Queer Co-Ed Lust

As the daughter of a gay man, and as a girl who likes to fuck women who look and act like gay men, I am way beyond a typical Oedipus complex. Besides, a traditional Freudian analysis of my penchant for faggy dykes just doesn't cut it; I am much more intrigued by the myriad of ways in which queer men and women define, create, imitate, and challenge each other's sexual identities. Every day, I see examples of gay and lesbian sexual imagery overlapping, intertwining: butch women who look like they've leapt off the pages of a Tom of Finland book, well-groomed gay men on Fire Island dressed like preppy lesbian lacrosse players, leatherdykes who belong in Drummermagazine, and leatherdaddies who should be in the lesbian porn mag On Our Backs. Often, our sexual personas and practices seem to tango perfectly with each other.

If fags and dykes have so much sexual culture in common, then why aren't there more mixed sexual spaces for queers? Don't get me wrong—I'm not totally against segregated gender territory. I think that women-only and men-only events can be useful at times (although more and more, a vocal transgendered community is problematizing the very notion of "same-sex space"). In New York, there are so-called "pansexual" parties, but unfortunately, what pansexual has come to mean on the East Coast is far different from its West Coast definition of all genders and sexualities; a pansexual event in the Big Apple is ostensibly a heterosexual event, where many queers just don't feel comfortable.

I've asked around to gauge interest in a girl-boy sexfest. All the dykes I know are gung ho to see fags fuck, which doesn't surprise me since so many of us are gay-male-porn watchers. (A chance to see it live? I'm there!) Plus, dykes have so few spots to have sex that we'll gladly share one with our "brothers." Men, on the other hand, have no shortage of locales to have public, anonymous, and/or casual sex, including sex clubs, bathhouses, and cruising areas; they don't necessarily need or want to share. But there is a far more insidious issue that keeps us apart. Most gay men have little or no interest in seeing women fuck or even having them around while they do. Too many gay men are still on the "Ew, pussy! I don't even want to see that!" train, first stop gynophobia, last stop misogyny.

Is it too much to ask for some boy-boy cocksucking and girl-girl muff-diving under one roof? And not just where the boys and girls tolerate each other's presence, but where we actually support and celebrate each other's sexuality? I was beginning to think that New York just wasn't ready for my radical vision yet, until I went under the Manhattan Bridge in Brooklyn. DUMBA is an artists' collective-cum- queer housing cooperative in a loft in Brooklyn's DUMBO district. The collective hosts a sporadic queer sex party called "The Lusty Loft." I had the pleasure of attending one about a month ago, and was pleased to see my dream in action. Lots and lots of action.

In a maze of rooms small and large, people danced to a DJ in the biggest open space, ate vegetarian food in the kitchen, and generally behaved like people at a typical party. But walk deeper into the loft, and you'd see this was no regular Saturday-night soiree. I spied a hot gay couple in a small mirrored room just beginning to undress each other. When I went to the bathroom to pee, I saw two guys fucking madly in the stall shower across from the toilet, and I suddenly wished for a larger bladder. Everywhere there was groping, kissing, fingering, sucking, and fucking. Boys watched girls and girls watched boys in a kind of queer erotic nirvana that was truly blissful.

Now, I did notice that most of the group had several characteristics in common: They were young (was anyone there over 30?), queer (I seriously doubt anyone would use "gay" or "lesbian" to describe themselves), radical (with clearly anti-mainstream, punk-rock, anarchist aesthetics and politics) genderfuckers (boys with lipstick, girls in drag). Young, queer, radical genderfuckers for whom the term "opposite sex" was practically meaningless.

The star attraction of the party was the "Interactive" room, a small space furnished with a bed and wired with multiple surveillance cameras. Several feet away, anyone could watch what was happening on a dozen small screens that showed the scene from multiple angles. For a change, it was not being broadcast live on the Internet or recorded to be sold to underground amateur porn collectors. It was there for a moment of exhibitionism and voyeurism only. I watched two tattooed chicks get it on, followed by a threesome of older men, then four men, then two women whom I immediately wanted to make porn stars. (It's hard to keep my capitalist tendencies in check sometimes, even in such an anti-consumer space as DUMBA.)

A lusciously big girl was on her back, knees up, pumping her hips against her lover, a punk-rock chick who rode atop her, reverse-cowgirl style (on top, facing away from her). Both of them were gyrating frenetically, and at first I assumed that the bigger one was wielding a strap-on, but upon closer inspection, I realized: Look, Ma, no straps! It was another 15 minutes before they became unglued long enough for me to see that they'd been riding opposite ends of a clear jelly double-dong. It was the kind of sex toy I always see in pornos that makes me think to myself, "Does any real person ever use one of those things? And more importantly, does it really get anyone off?" Well, these two broads were apparently hell-bent on answering my question with a lively demonstration that screamed, "Yes! Yes! Yesssssssss!" to my query. They worked that dildo in an ingenious way I've never witnessed, partly because of the unique position (I assumed they had done it before), mostly because of the sheer enthusiasm behind the task.

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