What face lurks behind the mask?

"Can you make it a bit tighter?" I asked, for maybe the fourth or fifth time. I'm standing in the toilets at Electric, the bar me and my friend Rose have just finished doing promo for. Well, maybe standing isn't the right word...more like leaning over gripping the sink as Rose and a woman who just happened to walk in and decided to help yank the strings of my leather corset. "I think that's about as tight as it will go" the woman says, and I peer into the mirror to admire their handiwork. I look thin, reduced by the full four inches, if not slightly cleavageless.

"I don't know about the bust line" I say, to which the woman replies "Oh, your fine. Mine would just fall out of that...100% silicone." "Did it hurt?" I asked. Boob jobs were something that always held an interest for me, being a mere B cup myself. "Oh, not at all. Definitely get tranquilized first...the surgery lasted a couple of hours, but I was out for 12. Didn't feel a thing. This hurt a lot worse" she said, showing me the guys name tattooed on her arm. "I'll keep that in mind" I agreed. "Where did you get them done?" "Essex. Best £4,000 I ever spent." The woman turned back to the mirror as Rose looked at me impatiently. "Alli, are you almost ready?" "Yup...just have to tie my mask" I slip on my full length gloves and grab my bag.

Let me explain. Me and Rose are on are way to a Renaissance masked ball hosted by The Last Tuesday Society at the V&A. The event only lasted till 10 and we were running last. Still, I cant help taking one last look at my reflection before leaving the toilets. My black glittery feathered mask stares back at me, and I'm reminded of the last time it was worn...

It's late November. Me, Rose, and a couple of other girls are out doing promo, and we leave the group to flyer "a bit further on Oxford St" (read: holiday cupcakes at Starbucks). As were licking frosting off our fingers Rose's mobile goes off. It's her boyfriend, James, and their conversation intrigues me. "I have to buy a mask...this is so crazy...no, I don't think Lucy can make it..." "What's this about?" I inquire when she gets off the phone. "Oh." She blushes, eyes darting around the crowded coffeehouse. "I don't know if I should say anything..." I lean closer, lowering my voice and touching her arm. "Come on...spill."

"Ok." She sighs and sits back, looking at me conspiringly. "It's called Killing Kittens. It's held at a secret London location, probably a castle or mansion. You don't find out till the very last minuet. There's free champagne, and you have to be attractive to be let in. It's £60 for girls, £90 for guys, but you must be vetted. This isn't your typical party, its very exclusive. There will be couples having sex there, but James says its aimed at woman, so mostly bi-curious girls."
"I want to come" I say, helping myself to more frosting. Mansions? Free champagne? Beautiful bi girls? Sign me up. "Are you sure?" she asks. "Its going to be wild." "Definitely" I reply, smiling wickedly. I'd been wanting to do something totally out there since moving to London the month before, and Killing Kittens sounded like it could be it. "Oh, and one more thing" Rose said, leaning closer. "You have to wear a mask."

On the night of the event, I met Rose's boyfriend for the first time. "I have a present for you girls" he said, passing me and Rose love eggs (remote controlled vibrators)On the way to the mansion, we swapped remotes, and it was definitely one of my more enjoyable cab rides...

How can I describe Killing Kittens? The night was surreal, like a fantasy straight out of a movie scene. Upon arrival, we were shown into a candlelit reception area complete with Victorian paintings, a piano and antique candelabra. Champagne flutes galore completed the scene, where elegantly dressed masked couples mingled and the conversation flowed with the achohol, everyone secretly eyeing each other up for later on.

As my intoxication grew, my awareness of my environment lessened so the rest of the night was a blur of wine glasses, white powder, woman, lips, caresses. Certain elements stood out, however. The small glass bowls of condoms in every room grew emptier as couples made their way upstairs to the massive bed, which took up the entire room and was an orgy of writhing, moaning bodies. Their was a jacuzzi as well, and a steam room, neither of which I trusted although the men who occupied them certainly seemed to be enjoying themselves.

But every dream has its nightmarish elements, and at one point of the night I was lured away from the main party by a man who lived in the mansion and said he would take me to VIP. The room was beautiful, with a four poster bed, massive TV playing music videos, and a few other gorgeous couples sitting, talking, kissing. Even the toilet had a marble floor, clawed tub with golden feet. But as the man came in, took out some powder and slid the lock on the door I got scared and demanded to be let out. Even as wasted as I was, I knew a locked door meant trouble.

Stumbling out of VIP, I ran into Rose, who hugged me and said she and James had been looking everywhere. Our taxi was here...the night was over. As I slid into the airbed at James, which was far larger and more comfortable than my twin at halls would ever be, I could not help but wonder at the allure of a mask. Why, in this age of heightened freedom and sexual liberation do Londoners still feel the need to encloak themselves in fancy dress, to hide beneath a stick? What makes costume parties and masked balls so popular? Perhaps, even now, a stigma is still attached in being a bit to wild, a bit to free. Maybe the only way to true personal liberation is hidden behind a mask.