful question in French when, quelle surprise, it turns out he’s a compatriot from good ol’ Canada!

What we gathered from our research:

Jordan is 23, models exclusively for Ginch Gonch (who are, BTW, always looking for new male models…check out their site), and is the only straight guy I’ve ever met who makes the appropriate effort to remove excess body hair.

As for any indecent proposals at the show, according to Jordan: “Lots of women spoke to me, but I don’t understand French so I just smiled.”

(Don’t worry, ladies, we’ll send him a copy of Naughty Paris so he can learn some of the important French phrases from our “Sexy Vocabulary” chapter!)