SAN FRANCISCOThere are plenty of queer women who work as porn stars, strippers, and sex workers, but there are a lot fewer of us willing to fork over cash for cooch. Sure, we'll spend our savings on WNBA season tickets, but when it comes to sex, lesbians are notorious nonconsumers. We have one of the smallest selections of self-produced porn of any sexual community I know, only a handful of places where you can see lesbian go-go dancers, even fewer spots to see women strip for women, and no regular sex clubs of our own. So when I heard about a party that was going to feature live dyke sex performances, I was skeptical.
Any dyke sex event is like your wayward, fucked-up sister who never has her own apartment and always needs a place to crash. The bachelorette pad for the evening was a gay strip club in the Tenderloin district. Its giant marquee announcing the "All Male Revue" vibed with the night's performers, who call themselves the Gender Defiant Dykes for Fagdom. Faggy or not, we lesbos always have a cause, and this was a worthwhile one: fundraising for a dyke porno flick called Debauchery. There was another agenda as well, one that producers made clear by hanging simple white signs with bold black letters all over the place. The signs read: "Please Fuck." Encouraging.
Our vampy, andro-cyberpunk hostess, Trashina Cann, introduced the first act of the evening: a big-breasted butch in a tank top and a red-headed dominatrix who looked like a witch. Their performance was typical leatherdyke fare: Butch cuts femme's clothes off with a knife, femme sucks butch's dick, and they fuck in various positions. The pair's number culminated in the femme's orgasm, followed by her "stabbing" her aggressor, fake blood everywhere.
The main attraction was a bunch of five rowdy, raunchy construction workers perched on scaffolding, catcalling and generally behaving badly. A daring femme appeared, prepared to scale the scaffolding, and once she began to wrap her long legs around the silver metal bars, she had my full attention. I thought that if the five really manhandled the girl, really fucked her up, it might get me raring to go. But I couldn't stop thinking the worst: These are dykes, and I'm in San Francisco, home to some of the worst performances, erotic or otherwise, I have seen in my life. There are probably just going to be a few blowjobs, a smack on the ass, and that's that. I am jaded and had no faith it was going to be any good.
The femme egged the boys on, daring them to jump down and get a piece of her. The first to take the bait was the hottest of the bunch, a black butch with a razor-sharp haircut and lots of swagger. When she unzipped her pants, I recognized it right away: Her cock was the rubber replica of porn star Sean Michaels's impressively large member. Thought number one: She's gonna start with that?
Oh, yeah, she started with it all right; a handful of lube, and the chick sucked that puppy inside her cunt like a Tootsie Roll. Reading the script of my dirty little mind, the butches did all do her, sometimes one in her mouth and one in her pussy at the same time. Make no mistake: She was running the show, orchestrating her own gang bang, and it was fucking beautiful.
One butch had been playing with a major power tool the entire time, not between her legs, but a big vibrating drill that scared the shit out of me. Sure enough, she attached a pink sparkly dildo of considerable size to it, fired it up, and prepared to finish the girl off. This was no simulation; that tool vibrated like a jackhammer on speed and lurched inside her, and the chick took it like a goddess. She moaned and went nuts. Then with four or five fingers inside her, she ejaculated so much squirt that audience members directly under the scaffolding most definitely got soaked. It was heaven. And it was history: Trashina reminded us that this was only the second occasion when female ejaculate had been spilled on the floor of this theater, the first being her girl-jizz from a performance during the first Debauchery party.
The show was over, but another question still loomed: Would dykes follow the pleas of the abundant signage and get it on? I was so jacked up by the performance that the "Please Fuck" signs seemed to be speaking directly to me. I checked out the downstairs scene, a dark, cavernous maze of tiny video booths, a large room with a big-screen TV playing porn, a tiled room with several showerheads, and a brightly lit computer room for online chatting and cybersex. Although the theater's hot line had said that it was closed for a private party, men were still allowed to come in, and there were a few wandering around down there. At first I thought it was cool; they were just a bunch of fags, and maybe I would get to see some gay-boy action live and up close. But when I started to check out the guys, I remembered that all the men in a gay sex club are not necessarily gay; in fact, a lot of the dudes that night seemed more like married men who wouldn't mind getting a blowjob from another guy. They didn't bug me very much, but I did wish they weren't there. (Especially since Trashina said that a mainstream adult company offered her 10 grand just to come film the show, and she declined. She emphasized that this night was by dykes and for dykes, so the dudes fucked with that a little.)
A door to one of the video booths popped open, and I spied a Latina woman and an African American woman, both naked and sporting strap-ons, one with a thick dildo covered with a condom. They giggled, like they had lost something. Then I was distracted by girls groping each other on the couch in one of the hallways. I saw a cute couple by the stairs, and the femme had her hand down the butch's pants. The elastic of her boxer shorts was visible, but the hand disappeared inside the shorts as the girlfriend writhed against the wall. Folks were being encouraged to head back upstairs for the corncob fucking contest, but I am sorry to report I missed my chance at vegetable stardom, as I got carried away in the shower room downstairs. I was just trying to set a good example for my dyke sisters.
For more info on Debauchery, you can e-mail email@example.com.
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