Outbursts!. A.D. Peterkin

      Photograph by Diane Whelan

      Introduction

      Compiling a thesaurus of queer erotic terms is not quite like writing The Bald-Headed Hermit and the Artichoke, my first erotic thesaurus. 1 Gays, lesbians or other queers have developed separate and at times secret codes and terms to describe their sexualities and proclivities. But while you won’t find, “husband” or “wife” here, there are many similarities; as with straight erotic terms, many use rhyming, alliteration, acronyms, abbreviations and other languages as sources, and often words are shared. As well, many terms, mostly derogatory, are inspired by non-queer, hateful, and often xenophobic notions.

      Certainly, a good number of the words listed in this book under “penis,” for example, are gay-specific, but a cock is still understood to be a cock. And yet, even though a gay man is likely to figure that “child-getter” is a synonym for penis, not many would ever place a personal ad bragging possession of “8 inches of child-getter.” Then again, queer language is in a state of near-constant flux, much in keeping with the ever increasing visibility of gays and lesbians in contemporary culture, and a growing acceptance (by both gays and straights) of the validity of queer sexuality in all its guises. Pick up a lesbian erotica anthology more than ten years old and try to find a reference to “girl-cock.” Skim that same book for a story where a woman calls her partner’s genitals “pussy.” You’ll find neither.

      In earlier, more dangerous times, men and women needed to create secret “passwords” in order to identify one another, to see whether the code was returned. One result of this pressure to invent was the secret male language called Polari (more or less from “parlare,” to speak in Italian), used by gay men in London from the 1930s to 1970s. The language of Polari contained some 500 words about sex, the body, physical appearance, meeting places, straights and gays. (Examples can be found throughout Outbursts!)

      Although Polari never spread far past the British Isles and is now concidered obsolete, it’s a good example of the creative results produced under the pressure to invent a sexual language of one’s own (if “one” can be meant to describe an entire covert community). Some Polari terms, like “bod,” “trade,” “troll,” “basket,” and “cottage,” are still used today, and many have been absorbed into mainstream vocabulary as well.

We are, in many ways, more liberated than ever before in Western culture. Though gays and lesbians can now enjoy its advancements, an entire generation of queers has come of age without memory of life before the Gay Liberation movement or even the beginning of the AIDS crisis in the early 1980s. 2 Still, the desire to codify, to create lingo with real verve—that only our peers will get—remains particularly as gay and lesbian sexual “factions” desire identities of their own. As an example, in the 1990s, we saw the emergence of bear culture and terminology to describe hirsute, physically large gay men and their admirers. For a complete Bear manifesto and glossary on loving all things gay, hairy, and cuddly, see the website www.sanfranciscobear.com. 3

      The Internet itself has been a large influence on queer erotic language. Chat rooms and online personal ads have led to an entire subgenre of acronyms for queer desires and sensibilities. At the same time, the many personalized websites with gay slang dictionaries and lists have given us insight into the variations in the meaning of queer terms in local communities. The 1990s also saw published works by transgendered activists like Kate Bornstein and Leslie Feinberg that radicalized how gay mainstream culture talks about gender. Such discussions highlight some of the shortcomings of gay and lesbian erotic language, much of which has been inherited for the straight world. We can see this in the relative brevity of sections relating to women, as well as in the fetichizing terms for non-white queers. As the “catch-up” takes place, more and different words appear, but you will see, for example, that the section for “vagina” is still small compared to the lengthy section for “penis.” This is a problem left over from the vestiges of the phallocentric society that still requires redress. Or is it? Is it necessary for there to be a future where lesbians have just as many words for “pussy” and “cunnilingus” as gay men have for “cock” and “fellatio”? Perhaps our goals when describing our erotic lives are not identical or universal.

      Consider the case of “butch” or “femme.” The meaning of these terms is heavily dependent on the speaker. Spoken by a straight man, butch or femme can be perjorative, a commentary on the presence or absence of masculinity and the power it affords.

      Sometimes words are shared by gay men and lesbians, but even when words are shared, their meanings may not be. When a queer woman is described as being “butch,” often what is being described is the behaviours that reveal her queerness. Conversely, a gay man who behaves “butch” is often concealing his queerness.

Where the meanings of the word “butch” overlap is in their nod to the fact that we assume this role, or as queer theorist Judith Butler explains, we perform it. This is something that we understand better than straights, before them, probably because most of us have felt ourselves “performing” straightness at some point.4 The thrill of performance, whether it conceals our queerness or reveals it openly, is a subtext to much of the queer erotic language.

How

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