Arriving At the Passiflora

The taxi ride goes by smoothly. At first the driver gives me a shocked look and raised eyebrows when he sees me. For a second he seems confused then realisation dawns. I suppose this guy transports all sorts. He keeps quiet most of the way and seems almost nervous around me. But I don’t make any moves after seeing a ring on his finger. Made that mistake before, never again.

Between fantasising about what might happen tonight and the adept driving we arrive soon in a dance of city lights. I pay and get out the taxi before walking the last of the way to the club. The Passiflora really is quite the sight, a towering architectural orgy of timbers painted smooth black that flow between white painted walls. It’s three stories tall and goes back quite the ways. Can’t wait to explore every nook and cranny. The people in their probably can’t wait to do the same to me I giggle to myself.

My boot heels clack against pavement in a rhythm as I draw nearer to the club. Already there is quite a big queue of people outside. It’s all sorts as well from the imposing big guys with muscles straining at their deliberately tight shirts. To kinkily dressed up traps wearing everything from dresses and anything pink. To harnesses and full on gimp suits. Some are accompanied by hot studs, others mistresses. Jeez. These must be the regulars then.

Just then out of the corner of my eye I notice a large group of people just a ways down the street.