Blast from the past: Why is stripping fun?

26 01 2008
(Originally written on Nov. 17, 2007 on Facebook, then transferred to my old blog.)
OK, so a week later, I’m still buzzing from the massively hard-on inducing and tingly-all-over rush of stripping at a queer strip show. It’s getting dangerous. I’m in a constant state of arousal. OK, OK, I know that’s nothing new but what is new is this urge to take my clothes off every time I hear electro music. I could get into some serious trouble for that ya know.So here’s an attempt to be analytical about all this and gain some perspective. It might not actually decrease the urge to strip at the drop of a hat (ironically, my hat was one of the only things that I kept on me that night, along with my Doc Martens), but it might help me keep it under control.


So what exactly is so thrilling about dancing and gradually taking one’s clothes off, piece by sexy piece, in front of a hundred or so strangers as they cheer, cat call and yell “TAKE IT OFF!!!!”? It might be the transformation of a normally mundane act into something sexually arousing. It might be the feeling of extreme sluttiness that comes with having almost no clothes on while everyone else does. It might be the charge of letting go of all the feelings of shame and thinking: “Fuck yeah! I’m hot man, look at this rack!”

In the case of last week’s show, I think a HUGE part of it was being appreciated for the genderfuck creature that I am. Where else but a QUEER strip show would people holler and scream at a butchy dyke wearing a plaid shirt, denim shorts and a tool belt while she takes off the plaid to reveal a femmey push-up bra, eventually winding up completely topless and wearing only a toolbelt, a strap-on, work boots, black cap and plyers on her nipples? Where else but a QUEER strip show would people holler madly and throw panties at a bearded leather daddy while he gets audience members to unzip his chaps to reveal thigh high stockings and men’s briefs (with the ever present bulge of course), and takes off his leather vest and black t-shirt to reveal a lacey black corset and garters? Who else but a fucking bunch of queers would throw fake money at a bearded woman wearing docs, thigh-highs, men’s briefs, a leather hat and . . . nipple clamps?

I’m so grateful to the Lickety Split people who organised this event where horny, hot-in-non-mainstream-ways queers like me could express our alternate sexualities in a fun and safe way. Living in a society where to be sexy (as a female-bodied person) is equated with being slender, blond and “feminine”, it’s quite a rush to be in a space where to be sexy is to feel sexy and where showing what it is that makes one feel sexy leads to more sexiness, leading to this escalating and dizzying spiral of sexiness. Oh, and um, nipple clamps. They’re just sexy.

The one sad thing (for me): many of my co-performers were done up on coke. To each their own but – I like to FEEL an experience in it’s entirety. That’s why I don’t drink or smoke up when I’m on the prowl for a lay. That’s why I didn’t have a single drop of booze or a single toke of a J before climbing on stage and getting nasty. I wanted to FEEL the pressure of the crowd’s gaze on my bare skin. I wanted to HEAR their yells. I wanted to SEE their lustful eyes. I wanted to SMELL the sexy smells of a bunch of horny people in one room.

That’s it! That’s where the rush came from! See, I knew writing this out would help. Now I know that stripping in public place just because some electro came on would not give me that same rush because there wouldn’t be a hundred or so horny queer people. I might get some other kind of rush, mind you, like the rush of surprising the hell out of poor unsuspecting grocery shoppers by taking off my bra and twirling it around like a lasso, but as a genderqueer who does not abide by the mainstream norms of “feminine attractiveness” and who doesn’t have the body of an anorexic super-model, I probably wouldn’t get the same kinds of reactions as I did at the queer strip show. And any rush I got in spite of that would only last until some cop came around and fucked everything up for me (like at pride a few years back when I took my bikini top off. Sheesh, there was a bare breasted trans woman made up like a drag queen a few feet away but that was ok . . . and they had to be FOUR cops with clubs in hand to come and warn me to put my top back on . . . but that is rant best saved for a drunken night alone one of these days).

So . . . ummmm . .. yeah . . . stripping. Sexy. Good. purr purr.



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