English 
Beyond the Turnstiles: There’s a Fire at The Woodshed
Central Florida has a stereotype: theme parks packed with people like sardines, beaches covered in sunburned strangers—and if you’re really feeling brave on a random Tuesday, you can even hold a live gator. As a native to the area, sure, I have the perks of storming the castle from childhood stories. Still, I also know that some of the best adventures actually take place in the smaller districts—apart from the polished metal and overly polite gestures.
With the way the world is currently, I’ve found myself searching for lesser-known thrills—away from the larger-than-life cartoon characters—a noble quest for something that wasn’t a tourist’s dream—or a local’s nightmare.
Lucky for me, while I was sitting with friends, old and new, in one of the last great local dive bars, I learned about a seasonal event offering just that at The Woodshed, a place that I hadn’t even thought of in a while.
As it happened, one of my favorite fellow and former performers for AntiBabe, Sissy Mary Sinful, had recently moved back to O-Town, and I was dying to see her in all her glory. Add in the fact that she was once again performing with the hotter-than-hellfire troupe The Fahrenheit Foxes at a sold-out show, and I was off to The Woodshed—hoping my outfit was fireproof.
It had been a full ten years since my boots last clicked through those doors, and I’ll admit there was a flicker of apprehension. A lot had happened in that time—for me personally and for the venue itself—but both of us seem to be finding our grooves again with the right kind of TLC. With new ownership breathing life back into the space, the moment I was greeted in the darkly red-lit foyer by a friendly femme in plain clothes, expertly wrapped in shibari rope, it felt like coming home.
The new owners haven’t skipped a beat in restoring The Woodshed as a kinkster’s second home. Once Mary introduced me, it was clear they were a seasoned couple with years in the scene—instantly warm and welcoming. Proof, as always, that a handshake in the local BDSM community often says more than words.
For those who typically prefer mouse ears and marathon lines, The Woodshed is decidedly off the beaten path—but well worth the late-night babysitter, especially for kinky 101 classes and live performances. Tucked into an industrial office building more commonly used for machine shops and auto-parts storage, it’s the perfect after-hours cover for a kinkster like me to enjoy an evening of fire and fleshy parts—respectfully and with consent, of course.
For anyone looking to add spice or build stronger connections, the space remains what it’s always been: a darkly lit learning dungeon, alive with eager onlookers and packed with equipment that still makes my eyes light up like it’s XXXmas.
Not only does it boast an extensive lending library to help you “learn the ropes” of BDSM and its many dynamics, but it also offers classes and pamphlets on how to really take a bite out of life—all consensually, of course. This includes thoughtful literature on kink versus real abuse, along with essential topics deeply rooted in the culture: gender identity, equality, and safe, sane polyamory. Seeing this alone made me feel safe and included, especially as a gender-fluid kinkster reentering the scene and looking for a solid community.
Onward through one of the play-area doorways, I was met with tonight’s stage and seating arrangement. This rentable space had been reworked to provide an intimate, close-up view for spectators, accented by holiday décor that perfectly complemented the theme. (I, for one, appreciated the Christmas tree decked in festive chains, positioned directly across from a seven-foot-tall Krampus looming in the opposite corner.)
Catching up briefly with other performers during the tail end of rehearsal felt like revisiting old antics I’d long missed. Performance art, after all, isn’t limited to themed parades and haunted houses.
After grabbing light holiday refreshments before showtime, I took my seat as the lights dimmed further. Tonight’s offering on the St. Andrew’s cross? Infernal Yule: A Krampus Fire—and it delivered exactly that.
As the performance ignited, thick cascading fog gave way to perfectly timed choreography, a truly flaming spectacle by professional local fire artists who know the ropes—and the chains. Poi and staff blazed with sensual precision, costumes channeling both grace and danger. Krampus himself towered eight feet tall, posing for selfies after the show.
Watching the cast twirling and fire-eating live—curves out, confidence blazing—made me deeply miss the thrill of performing myself. The trust among peers was evident. The entire ensemble was on fire, literally, and made me feel profoundly comfortable in my own skin.
After the performance, I was met with the biggest hug from my newly rekindled friend, promising to catch up again soon—preferably in daylight hours. Fueled anew, I bounced out the door with a swing in my hips that might’ve busted the frame wide open.
Forget the castles. Forget the crowds. The honest Orlando doesn’t sell tickets—it holds space. It hides in plain sight: industrial units, dim lights, and communities built on trust.
The Woodshed doesn’t promise fantasy. It offers something better—accountability, education, and pleasure without apology.
Nothing happens without permission.
Stay hydrated. Stay self-aware. Respect each other. Consent to be your true self isn’t optional—it’s the whole damn point.
