Old Review Of Club RUB

I love Club RUB. It’s a magical place where trash meets flash and tits-out full-on sex shop gear is groin-to-groin with the Marquis fashion pages’ most gorgeous rubber ensembles. It’s not as in-yer-face posery as Torture Garden -  but the total experience is a probably a happier and more smiley one. I think this is because the pressure to be cool that makes TG more a surface kind of a place is just not there. That’s not to say Club RUB is not cool: it’s the coolest thing ever in the warped world according to me. You can rest assured that I wouldn’t be seen there if it wasn’t pretty much a la mode. The point is, it’s not so much like bloody hard work as TG and that’s why I love it unreservedly. 

Where other clubs go with fashion over passion, Club RUB is a kinkier sort of a place. It’s not about hardcore sex – in fact ‘No Sex Please We’re British’. You can just dance if you want to. The playroom is less conspicuously about putting on a good performance and more straightforwardly about acting out a scene - in spite of people being dressed to kill. It’s good to talk there, too: Club RUB is friendly, really friendly. Look around and you can see people who’ve never met before speaking to each other as if their lives depended on it. The 40-something domme in front of me in the cloakroom queue chatted to me all the way to the coat hatch and then when I sat down on my own a little later with my drink I wasn’t short of conversation not for even a minute. It’s so friendly that if you’re not a vastly out-of-condition single bloke with sandals and a very public masturbation habit, you can probably go on your own. 

Paradoxically Club RUB’s strengths lie more or less the whole of human life is there. This ought not to work, but it does, and if there was an I-Spy book of fabulous deviancy you could check most of the boxes in a single night. At Club RUB, tousled drag queens straight out of Tranny Shack on at Madam Jojo’s totter past glittering rent boys taking a night off from Heaven, and hardcore fetishists mix it with goggle-eyed 30-something blokes out for the first time in slightly the wrong clothes, wondering how they too can get a piece of the action. 

I went to Club Rub with my fabulous wig which was totally transformative. When we rolled in about midnight there was a bit of a tailback at the cloakroom. Didn’t matter that I was now on my own - I’ve already told you that friendly talk is the primary currency at Club RUB, earlier on at least. I wandered about and I saw someone nice I knew from the Real World, who didn’t recognise me at first, because of the wig. 

I went to dance then  when I looked up to smile benignly at no-one in particular because I was having a really, really excellent time, there he was, a dancing in front of me - gorgeous - and he told me his name was Jo. 

We danced, very close, then moved out back again to get more intimate. Whilst two dommes beat the living daylights out of a grovelling male sub on the floor nearby, we found ourselves a corner. Jo kissed me and I went down on my knees. He groaned and leaned back in his chair and I gave the first public blow job of my life. I’m still smiling inside about that. Not the last time I go down in front of everyone, I think … Picking up men in ordinary clubs doesn’t always guarantee satisfaction - but perhaps it does at Club RUB.

Written by Jezabel (where is she now?)