In 2000, I went to Sydney for three weeks. I stayed with my brother for 2 of those weeks, and Ke for one. I went to see a specialist about my wrist, to get away from here, to take a break and to catch up with old friends. I had a blast.

On the last Saturday night of my stay, Ke and I went to the Hellfire Club.

We paid our $10 entry, and were all dressed up in fetish/goth wear. Ke, of course, looked absolutely stunning. We bought beer, went upstairs, got comfortable and enjoyed the shows. Because it was Easter, there was an Easter theme - one of the slaves was dressed in a chicken suit and was tossing out chocolate eggs. I'll leave it to your imagination from which part of the suit he was tossing said eggs. *G*

All the floor shows were BDSM, soft core working up to hard core. Ke and I go dance for a while to hardcore goth/punk/techno. The atmosphere is AWESOME. People are so fucking friendly. People were giving me smokes and both us got bought beer, we were chatting to all these funky people in all these amazing outfits, we were coveting a lot of those outfits, and it was great.

It was heading towards 1am and Ke was having a conversation with some guy about who ran the club, what the politics were, etc, etc. The owner of the club came up to me and sat down. I had no idea who he was at first. So we talk for a few minutes and then he tells me he loves my look and wanted to know when I'd be up there as Bondage Mistress of Pain. I choke on my beer. He then offers me a job.

See Star gape.

See Star be speechless.

Images of being paid MONEY to whack people with a variety of bdsm weaponary speed thru my head. If I could afford to live in Sydney on that income, I would do it. In a heartbeat. No questions at all.

I reluctantly decline, saying I'm returning to Adelaide on Monday evening. He sighs and tells me should I change my mind, let him know.

Ke and I go home. I'm laughing like a loon. She is amazed when I tell her of the job offer. Then she laughs like a loon.

That was a killer night. Awesome.

Questions? Comments? Wanna stroke my ego? Then e-mail me.