These girls stripped not for cash, but for community. They were there to strut their stuff for their peers, to flirt, to feel empowered, to take pride in their bodies and their sexuality, and, for some, to get laid (which, judging by the party that followed, worked). It was like an X-rated episode of Sapphic Superwoman: mild-mannered lesbian social worker by day becomes stiletto-stomping showgirl by night. These broads were taking it all off for the sheer thrill of it (well, some green did find its way down the elastic of thongs and behind the front closures of push-up bras, but not enough to pay anyone's rent, trust me). I had to applaud my fellow queers for transforming an old-boy network party into a political pussy-powered performance. It was consciousness-raising by way of coochie flashing, and if Chloe had been there, I know she would have been proud. Heck, she probably would have demo'd her fist dildo and whipped the girls into a real frenzy. And I would have been out some serious cash.