Trials of Eyeliner

For the last few days I’ve been rolling an idea around in my head for a place I wanted to hang out in Second Life. I haven’t been able to find it yet, doesn’t mean of course it doesn’t exist since SL is such a huge place, but so far, I haven’t found it. And those that I have spoken with have seen such a thing.

I sent out a call for links and sim names for urban settings and spent the better part of one evening sim wandering from place to place, looking at cities, alleys and underpasses; dead ends,doorways and culverts; high streets, shopping centres and high fashion pavements. Mesh- sculpts- prims of all sizes  and texture richness. Each sim unique from the one before it.

But that’s just the facade. The glossy veneer outside the velvet rope. The well lit but nondescript building between two other nondescript buildings  at the end of the alley. The one with a simple plaque by the door with a buzzer and a camera, “Members Only” gracefully etched on brass. The solid, thick old doors silently opening to a dark oak foyer with just a simple settee and perhaps a plant next to the elevator door. There is no call button. The little red light on the barely hidden camera in the corner shutting off a moment before the elevator doors open. The swift ride to the penthouse level. No buttons here either. The perfect mirrors giving you a few precious moments to check your hair, smooth the hem of your lapel, check the line of your trousers or the shine on your shoes.

It starts like a heartbeat; that thrum of the bass and drums. The low, teasing sway of music playing above. The doors glide open and your attendant takes your hat and overcoat. A second offers himself as an adornment for your arm and guides you within. The music growing louder, deeper, grabbing you by the balls and reminding you you’re alive.

Velvets, rich and deep, lights and reflections through the haze of cigar smoke and the taste of lust in the air, palpable through a dream. Through doors and curtains, layers peeling away to expose the center of your desire, guided to your private booth with the view of the dance floor. Hot and cold flowing men and drinks, your every whim attended. There. At the table- under it- on it- spread before you like a buffet.

Pure speakeasy vice behind a curtain of cigar lounge gentleman’s club conservatism.

This is what I want.

Sluts and Suits. DJs playing deep, sexy music. Jazz and trip hop. Low heavy pulsing beats. Holding court in your private booth with friends and lovers, hot men fucking against your table while you watch over drinks and a teasing handjob under the table, talking about anything.  Casual and content. No private back rooms. Its all for the members to see through the din. Low lights but bright reflections. Shows at center stage at the bottom of the hour between stripper boytoy dances.

This is what I want.

A hangout for adults with a particular taste.

“ur hot lets fuk” need not apply.

Toodles,

-N

Credits:

Hair: CiC – Audrey (heavily Modified), Body – /wasabi pills/ – Orion – Night Shadow
Skin: Nivaro – James – Light Tone – Hairy – Shaven – Bald (Link goes to Demos)
Eyes: IKON ‘Sunrise’ – Silver Pale
Tattoo:  Fallen Gods – A Skin Story
Cords:Illusions – Cord Wraps
Rings & Nails: Rozoregalia – Gemma Ring&Nail 1
Shirt, Pants, Shoes: Roosters – Lets Fuck Ride’m Hard
Poses: Just ye olde AO

Location: Virtual Decay

Credits not available for blondie Zaaf there: was a shot I took at Tribute last week and fit the theme of the post.