People call me BC. Big Cat. A nickname I've had since I was a boy. However, during my years at art college I was known as 'Fluffer'. These are my diaries of that time. Fluffer's tales.
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Guapa started talking before I even got the phone to my ear. "Okay BC, this is what we do. I have photographs of very rude, spread open pussies printed big on t-shirts and all the girls wear them. Then we walk down the Champs Elysees, and people -- they will stare at us, at our titties with these pictures on them -- and they will be horrified! Then I will follow behind and take pictures of their faces! What do you think?"
I might have been the nominated 'Bridesman' for Sara's wedding, but since Guapa had offered to pay for all eight of us to go to Paris for the bachelorette party, she'd been adamant on helping me with the preparations. Whether she'd made her fortune from erotica or exploiting Spanish tradesman, I couldn't tell, but Sara was as delighted as the rest of us were pissed off at the news. Any gift we gave Sara now was going to look mean in comparison.
Believe it or not, the above was one of Guapa's saner ideas. Others included: A naked foam party. A 'vibrator party' at the top of the Eiffel tower and--closest to my heart--a private room in a restaurant where a friend of hers would go round under the table: "Giving everyone professional head."
Worse still, when I told Sara about the ideas -- hoping she might rein Guapa in-- she shrugged and suggested that perhaps I should put Guapa in charge.
Expectations were high, and if it was just Sara, Guapa and I then fair enough. Anything, once. But it wasn't just us. It included Anne-Marie, Charlotte and Madame Jolie (now known as Beatrice and a good friend of Sara's). This was a hell of ex's for me, and all Guapa's ideas would look like I was trying trap them in some erotic nightmare.
Worse were the remaining guests: Uptight Tessa, Sara's soon-to-be sister-in-law, and her mum, Ida--who admittedly like to describe herself as "saucy".
For days I couldn't sleep for torturing myself. All those one-time-wonders, all together. My fantasies ranged from Hell (naked, all pointing and laughing at my shrivelling cock) to Heaven (naked, Anne-Marie on my face, Charlotte and Beatrice on each hand, Guapa on my cock).
To her credit, it was Guapa who came up with the solution, ringing me again in the middle of the night. "BC, I no sleep tonight, I am too horny. I have spoken to lovely Beatrice and she is very excited."
"Right. Hopefully this is about the party and not just some random sex thought."
"Both. Beatrice is one of the owners of 'Blanc-et-Noir' you know this?"
I didn't know this. The uber-chic hotel was big news at the time, and famous for taking no bookings or unsolicited guests. A visit was strictly by invitation only. Stories abounded about what was inside, ranging from non-stop orgies to plain anarchy to vampires. It made sense that the Victorian black clad Beatrice would be involved in its creation.
"So, she can get us in?"
"Si! And BC! Best of all, remember Maria..."
Well I don't want to spoil the surprise, Sara is keen to take over the story for a bit here, it's best you see it from her perspective anyway.
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Hello! You don't know me I'm Sara, BC's saviour and BFF. I'm going to tell you about the best Hen Party in the universe, then we can go back to BC's sordid little cock tale.
I was so scared when we turned up at this plain black door on a Parisian side street. BC was even more scared by the look of him, but then he was meeting nearly all his ex-fluffs in one go -- and my potty-mouth mum -- so that was only to be expected.
Still, it was simply embarrassing when he introduced himself to Tess like they'd never met. She'd been so excited to see him again, she'd even had a makeover. It really burst her bubble. BC can be such a prick.
However, it was so scary that I held the prick's hand as Beatrice and the Concierge lady hugged and kissed and led us into this vestibule. All black panels and hush-hush carpeting. The interior was amazing. Kind of Vivienne Westwood Baroque, if that makes any sense. Anyway, the Concierge gave us this speech. She was very spooky, incredibly tall and shockingly beautiful in an androgynous way. White, like she hadn't seen the sun ever, and dressed the same as Beatrice, all black neo-Victorian.
Her speech didn't comfort us at all.
"Blanc-et-Noir admits only exceptional individuals. You are such individuals, hand-picked to ensure the safety--and for the maximum pleasure--of all our friends."
That's how they referred to the hotel's guests. Friends. Like a bloody cult or something.
Then she opened this lacquered box and handed out all these little silk masks. Yep, masks. Beautifully made, double sided, with a white side and a black side. She said that while we were in the hotel public areas we had to wear these at all times.
Now I was there with my Mum, bear in mind. And my future Sister-in-Law, and they were both looking at me like, 'What?' And I was looking at BC like, 'The-fuck?' But it got scarier! The Lady explained that we could choose which way to wear our masks: white side out or black side out. Black was for 'Takers'. White for 'Givers.'
Takers had to be obeyed at all times, they could not be refused by Givers. Givers served Takers, they had to do everything that was asked of them.
"It is inexcusably impolite for a Giver to deny a Taker," the Concierge said. "It is also inexcusably impolite to join a party uninvited. If someone is Giving and someone Taking, you must leave them be."
So naturally, we all put our masks on black side out. None of us wanted to serve some stranger. Except for Guapa, obviously, bless her. The Concierge smiled. "Yes, this woman understands. Givers get the most from their stay here, because they are not limited by their own imagination."
So anyway, she covered some other bits and pieces. All the hotel staff were mega-qualified in all kinds of things and were the only people without masks. In case of any 'difficulties'. Oh and the most important thing!
She explained this bit to us just as the door we entered by magically re-opened into a completely different room. The vestibule was one enormous lift! And this other room was a massive greenhouse. All trees and pools and fountains. An orchestra playing beautiful, chilled music. It must have been on the roof. The Concierge said, "This is Heaven, the top of 7 floors that go down to the basement." She smiled at us creepily. "Hell." Each floor was like a different strength, depending on what we were into. She said that -- as it was our first stay at Blanc-et-Noir -- our rooms were on the Heaven floor, though we were free to roam.
I checked Mum, who winked fruitily. I checked Tess. She said she would hang around Heaven if it was okay with me. My other girls were grinning like sneaky cats. Big Cat? He looked like he'd poo'd his pants. Hilarious.
So we were shown to our fantastic, super-luxe rooms, then this woman in a white mask turned up and I was taken away to this 'Heavenly' spa for the afternoon. None of the others were there, so I suspected some mischief. Next thing, after I was all rubbed and scrubbed and perfumed and spectacularly made up, I was led to this room of mirrors and given this... costume to wear. I thought, Fuck no. A burlesque thing, all stockings, basque and lacy knickers. God I hate that shit so much I can't tell you. The nice Giver Lady said in her sexy accent, "I will leave you alone. Please. Just try it on for fun! If you hate it? No biggie."
So I grumpily pulled this chaff on. Of course it fitted, and felt dreamy. All silky and soft. And, fuck me, it looked a--mazing. Not cheesy nylon tart's knickers. Modern and edgy, but still feminine. With the arm-length gloves and mask on, the lingerie revealed just two strips of my skin. One, the bottom half of my face, neck and shoulders, then below, the skin between my gusset and thigh-tops. I'm not joking, I looked dead good. Like a 1920's nympho-punk.
The lovely Giver lady led me down a swooping stair from our Heaven to the 6th floor. She called it the 'Fall From Grace' level and it was a tad moodier: dark wood panelling and crushed red velvet and chandeliers of smashed glass like frozen explosions. I couldn't believe I was swanning around a public space in my knickers. The mask made me feel disconnected or something. It made me brave. But also everyone I passed smiled at me like I was just the loveliest thing they've ever seen. A girl could get used to that! So she took me into this theatre -- just a small one, but a full-on bloody theatre -- and it was full of people in masks. Givers and Takers of all sizes and shapes in all kinds of undress. I got a private box, looking down on them, and they all stood and applauded me when I took my seat!
So the lights went down and this music kicked off. Later on, BC told me his friend Mazzy arranged it for me, a cover of The Cure's 'Love Cats' but gnarly and slow and prowly, with her lovely voice all over the top like cream. Then the curtains lifted and... Oh. My. God.
BC strutted onto the stage all dolled up! Heels, stockings the lot! He looked ridiculous! But sexy! He once told me the only man he ever fancied was Tim Curry's 'Frankenfurter' in the Rocky-Horror-Picture-Show (I promised I'd never tell, so keep that to yourself) but this was better. Frankenfurrier. All muscly, yet sleek.
Then Tess slinked out and they performed this dance, about cats falling in love, obviously. I didn't know they could do that! Actually, I knew BC couldn't. Apparently Guapa's 'model', Maria, was a fancy choreographer and dance teacher and they'd all practiced and practiced this show just for me! Tess and BC looked SO cute together, they're both so feline. She's like a mini version of him in a way. And fuck was it sexy, though I'm not sure why. They just got gradually, gradually closer and closer and it ended with Tess's leg wrapped around BC's bum, his hands on hers, hips locked together, all arched back with a blissy look on their faces.
Then, one by one, Mum, Anne-Marie, Charlotte, Beatrice and Guapa all came on doing different turns with different styles. All dressed up like me in matching gloves, basque, knickers and stockings, all looking amazing. Especially Mum, she looked like a Beryl Cook painting and did this hilarious cheeky clown thing, taking the piss out of the others. I needed the comedy because otherwise it was all getting a bit too steamy, if I'm honest.
