Good Vibrations Magazine

Imagine this…

You are sitting in a grassy park. The hot California sun shines on your face, a light breeze cools your neck, and as you take a sip of the cold beverage in your hand you gaze out to a sea of over 5,000 half-naked dykes.

No, this is not the best sex dream you’ve ever had, this is the Dyke March.

Before I begin — a brief explanation for all of you non-SF Bay Area folks. Dyke March (a.k.a. Pink Saturday) is a years’ worth of booty-grinding party-hardy dyke action crammed into 24 hours. Call it the Mardi Gras of the Clit. It takes place each year on the last Saturday of June as part of San Francisco Pride Weekend. Appropriately tagged by this year’s organizers as “Dyke March: Two-thousand and Sex”, this was also my sex… er, I mean sixth… time.

A short trip down memory lane, if you will…

2001 — I’m a baby butch dyke in jeans and a white shirt, experiencing the day for the first time with my girlfriend, C. As the parade marches past a lesbian couple having sex on their balcony, my perception of the world is forever changed.

2002 — Still dating C, and this time I’ve come prepared with a boyscout shirt; the two of us tally of all the gorgeous gals we see, losing count well before the march as even begun.

2003 — This time, C and I bring a first-timer to the event and relive the magic all over again as our friend’s vocabulary has been reduced to two words: “Holy shit!” (Brought back the boyscout shirt, spiked up the mohawk.)

2004 — Okay, I think I’m getting the hang of this now. I have a red male-escort shirt with the name patch “Dick” and C is done up in electrical tape and hair dye. We get double-takes from all the dykes and we are happier than clams.

2005 — The bad news: C and I have broken up… the good news: I’M SINGLE! Look out world, here comes my Libido! I wear a jock strap and not much else and partake in LOTS and LOTS of sex. I love this city.

2006 — The jock strap comes back out. So does a pen and digital camera. This time, I’m taking notes…

One of the best things about Dyke March (a.k.a. Pink Saturday), is not the marathon drinking, not the final make-out tally, and not even the great live music and speakers. It’s the individuality, creativity, and flesh, on display. All. Day. Long.

There are many occasions in this city to get down and dress up. Some include Halloween on Castro, Goodvibes’ holiday parties, Folsom Street Fair, my birthday, ahem, and of course sunny and gay San Francisco Pride Weekend. An explorer and adventurer at heart, I took a dive into the debaucherous hillside and discovered a world of bizarre and tantalizing costumes. The following journal entry beholds a record of my exhibition in search of the most outrageous sex-inspired outfit.

Saturday, June 24th, 2006

One of the first of my discoveries was a colorful display of pink jellies that washed ashore at the top of the hill to copulate. The jellies are long lost ancestors of the Tiny Tickles. Their resemblance is uncanny, and billowing pink tentacles entrap many an unsuspecting passer-by. Take a closer look, and you’ll find that the anonymities are home to a number of symbiotic sleeve attachments like the Aqua Touch vibes and On Porpoise. Other lively toy specimens could be seen darting in and out of this colorful coral fauna — My Crabby, Dolphin, Blue Pearl, and the illustrious Pearl Mermaid.

A trek deeper into the sea of dykes, I was befriended by a vision right out of Evolutions Rainbow — the rainbow-headed triplets to be exact. And what smiley sexy rainbows they were! If only the triplets had been supplied with a rainbow emitting Twice as Titan and some protective Durex Rainbow Colors Lubricated Condoms, I might have stayed in their company a bit longer. However, I was eager to find more eye candy, so I traveled on.

Perhaps I should have stayed because just moments after I left their blanket, I was held captive by a band of drunken pirates! They accosted me with tales of stormy seductions. I could tell from their sexy Pirate style that they were no strangers to booty and other buried treasures like Ariel and Sparkle Plug Crystal. What had I gotten myself into? After a swift spank with the Slapper and a walk off the plank, I was on my way to meet one of the most curious creatures of the deep…

I have discovered the answer to that age-old question: “Mommy, where do Wondrous Vulva Puppets come from?” They are birthed from the mother of all yonis — the Walking Vagina herself! Armed with a plush labia labyrinth, wing-like nerve extensions, and — for once and for all — the largest clit I’ve ever seen, Vagina mama donned a bush-positive tee that stated “Bring back hairy pussies.” To top it off, what Walking Vagina would be complete without her own bling — in this case, a life-like model replica of the female reproductive system.

By this time, I thought I’d seen everything. I mean, there was delicious eye candy as far as the eye could see. Where else in the world can you see a ratio of hotness per square foot? Before I would be satisfied, I wanted to find the “hot-spot” in this sea of sex-positive expression.

Behold, as grouped together under an island of shady palms, I was welcomed by a tribe known as Team Awkward. As if they had jumped out of the pages of Hot Lesbian Erotica, rambunctious T.A. clad themselves in matching red and black outfits, and sported individual slogans on their shirts that had me doubled-over in more ways than one. Two of my favorites: “U paid to see my Cooter” and “Is that my Enema bottle?” Oh my! After a playful group scene with foot fetish, champagne, light spanking, and some extra kink for good measure, I concluded that my mission was a success.

What a fantastic voyage. Costumes inspired by sex toys, sex inspired by costumes. The rest of my night was a blur of beautiful faces, wet wrestling contests, skin, skin, and more skin, and an amazing night in bed celebrating one of my favorite past times… sleeping.