It sometimes feels like my life is a comedy spoof of The Truman Show, or at least one of the producers from that world has been fucking with me in their spare time for a spot of light relief. Ever since I first became aware of the existence of big European mud play parties, via MudBoyUK and SLOSH, I've been itching to go. Every few months I'd have a look at these websites for Drexx in Essen or at the sporadically updated schedule for Lab and discover that once again the mud parties clash with a wedding, or a friend's 30th birthday, or some other unavoidable committed bollocks. There was one time back in 2013 where the stars aligned, and I was actually free and booked my flights and accommodation for a weekend in Berlin when the Lab mud pit would be out. On the morning I was due to fly, I was instead hospitalised by penicillin resistant tonsillitis. Unimpressed did not even begin to cover it.
Anyhow, a mud party date appeared for last October at Drexx, coincidentally the same date as the 700,000 strong anti-Brexit march that took place in London. What better way to celebrate my European identity than by marching in solidarity against an epically stupid and inward-looking decision here, then the same day take advantage of freedom of movement to travel to the continent and... integrate myself with some hot European men in a pool of mud!
My plans to attend nearly went awry when I got as far as checking the air fares, but fortunately there was one remaining loyalty miles redemption seat on a suitable flight to Düsseldorf, and the hotels in Essen are excellent value when their board game expo isn't happening. I emailed Drexx to confirm that there was still space: they only use the upper level of the club for the mud nights, as otherwise someone would probably die slipping down the stairs, and so capacity is finite.
So, with a bag full of rubber I made my way to London and paraded through the West End in glorious sunshine, then peeled off, took the tube to Heathrow and flew to Germany, feeling some major apprehension for what was ahead. What if I don't like it? What if there's no one there I'm interested in? Or more likely, what if there's no one there interested in me? This carried on looping in my brain as I made my way from Düsseldorf airport to Essen centre, a task made very difficult and €60 more expensive due to the most convoluted train ticket machines I've ever encountered. Anyway, I arrived safely at the hotel and changed into my outfit for the evening: a rubber vest and some through-zip rubber shorts, along with my trusty neoprene wet suit boots. The only dress code for their mud parties is "some sort of footwear" for safety, and I'm a practical kinkster - I like being able to throw my gear in the washing machine!
The venue itself was great. I felt welcome, safe and relaxed after I came through the doors and stripped off the trackies and hoodie I wore for the short walk from the hotel, stuffing everything in to the locker I was assigned. I began scouting: the bar was lively with a mix of clean guys in different outfits and a couple of completely unrecognisable swamp monster figures who'd evidently already been playing. There were a couple of familiar, clean faces and I engaged in my usual polite, slightly awkward but hopefully endearing greetings, and then resolved to go backstage. The first thing I saw was a single man-sized trough containing a single man and enough creamy mud for him to have a good wallow, writhing around whilst a couple of onlookers pissed over him to get the mud extra sloppy. I was very jealous and resolved to have a go in there myself, but since it was occupied, I headed further back and found the main attraction. Behind a wall with a urinal was a tarpaulin lined pit, maybe 3m x 4m, full of horny pigs frolicking in thick clay mud about 20cm deep. The only visible colour other than the brown of the mud was occasional pairs of eyes, like something from a cartoon where someone is trapped in a dark room or a jungle full of monsters. I hesitated for a moment, my nerves getting the better of me, and figured I'd just watch from the sides for a bit until I relaxed enough to join in, or found someone to go in with. Members muddymind and pissbabe had other ideas though, and I quickly and ungracefully found myself face down in the pit having been pulled in. The sensation was wonderful: the mud was thick and creamy, and its coolness was in stark contrast to the deliberately warm playspace. I spat out the mud that'd ended up in my mouth from my abrupt entrance and found all my doubts and anxieties being replaced by my usual mantra once I've passed the point of no return: "ahh fuck it"! Rolling over on to my back I scooped up a big handful of mud and filled up my rubber shorts as much as I could, given that my dick was taking up most of the available space in there now, and then started sliding my slicked-up body against the glistening frames of the other guys who were in there with me. My perception of time was completely knocked out by the intensity of the physical sensations and I have no idea how long I was playing in the pit until I needed my first break for a drink, gingerly staggering back to the bar via the water trough to wash the drying mud out of my eyes. I got a drink but after just a couple of sips I was getting withdrawal symptoms, so necked it as fast as I could and scurried back to my happy place to carry on playing. Over the course of the evening my vest and shorts were carefully cast to one side so that I could maximise the body contact, though being prissy about my gear collection I made a point of checking in on it from time to time.
Eventually fatigue caught up with me, possibly because I'd cum four times by this point. I decided to call it quits and joined the queue for the showers, using the cold one to rinse the worst off my gear while the guy ahead of me cleaned himself under the warm one. My experience with gunge helped me avoid getting too much suspicious looking mess on the hotel towel that I brought with me too.
It was an amazing night and I'm all booked in for their next event at the beginning of March, maybe I'll see some of you guys there? And maybe if we see each other either at the beginning or the end of the night we'll actually recognise each other!
Some top tips: put anything that goes inside the locker inside a plastic bag, because mud finds a way of even getting inside the lockers! Also, wear swimmers' earplugs or stuff some cotton wool inside your ears: I had to syringe my own ears out a couple of days later to get all of the mud out of them. Having slightly impaired hearing and a mud splattered backpack were totally worth it though, and the icing on the cake: for a good few weeks after I got back my skin was fucking fantastic!
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