Fetish fair weather

"It's hot," was a frequently overheard phrase at the Fetish Fair Fleamarket in the South End this weekend, albeit used more often as a complaint than a statement of approval. It was a sweltering Saturday, and even inside the climate-controlled Cyclorama at The Boston Center for the Arts the temperature was a few degrees north of optimal for many.

The event, the 31st of its kind sponsored by the New England Leather Alliance, was a convention of carnality offering classes, information, and vendors selling everything from novelty T-shirts ("it's only kinky the first time") to sex toys and dungeon equipment. Perhaps most importantly, the Fetish Fleamarket offered kinksters the opportunity to occupy public space together. It might sound like a den of iniquity but it was more of a farmer's market of iniquity: a casual and communal gathering where people leisurely shopped and schmoozed with equal enthusiasm.

A quick glance through the room and the crowd might seem at home in Harvard Square any time: casually dressed folks with a higher proportion of black clothing and Manic Panic dyejobs than usual. Then the preponderance of chokers and Betty Page T-shirts starts to register, a presage to the emergence of the leather daddies, furries, corseted Amazons of all genders, and sundry unidentifiables slowly making laps through the cavernous space.

With a full complement of dominatrices, crossdressers, leather daddies, squirrel girls, slaves and weekend swingers, perversity had seldom seemed so polymorphous. What seemed to unite everyone there was a mood of amiable curiosity and courtesy. There was no snobbery about who was wearing jeans instead of leather, who was the kinkiest or most submissive or had the biggest dungeon. A pair of human ponies showed only a slight bit of natural coltishness before investigating a smoking orb held aloft by a man dressed as a wizard. I'll respect your scene and you respect mine was the unspoken rule.

In a corner near the entrance, a makeshift demonstration area had been set up. A chorus of creaks from the cheap plastic folding chairs was echoed by the squeaks of pleather and vinyl outfits, while Nina of "Power Exchange by Nina" talked about the basics of fetish wear. A down to earth woman, Nina gave practical tips about learning to walk in heels, building a fetish wardrobe on a budget, and learning to apply makeup. If you don't know how to do it, she advised, just go to the makeup counter at Macy's and get schooled. Just a few minutes later a tiny woman got up and left, with a man on a leash trailing behind her. Perhaps they were headed for the Clinique counter.

Or perhaps they would first try their luck at the roughly 50 vendor booths. The wares may not have passed muster at Macy's - and don't expect to ever see big signs hanging in their windows that say "Every Cock Must GO!" - but it was a marketplace like any other. A few salespeople, perhaps trapped in hot spots, listlessly fanned themselves and watched the passers-by. But most were chatting, networking, and making sales pitches.

"These are all done with my personal submissives," announced Princess Kali, gesturing to racks of erotic DVDs. "There's no acting. I bring my boys into the dungeon and we get to it." A similar mood of businesslike efficiency gripped the serious shoppers, who intently scrutinized the goods. One man gave a whip a crack and smiled slightly, Across the aisle, a woman tried on a leather collar while a clerk stuffed ball gags into a small platic bag.

Like a BDSM Brigadoon, this happy gathering eventually had to depart. The heat hit like a flog as people spilled onto the BCA plaza. Some were still in their fetish finery and others had changed. The man on the leash was roaming free. It was too hot for rubberwear. It was even too hot for rubbernecking, and the few patrons seated outside the Beehive paid no mind.

As if direct from central casting, a middle-aged couple with maps in hand wandered down Tremont and asked a man in a leather kilt for directions. The man in the kilt explained he was just in town for the Fleamarket, but did his best to point the couple on their way. Satisfied, the couple politely asked him for his businsess card. I'll respect your scene if you respect mine.