Pussy Shaken

Call me old-fashioned, but there is something disturbing about having too many men at a so-called lesbian night. Mixed gay events are often swamped with gay men (like the monthly UNK at Club 8), making it hard to spot the lesbians through the sea of glistening six-packs. I suppose there are simply more gay men that go out and spend money at the bar than there are gay women. Number logic. So lesbian nights often restrict entrance to women only or announce (as did the flyer for Pussy Shake, where I went last night) that men are welcome when accompanied by a lady.

Now, I am usually very much in favour of the latter door policy as the male friends that lesbians take along to such events are generally very relaxed (often gay, sometimes straight and artisticly quirky and alternative) and you'll never end up with more men than women. But on arriving at Club NL last night with my friends Martine and Babs, we found the bald-bomber-jacket-wearing bouncers at the door slapping some obviously straight guys amicably on the back, discussing the guest-list: "Did you get my guest-list request? Me plus one and Garby plus twelve. They're coming in about half an hour". We exchanged looks as this did not bode well for what we would find inside.

As we made our way through the dark, plush, burgundy interior, the place was packed. I nodded at a couple of familiar faces and soon found myself caught in a mass of bodies dancing to the hard house beats that the sour-looking DJ was spinning (it later transpired that the DJ never smiled because she had braces on her teeth - which endeared me to her somewhat, I must admit). The atmosphere was decidedly unfriendly. Not in an agressive way, but in an arrogant way. Fortunately Martine and Babs felt exactly the same about the atmosphere and we agreed that it was good to be 35 years old now as opposed to say 22, when such a sea of beautiful people acting self-assured and über-trendy would have made us feel incredibly insecure. Now it felt more like a trip to the zoo.

The atmosphere was permeated with drugs. Not just recognizable by enlarged pupils or girls sneaking eachother another half of XTC on the dancefloor, but much more so by the intensely arrogant looks thrown about the place. There was a high percentage of look-at-me-I'm-sooo-fucking-cool-it-hurts characters, both male and female. And it all felt so straight! There weren't more men than women, but the men scattered amongst the straight-looking-lesbians scanned the room like amused hunters and looked like they were thinking that all these hot girls really needed was a nice, hard cock to change their minds. They may have been right. After all, these 'new' lesbians (that stormed out of their closets half a decade ago wearing thongs and make-up instead of boxer shorts and a crew-cut) would probably rather sleep with men than be associated with the lesbian stereotype of old to which they are so allergic.

Perhaps I am being a little harsh and narrow-minded now. Sorry girls. Being gay has it's obvious disadvantages in life, as does belonging to any minority, but it also offers something special as though you're part of a 'secret club'. Everyone likes belonging to secret clubs. So, I think I felt strangely betrayed last night, seeing these girls kissing and feeling eachother up on the dancefloor, 'doing it for the boys' rather than themselves.

Next time I'll go to Artis Zoo.