Aside from a universal taste for the colors chalk white, blood red, and burned-Bible black, you would be hard-pressed to find any two goths who agree completely on a definition of goth culture. The former South Florida club kid now known as Marilyn Manson has certainly appropriated and popularized aspects of the aesthetic -- to the near-universal disdain of the gotherati. (The Marilyn Manson entry in 21st Century Goth, the 2002 tome by British scene chronicler Mick Mercer, reads simply, "Bowie tribute band.")

Indeed, if you shine a dripping pewter candelabrum around the dark corners of this dark subculture, you'll find the rhetorical barbs, bruised egos, and hurt feelings typical of any ideological battle. You're not going to get to the bottom of this pit by talking to some Baby Bat fresh from his first trip to Hot Topic. No, you need to talk to the kind of goths who sharpened their fangs in the darkest corners of Squeeze, the now-defunct Fort Lauderdale alternative club that helped nurture the fledgling Manson.

So we knocked on the coffin doors of a couple of the more senior Broward County goths: Aiden is the editor of the online goth e-zine Midnight Calling and a traditionalist. Joseph "Josepher" Bonilla of The Abusement Park is a club/event promoter whose gatherings often fuse the goth aesthetic with elements of that oh-so-Broward subculture, fetish. Though the two of them are on friendly terms, they couldn't be further apart in their views on the state of South Florida gothdom. "The gothic culture does not depend on the club scene," Aiden declares. "It exists independently of the scene. If every club were to shut down in South Florida, you would still have a gothic culture.

"Goth probably is the real underground. We get together at Starbucks," Aiden offers through the pungent aroma of the half-caf grande lattes being slung by the barista behind him. "There's a saying that Denny's is the biggest goth club in Florida."

Aiden, who, through both his age (43, he grudgingly admits) and his world view, fits just about everybody's definition of an Elder goth, arrived in his everyday attire: black blazer with Christian Death pins, black jeans, a paisley shirt and vest with ornate pewter buttons, round metal-rimmed shades, and, most distinctively, a bowler hat. ("I'm kind of the last of a dying breed: I'm a Victorian goth," he says.)

With his folksy North Florida-meets-North Carolina drawl, fine blond hair, and round, open face, Aiden seems an unlikely lightning rod for goth-scene controversy. But while his manner is polite and self-effacing (he jokes that one of the reasons he wears black at this point in his life is because the color is "slimming"), there's definitely an iron fist in that black velvet glove. "This may be somewhat controversial, but myself, I see Florida has lost touch with the international goth community," he declares. "If you go to the clubs, most of it is EBM [electronic body music], industrial synth-pop dominated." And, based upon his own travels to such annual gothfests as Release the Bats in Los Angeles and Dead and Buried in London, the electronic stuff, he says, is not what's hot internationally in gothic circles. "There are dozens of excellent goth bands who get played all over the world, but we don't hear them in South Florida," he relates. "A lot of younger goths say that older goths like myself are stuck in the past. But the truth is, it's not stuck in the past, because there are dozens of these new bands coming out, which aren't exactly like the old Batcave days but have the same spirit and the same foundations."

"I hope Aiden wasn't too hardcore about stuff," Bonilla frets. "He hates the South Florida scene. To him, they don't play any goth. He was a staunch supporter of mine; me and him worked together for a while, but something happened."

Bonilla says his colleague's problems have to do with aspects of the South Florida scene that just aren't going to change. "He has a big issue with calling it a goth club where they don't just play goth," Bonilla says. At Funeral, a monthly party currently housed at Sonar in Hollywood, Bonilla has DJs spin a variety of music, "from Nine Inch Nails to Cinema Strange," that falls under a broad definition of gothic. "The hard-core, straight-line goths don't consider any of that goth," he says.

Despite his big-tent approach to putting on a goth club night, Bonilla says Funeral appears to be struggling. "When you talk about the underground scene -- goth or rave or whatever -- it's really not very big," he notes. "To keep everybody separate hurts everything; it's better to bring people together. The hardliners will say that separation is better, but I don't really agree with that."

When the Long Island native came to South Florida ten years ago, he began hanging out at Squeeze. He came into promotion only gradually, first by working at a Broward County fetish store, acting "like their PR guy," organizing parties for the store. He became familiar with Miami gothic establishments such as the Kitchen, "but in Broward, there was nothing going on."

Looking for a different spin on the whole fetish party scene? Sure, it's fun to watch some dude in a codpiece being whipped by a leather-clad Betty Page look-alike, all the while knowing that the guy's probably a stockbroker or business executive. But if you're gonna shill out ten bucks at the door, it'd be nice to get a little more bang for your buck. That's the idea behind "Retro Cabaret," a new monthly fetish party/burlesque show held at Respectable Street (518 Clematis St., West Palm Beach). In addition to the sounds spun by resident DJ KloV and guest Sinsekt (playing anything from industrial and EBM to Brit pop), the cabaret features a live performance of '50s-style pinup models, nuns, and extremely naughty nurses.

The event is organized and run by Joseph Bonilla, founder of Abusement Park Entertainment, which specializes in alternative dance parties. "We've been doing parties for a while, but we knew there was something missing from the usual goth arena down here," Bonilla relates. "I saw that there was some interest in past burlesque parties and knew some girls who were into doing it. At the same time, Respectable Street wanted to do a party with us, but we didn't want to do a run-of-the-mill fetish party. So, we put our heads together and decided to do a cabaret."

But for the cabaret to be a monthly event, more women were needed. Bonilla held a contest at the cabaret's December debut for women who wanted to perform. With the troupe numbering eight women and counting, Bonilla can alternate performers each month.

"For every party I do, I try either to bring it up a notch or change it a little," Bonilla says. "The Retro Cabaret is a different slice of the scene that most have never experienced."

Explaining to the uninitiated what Steampunk is can be difficult — especially if they’ve never played a Final Fantasy video game or watched anime. Basically, this fantasy subgenre is an alternate universe where steam engines power the machinery of the future and people dress like they were born in the 1800s. Throw in some spiky-haired effeminate brats with giant swords and you’ll get the idea.

Now, the promoters of Club X-It’s infamous Electrolust night bring Steampunk alive the only way they know how. Steampunk’d is an all out goth rave that combines technology, Victorian costumes, and lots of kinky sex. You’ll be enamored by Electrolust’s multiple dance floors and DJs, all while you admire the latex addicts and fetish freaks dressing to impress. Don’t want to spill the adult version to your office co-workers when they ask “What the hell is Steampunk?” Stick with the safe geek answer.

The party goes from 9 p.m. to 4 a.m tonight and the first Friday of every month. Tickets cost $20 at the door, but you can pre-purchase them for half the cost. 18+ are welcome to watch, 21+ to swallow. Find Club X-It at 219 N. 21st Ave. in Hollywood. Visit myspace.com/electrolusthollywood or call 954-822-6350.
First Friday of every month, 9 p.m. Starts: Aug. 7. Continues through Dec. 31, 2009

There's something for everyone in here," Bill assured me, placing his small treasure chest on the bar and opening it carefully. I was skeptical. Bill was an older gent, though it was hard to tell — he wore a black mask over his face, a pirate's skull-and-crossbones bandanna on his head, and a Scottish kilt on his hips. A leash hung from the collar around his neck, and various whips and paddles dangled from his wrists and arms. He fished around in the chest and pulled out a small packet of clothespins.

"These can be fastened to the body," he said in a grandfatherly, explanatory tone. "Sometimes, by the end of the night, ladies will have covered me in clothespins completely. I already have a few attached."

He gave a jovial laugh and nodded toward the leash in his hand, which seemed to be leading to something under the folds of his kilt. "Wanna see?"

Entrance: Club X-It is a dark, smoky, sex den full of freaks, fetishists, and the people who love them. I was greeted at the door by a billowing cloud of steam (presumably dry-ice-induced) and Joseph, the self-proclaimed "big boss" of the whole ElectroLust (the group that organizes the once-a-month fetish parties at Club X-It) party scene. With his tall, black top hat, ruffled shirt, shoulder-length black hair, and jacket, he was little reminiscent of an exotically alluring Jack the Ripper. That is, if Jack the Ripper served as a ringmaster for sexy theme parties at mysterious, vision-unfriendly nightclubs.

"Usually I'm in latex," Joseph said with a dismissive wave of the hand when I complimented his outfit. "Tonight, however, is Steampunk'd night."

"What the hell is 'steampunk,' anyway?" I asked, hoping to spin my vague notions into a more concrete understanding.

"Imagine that the combustion engine was never invented," Joseph said fancifully. "Everyone dresses like they're in the 1800s." Just then, a curvaceous lady clad in latex called him over, and he was whisked off deeper into the dark nightclub.

Ambiance: The walls were stone-colored and decorated with old-world accents, such as beautiful stained-glass-style paintings and clusters of mirrors. The bar was long, with gilded edges and carved lion's heads. Across from it, the dance floor sparkled with movement and red flashing lights. Electronica and industrial music pounded through the club, and the minimally clad dancers looked like ghostly apparitions as their bodies were illuminated by a sputtering strobe light. A girl with Technicolor pigtails, who was dressed in just a thong and black tape over her nipples, made out with another girl in a long dress. Three lean, toned young men whipped around glow sticks that left gleaming trails of light behind them as they soared through the inky darkness.

Women with both bare asses and full-length skirts whooped it up on the dance floor. Of the men in attendance, some wore what Joseph called "ruffley things"; others donned hot pants. Among both sexes, tattoos, fishnet stockings, chains, and facial piercings ruled the night. Basically, most people in attendance looked like they'd walked off the Suicide Girls home­page. Or had recently masturbated to it.

Characters: Leo, who was slight and dressed in street clothes, pointed at a tall, muscular guy wearing black angel wings, black boxer-briefs, and giant, fuzzy boots. "I call those dumb-bitch shoes," he said. "No offense to women, but it's Florida. Who needs those?"

"That's a man," I pointed out. "And he's not wearing much else."

"Well, I guess he can get away with it," Leo said, laughing. "They kind of go with his angel — or demon? — wings."

The visuals on display were so mesmerizing that people-watching could be considered a team sport. I caught sight of an elderly gentleman, tall and paunchy, being led through the crowd. "Who's that guy?" I asked. He was blindfolded, and his hands were bound behind his back. Somehow, a leash was connected to the front of his thong underwear, and a middle-aged woman was pulling him around by the balls.

"Oh, that guy," Leo said, laughing. "He's at every single one of these parties. Once, I talked to him; he's a pretty nice guy."

I asked if Leo knew his name. He smiled wryly and paused for effect. "James Bondage."

Patrons: I know you're dying to know, so... yes, Bill did show me his balls. At least, I think he did — the place was rather dark and smoky.

In any case, they were, as you might have guessed, adorned with clothespins, which were attached to the leash he was holding.

"Now," he said warmly, dropping his kilt and placing a hand on my shoulder. "Are you more submissive or dominant?"

"I—" I began, but suddenly became acutely aware of a pleasant, kneading feeling on my shoulder. "What the hell?"

"That's my massage glove," he said, lifting his black glove. "You should mention it in your article; it's rather amazing."

I did not disagree.

"Would you like to try some spankings?" he asked. "If you're uncomfortable with spankings, you might be a little more of a dominant person. Then, you can give spankings."