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Sexpo made het heaven

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January 3, 2009 by Chris Woo

Let me be frank. Sexpo is shite. That's right. You heard me. If you are a fan of the event — move on.

The organisation promotes 'Health, Sexuality and Lifestyle'. The organisers are certain what constitutes 'Health' and 'Lifestyle' but left sexuality in Kansas. Friends of Dorothy are not represented in the sexual fantasies of Sexpo and this queen is severely pissed-off.

The expo is het heaven. It is 'breeder' fiesta served with Colt porn star look-alikes and Playboy playmates. Everything is in stereotypical order. Carmen Electra clones serve an à la carte of boobs and vaginas while Fitness First men serve platters of tight buns to not-so-willing women. Is there anything amiss? Of course not. Everything is in stereotypical order. Oh no, nothing unnatural going on here.

You can't fault this queen for getting her tits knotted. It is a sex expo for God's sake. Over thirty years of queer history, politics and theory, and the only thing queer in that convention is a transsexual photography book in the Psychic Reading section. Kate Bornstein would have retched.

There are two individuals in the expo that I would like to commend. The hosts of the show — Jon and Arianna — deserve a medal with balls of steel. At 11.30 am on Thursday, there are less than a hundred people for a convention that accommodates five thousand. Most visitors are mature-aged men and women feeling kinky. Don't get me wrong. I think that's absolutely fabulous. But just like this pathetic queen, they have no representation other than the universal dildo that almost every shop sold. Go figure. Anyway, back to Jon and Arianna.

At 11.50 they emerge from the stage's black curtains. Flanked by grandstand seating, there are more empty chairs than sex-curious scopophiliacs. But that did not faze the hosts. They are professionals and quickly pumped hormones in the room. Funny and enthusiastic, the seated dullards became participatory fiends. Whistles and cheers resound for the first male stripper. Unabashedly, he opens the event for Ladies' Day. Well, at least something soothed my senses.

Now, I know what some of you may be thinking. I am just another raving, lunatic queen who just can't stand the sight of anything straight. On the contrary, I like heterosexuals, just as much as I like converting them. Call me a het-hag if you like. But the reason for my angst is not because Sexpo has heterosexual representation. I'm in Western Australia for crying out loud. I'm pissed-off because there is more to sexuality than a tokenistic booth for BDSM and dildo packages with the cover of male models. Images of lesbianism are everywhere, but responses from testosterone-pumped jocks and edgy femmes are a disheartening sight. I should have stayed home with my butch friend and watched Passions.

Of course, I must note that the organisers of the event are not to be fully blamed. Eros, an adult media and merchandising company, is petitioning against the Gallop government's refusal to sell X-rated porn. If all we get in current DVDs are a pair of lips mouthing a censored genital, then this says a shit load about the conservatism of WA censorship laws. If penises and vaginas should not be seen moving on screen, then we should forget about queer sex moving anywhere near the event.

That is, of course, bullocks. There is a selection of gay, bi and lesbian soft porn in the WA market. And even if queer sex in its most artistic and abstract form were objectionable, a few queer magazines on the shelves would be nice. Those genitals don't move.

But who am I kidding? I am a raving, lunatic queen who is just livid by the prejudicial, sexual conservatism of our state. When I left the event, I had a long drag of my cigarette and a very long sit with my latte. The only two damn things I bought from Sexpo are a pair of mugs. They are of course special mugs. One has a picture of a nude male model and the other a lesbian couple. Their privates are covered with a thin, black plastic that resembles bras and underwear. When hot water is poured into the mugs, the black plastic disappears and reveals their genitals. These mugs are metonymic of Sexpo. Even after a scalding review of the event, I have revealed nothing more than what we already know about our sexually sterile laws and constitutions. Sexpo made het heaven and a vengeful, pissed-off queen in the queer ghettoes. This day that mocks the diversity of sexuality will be remembered.

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