By Keegan Hamilton
By Albert Samaha
By Village Voice staff
By Tessa Stuart
By Albert Samaha
By Steve Weinstein
By Devon Maloney
By Tessa Stuart
NEW ORLEANSWhat makes a city sexy? I didn't know much about New Orleans before my boy and I traveled there in November for a swingers' convention. With images of women flashing their tits on Bourbon Street dancing in my head, I was ready to put the town's reputation for debauchery to the test. We shared a limo from the airport with two couples who'd been to both the city and the event before, and almost immediately, I had to confess our virgin status on both counts. One of the husbands said to me, "Bourbon Street is real nice. . . . Well, there is this elementthe topless joints and the gay clubsbut besides that sleaze, it's great." Little did he know that "that sleaze" was exactly what we were after.
We did some pre-scum shopping in the French Quarter, where we drooled over all the fabulous stuff at Chiwawagaga, which calls itself "a small store for dinky dogs" and has everything for canine owners who love to indulge their pups, from blue sailor collars and yarmulkes to plaid jackets and cowboy hats (not all one's fetishes must be sexual). We stumbled into another store, attracted to its nameDark Entryand found goth goodies, faux fetish wear, and sex toys. The guy behind the counter was sweetly ambitious, and when he saw me glancing at a vibrator, he announced, "We've got some stuff that'll really impress you." I replied, "You have no idea." He proceeded to pull cheap, obvious novelties from a glass case until I steered him away from the jelly dongs and toward the white PVC boots with a red cross on them. "They match the naughty-nurse outfit," he beamed. "Thanks," I said.
Lots of the strip clubs on Bourbon Street have pussy pushers out on the street trying to lure people into their fine establishments with signs like "Topless" (duh) and "Bottomless" (which was a great selling point, but not accurate as we discovered once inside). We had heard that Big Daddy's was a hot spot, but we opted instead for the UniSex Club just down the street, as its signs promised much: both male and female dancers, live sex acts, and more than 100 positions. My mind immediately went to the live sex shows in Spain I've heard about, where people fuck onstage to music and the male performers come, on cue, exactly as the song crescendos. They sounded just unbelievable. We paid the $2 admission (that should have clued me in right awayyou can't get live sex for $2), which included $2 off the first drink (sounded like a bargain until we realized that a soda was $8) and wandered into the small, dark club with a stage in the middle of it.
On the stage were two standard stripper poles, and wrapped around the one on the left was a pair of long, pale legs belonging to a blonde who looked about 19. She wriggled absentmindedly in that way that girls in small local clubs do, where the women have conversations with each other while dancing onstage, and music sometimes plays for a while before someone yells and a stripper leaps onstage. But that's where this place's predictability ended. I looked around at my fellow patrons and noted that the majority were male-female couples, a rarity even at a "couples friendly" joint.
A dark-haired, well-built black guy joined the woman onstage and started strutting his stuff. He grabbed the pole, then proceeded to spin around, shimmy up the thin gold phallus, and hang upside down. I've only seen male performers in Chippendales-esque revues, and I've never seen a dude stripper do pole trickswhat a treat! Plus, once down to a G-string, he displayed an enormous packageso big that even the men in the audience couldn't stop themselves from staring.
The two met in the middle of the stage and started to execute their clearly rehearsed routine, full of grinding against one another and simulating all sorts of naughty things. It could have been boring, except that the slender blonde actually perked up quite a bit when her dance partner showed up, and together their energy level peaked and magic happened: They looked like they were having a good timethe one element in an erotic performance that can always get me wet. When the song ended, they headed into the crowd, and they were each giving lap dances when we finished our ginger ales and decided to go. The experience left me with only one question: Why aren't there any coed strip clubs in New York City?
New Orleans is not just the possible birthplace of the co-gender strip show, it is home to transsexual male porn star Buck, whom you may remember from a column earlier this year ("Buck Naked," April 23-29). Founder and object of the controversial site transexual-man.com, Buckwho, for the record, is even hotter in person than he is on filmjust married his girlfriend, Kitty, who can also be seen on the site. We met up with the newlyweds in one of those wow-I-didn't-recognize-you-with-clothes-on moments and got a tour of the dungeon and a private screening of Buck's truly perverse new porn video. We decided to check out Colette, rumored to be the best swingers' club in the city. It boasts three floors of delight: a dance club, an entire floor of private and group playrooms, and hotel suites upstairs for overnight guests.
Unfortunately, on our way there, we were pulled over by the cops, and shockingly and mysteriously, Buck was arrested for making an illegal left turn. The man in blue insisted it was because Buck was driving in Louisiana with a California driver's license, but I'm sure it had something to do with the fact that among the four of us, we had more tattoos, piercings, and leather attire than the cop had ever seen. It was one of those scenarios that's really hot in porn and really frightening in real life. Especially since this particular officer did not seem interested in taking advantage of me or Kitty or Buck or the boy in exchange for a warning or just a ticket. So we spent our second night at the county jail waiting to bail Buck out, which, again, has erotic potential in fantasies but is scary in real life, especially in the South.
The trip only got wilder from there, but you'll have to tune in next time for all the details. In two weeks, my Southern adventures continue at "N'awlins in November," the annual swingers' convention.