THE GHOSTS OF BIRTHDAYS PAST...
HAPPY BIRTHDAY VERONICA VERA!
My birthday party in November 1983 was one of those last great parties before we really became aware of AIDS. Some of the bold players in this tale were gone just a few years later, lost to that plague. Through the years others have passed from a variety of causes. Happily some are still with us and can read this story and remember the fun and those friends. For those of you who missed out because you were young or perhaps not yet born, I’m pleased to share this history to bring you hope and inspiration.This is how it was when pleasure ruled the day and created community. You’re welcome!
The cream of Manhattan’s connoisseurs of kink gather to honor one of their own!
I was backstage alone in the dark. Leather straps secured my wrists and ankles to a big wooden X frame to which I was bound, spread-eagle.A red velvet curtain was suspended in front of me. The plush fabric rubbed softly against my exposed nipples. On the other side of the darkness a crowd waited with candles, hot burning bits of wax. Their voices murmured with excitement.
As the curtains parted my eyes were blinded by the bright fire of the candles flickering so near my naked breasts. The reflection of the flames danced over the gold locket dangling from the ring in my pierced left nipple. A single voice, that of my lover Mr. Vera, rang out in song and then every voice joined in to form a chorus that celebrated my name: Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday dear Veronica, Happy Birthday to you!
Thanks to the love and generosity of my very good friends, my November 1983 birthday was one that has gone down in the sexual archives. The idea for the party came from my own darling, Mr. Vera. He had wanted to have the affair at his place, a high rise apartment we referred to as “the love nest in the sky” but when the prospective guests heard they might have to travel to the wilds of New Jersey they recoiled in terror.
Mr. Vera offered to supply everyone with a passport to guarantee their re-entry into the Big Apple. But short of hiring a fleet of limousines, those confirmed New Yorkers were determined to keep their collective ass on the east side of the Hudson.
The problem was solved when I visited Ms. Belle de Jour in connection with another piece for my Adam magazine column. The gracious dominatrix offered her bizarre salon for the occasion. I could think of no more perfect play land.
Belle’s well-appointed dungeon consisted of a large main room with a stage and complete sound and light system. This I foresaw as our disco lounge. A series of small rooms spanned the rest of the loft. One contained medieval torture devices such as a large wheel of (mis)fortune somewhat like those found at county fairs. On this a hapless victim could be strapped in and spun silly
Another room was the pride of Belle’s slave Donald who had constructed it. This was called the Pirelli room because it was completely lined in rubber. There was a hard rubber bed with shackles on each end and a pulley for tightening the shackles and stretching the victim at the same time.
The bathroom - no ordinary john -was outfitted with a doctor’s examining table and complete enema kit.-(For those in need of just a quick piss, there was another small toilet.) Just in back of the stage was the TV as in transvestite room with dressing table, make-up mirrors, wigs in all shades and ladies’ clothes in gentlemen’s sizes.
Relieved of the problem of location, Mr. Vera and I happily sent out the invitations to a real mix of people: my friends from the realms of porn, Mr. Vera’s Seventh Avenue garmento chums, several Wall Street tycoons, and assorted dominatrices and slaves. Even Adam editor Jared Rutter was coincidentally in town for the party which afforded him a real taste of my life, the source of “Veronica Vera’s New York”!
Being an experienced hostess as well as a dedicated glamour girl who does not like to break her fingernails I knew that I needed help in different areas. Slave Paul offered his services as bartender. He was in heaven as he sprinted about pouring champagne while checking out every beautiful woman in the room for possible future work. Megastar Candida Royalle found Paul’s number slipped into her jacket pocket the next morning with a plea that he be allowed to serve her.
It is no wonder that Paul was mesmerized by Candida in her sheer leopard dress. In fact, the poor man’s head was swimming from being in the same room with some of the most tantalizing women in porn, most of whom I’d come to know that spring at a baby shower for Veronica Hart. Gloria Leonard bared her legs provocatively in a very short, very tight black mini. Tiffany Clark wore her white leather suit like a second skin to reveal every curve. Samantha Fox arrived looking radiant after an evening of performing her sensational dance act, and my bestie Ms. Annie Sprinkle decided to dress somewhat conservatively in a plunging neckline that squeezed her bosom in gold leather
Master Billy Boy Blue manned the door with his dark, hulking frame. A 300-pound hunk of chocolate who dressed like a villainous cowboy, he wore all black except for the silver chains and handcuffs that dangled from his belt and the menacing silver studs that covered his hands. Master Billy had no problem discouraging prospective gate crashers whose cocks probably shriveled to the size of peanuts at the sight of our S&M Saint Peter. Only I knew that the best reward for this tower of strength would be to have a lady’s delicious golden shower drench his mountain of a body.
Our music was supervised by Bob, but when Bob showed up as Rhonda I did not recognize our bewigged and bewitching DJ.
Another exciting element had been added when just a few days before the party was to take place, my good friend Charles Gatewood, art photographer of the underworld, approached me with an idea. Two filmmakers had followed Charles’ career for a couple of years, filming Charles each time he went out to take some of his wonderful “forbidden photographs.” Charles suggested that the filmmakers be allowed to record the party as part of their documentary, Dances Sacred and Profane. They would shoot Charles while Charles shot the guests.
I thought it would be a great addition to the evening and so did every.one else. Tattooist extraordinaire Spider Webb, never one to be slow on the draw when there was a camera around, arrived with an entourage of rainbow-colored friends. He found an attractive new canvas when Mistress Anne Pierce arrived with her new slave Marta, a Dutch import
Just after Spider had put some finishing touches on the broad back of a willing client, Mistress Anne introduced Marta to all of us from center stage. The Mistress and her assistant Princess Kathleen stripped Marta of her clothes. All of the guests watched in fascination as Marta was tied up, played with and sensuously whipped.
After he sunk his teeth into Annie Sprinkle’s neck to anoint her with a vampire tattoo, Spider wiped a bit of saliva from his lips. Marta’s milky white skin, now made pink from the whipping proved irresistible so he proceeded to decorate Marta with flowers. (Anything more penetrative and the watchful Mistress Anne would have made mincemeat of the tattooist extraordinaire.
Though there was always something happening for the cameras, the party remained an intimate affair. Mr. Vera and I chatted with guests as I showed off his gift to me. It was a new gold locket I suspended from my nipple ring. On seeing it open to reveal our side by side photos, Gloria Leonard pronounced us the perfect match.
Not everyone at the party was experienced with S&M or familiar with the equipment in the loft, but every one was curious. A Wall Street financier walked in on a couple in the torture room. The man was strapped to the wheel and hung upside down while the woman sucked his cock. The financier, a true analyst, surveyed the scene and later wondered aloud to his wife why the woman had not choked when the man came in her mouth. His wife, a beautiful and adventuresome designer, led him back to the wheel where they might study the situation in more detail, first hand.
Porn star Marc Stevens also jumped on the wheel and everyone took great delight in teasing all six feet of Mr. 10 1/2 inches. Marc had always been very skillful at getting others to do what he wanted. Now we all had him under control and there was nothing he could do about it. He just kept laughing and spinning.
One of the busiest slaves of the night was Jim, who eagerly groveled at the feet of his Mistress Belle and with her permission offered himself to Mistress Brada.
Brada, in a Nazi cap, bore a striking resemblance to Marlene Dietrich. She showed Jim no mercy when she wrestled him to the floor and smothered his face with her leather clad rump
Jim offered his services again to coat the magnificent muscles of Roger the Bodybuilder. But I grabbed the olive oil out of Jim’s hand and passed it to Candida. (Some slaves can be so gluttonous!) The sight of Candida Royalle dancing around Roger as she made his body glisten excited everyone, especially Roger. He carried Candida off in his arms as a finale.
It was an opportunity for Mr. Vera and me to meet each other’s friends. His pals Howard and Fuzzy who showed up as a lion and a bunny rabbit respectively were among the hits of the party. Their costumes provided a nice contrast to the abundant leather gear. Fuzzy went home to fuck like a bunny with my friend Ms. Shapiro the geometry teacher. I just wonder if Fuzzy stayed dressed in his rabbit suit.
It was an unforgettable evening: Mistress Mir dressed as a rubber nun accompanied by her latex wrapped husband Tony; chef Robert Maxwell in a bowler hat with veil and a maribou feather jacket supervising Cynthia the six-foot-five TV maid; the delicious birthday cheese cake decorated so imaginatively by Annie Sprinkle (all the porn stars fought over the little lipstick tubes she had put on top). Mr. Vera danced a hot samba with Ms. Leonard, and I enjoyed rubbing my ass into the leather clad crotches of editor Rutter and he-man Dino D’Macho.
So that was how I happened to find myself confined in a tight-waisting corset and sheer crinoline, strapped to a torture frame while I struggled to blow out the candles on a big, gaudy cake. It was all just part of my very, very Happy Birthday.
Go to youtube: Dances Sacred & Profane Pt. 1 to view scenes from my birthday party.
Feliz Cumpleanos!!!!