Local Wire

Ladies Night

I'm a bad lesbian. I rarely go to gay pride events, I've only seen one episode of The L Word, you couldn't get me anywhere near Lilith Fair. And I hardly ever hit the Valley's gay and lesbian clubs anymore.

There are a few reasons for this: There's too much she said-she said drama in the small scene. The music (mostly Top 40 and hip-hop) isn't my bag. And the women in lesbian clubs tend to not be as hot as the women in straight clubs.

I also don't have a lot of lesbian friends. Most of my female friends are either straight or consider themselves bisexual. So when I go out with them, we usually hit rock clubs, metrosexual dance nights like Tranzylvania at Palazzo and French Kiss at Burn, or fetish events.

I've had some really great nights at places like NYC's Clit Club and London's Candy Bar in Soho. What made those places so much fun were the reputations that preceded them — they had distinct identities that drew people in. Clit Club lived up to its rep as the hottest lesbian night with the hottest women and the hottest music in the East Village (until the clubs that hosted it closed). And Candy Bar has the distinction of serving several signature shots you won't find anywhere else and attracting celebs like Martina Navratilova, Naomi Campbell, and Belinda Carlisle.

Most important, both places had hordes of hot women, which — let's face it — is the one thing you gotta have to bring in the lesbians. Glamour is not just the domain of gay men. It takes more than a pitcher of beer and a pool table to get some of us to stick around.

I can't totally tear down Phoenix's gay and lesbian bar scene. The sheer number of lesbian and gay clubs alone deserves some props (31 at last count). Then again, I'm from Indiana, which has more KKK chapters than it ever will gay clubs. Still, without a constant influx of celebrities or big-city hotties, our Sapphic nightspots here in the Valley suffer from a serious case of sameness. One lesbian bar is as good (or bad) as another. Everything's so subjective when it comes to clubs, anyway. What really makes one bar better than another?

Having a good time is what counts, no matter where you are, and the key to a good time is not necessarily a nightclub. In my opinion, it's about having great friends and making your own fun, whether you're drinking Cosmos and doing the electric slide in the bar bathroom, or acting stupid at the Filiberto's drive-thru speaker at 3 a.m.

In Phoenix, you can't count on the lesbian clubs to have the party — you gotta be ready to bring the party.

Since several of our city's lesbian clubs are clustered in central Phoenix, club-hopping is pretty convenient. And on a recent Friday night, that's exactly what my girlfriend CooKie and I decided to do. There's this new weekly at Club Vibe called "Boobie" that we wanted to check out. The flier promised "AZ's finest ladies every Friday night," and a music mix of reggaeton and Spanish pop. We decided to make Boobie our last stop of the night because it looked like it might have the most action. And though things didn't really turn out as planned, I ended up having more fun in Phoenix on a way too hot summer night than I did at Clit Club or Candy Bar.

When I met CooKie at a fetish event in Tucson almost two years ago, I had no idea what was in store. She kept talking about "her girls" (as in the Pussy Posse Girls, the edgy burlesque troupe), and all these crazy things she'd done with them. CooKie is the leader of the Posse and a prominent figure in the Phoenix fetish scene; she's got a reputation for getting wild with several women at once. She quickly showed me that she doesn't have to do anything but send a mass text message to surround herself with sexy ladies.

In the two years I've known CooKie, I've met more hot, horny women than I did during nine years of clubbing. And since CooKie and I are both commitment-phobic, we have an open relationship. Basically, that means we're "together" but we both casually date other people, and picking up chicks is a team effort when we're out.

Tonight, CooKie's agreed to come with me on the condition that she can bring squirt guns. She's looking for trouble.

CooKie will definitely get attention this evening — at almost 6 feet in her elevated shoes, with an assortment of tattoos, brandings, and implants (most recently, a set of high-end hooters from a Scottsdale plastic surgeon), she stands out.