Last weekend the southern Ontario BDSM group DSSG took over the entire campsite for their annual “whack-a-bum” weekend. The park, usually filled with drunken trailer trash manboys, was filled with straight men and women who communally believed in higher sexual prowess through pain and humiliation, made obvious by their thoughtful displays of St Andrew crosses and dog cages placed carefully beside their tents. How prepared! For those gay men who had rented for the year (the Seasonals), they were allowed to come and watch the festivities ($30 extra to actually join in on the slap-happy fun) and Sharkboy and I went to check it out.

One notable difference with this group as opposed to a regular weekend crowd was their energy level. It was up there and not in a FLY Nightclub kind of way. The music coming from their sites was a bit more rockish compared to the Cher beats that usually go on (and on) into the night. The DSSG people laughed in earnest, not in drunk/drugged hysteria. They smiled at the thought of being paddled. They dressed however they damn well pleased with not a word of displeasure coming from their fellow brothren/sisters. Despite all this, they weren’t as openly friendly as the usual trailer/campground gays. Why? Well, what happens when you insert a group of heterosexual women into a bastion of gay males? Right! Mysogonistic Cunt jokes! And I am sure that the tense comments regarding sexual identity and catty laughter coming from the Seasonal sites wasn’t falling on deaf ears as the DSSG women walked by. There was a palatable tension between the gay men and the straight women. I guess because they’re both after the same thing – a straight man. Regardless, it seemed to me that the most chatty, friendly people were the straight guys because they held all the cards.

Sharing the park meant that we shared everything. Including the tiny washroom/shower hut. One morning I exited a washroom stall after doing my morning poo, to clean my hands. I was stopped short at the sink counter by a woman who had her night bag and towel strewn across the only two sinks. I hedged a bit, making a “Um… Uh oh!” gesture with my hands.

She looked at me and glared: “I guess my stuff is in your way. You don’t want to touch my stuff?! Is it because I’m a woman?”

“No. I just took a dump and I don’t want to put my shitty hands on your towel.”

Regardless, the weekend was a nice change from the gossiping and trailer park politics.

After that weekend of whips. whacks and screams, we came home to the Church Street Fetish Fair. To compare the two S&M events would be like watching Philip Seymore Hoffman (DSSG) and John Goodman (Church St Fetish Fair) giving their best interpretation of Truman Capote. CSFF was embarassing, overbloated and over-hyped. No demos? No more than ten vendors? Only one bar doing an extended drinking patio into the street, and NOT the Black Eagle? Really Church Street BIA and Folsom Fair North: Make nice, stop this stupid, inane, in-fighting and get your shit together. The FFN boys know how to run a party. The CSFF people have a great party space. What happened between the two groups that split them like Nicole and Paris? Will they ever make up?