Extravagasm Visited: a brief review

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The cod piece was honestly not large enough to do the fellow justice. He might have considered getting something with a little more give. Maybe he bought it when he was a teen and his dominatrix girlfriend does not have the heart to tell him he grew out of it. Literally. Dude was popping out just a bit as they shuffled past. He smiled the same smile the Krispy Kream people give us when we get a warm dozen (mmmm, delicious!), and then he waved. A big friendly “howdy folks! Howsit goin’?!” wave. Ah yes. Extravagasm, we had arrived.

As was said, the front room was not packed in any way. But we were early. And so was a couple of (ABSOLUTELY NSFW!!!!!) Japanese-style Binders, doing their thing in front of a small crowd of four people. Binding is perhaps the most tame of the bondage class. For the most part, it is just a pretty mild game of control (dominance/submission or “dom” and “sub” as it is referred). There does not appear to be a clear line that defines it as sexually driven (although it obviously could be). People appear to prefer it the same way others prefer the comfort of tennis shoes or Vanilla Bean ice cream. It is more of a deviant kink than an overtly sexual fetish. The subject gets bound up in various ways, with the ropes over and under almost random body parts, locking them in a particular position. It was not done terribly tight, as that did not appear to be the purpose. It was obvious that the girl being bound was totally cool with the idea, so there was no need to be rough. It was all very methodical, almost surgical. The guy who was doing the binding looked like your average building contractor or software engineer. Blue jeans, tucked in polo shirt, glasses, and a buzz cut. He was having conversations with people on the sidelines during the process, and the subject could have easily been tax write-offs. Dude did not even pitch a tent whilst binding. He just enjoyed the activity, like one would enjoy a sunny day, we guess. The girl was perfectly still during the whole thing. It was fascinating to watch him as he bound, unbound, and rebound her. Like a broken record.

When we got up to get another ginger ale (Friday night almost killed us, remember?) at the bar, a man who had to have been in his fifties walked by with nothing but a leather banana hammock on his person, and a big-ass paddle in his right hand. Fella was pretty excited too. Hail-damaged flesh just hanging out all over the place, waving that paddle around like it was a water-wand. Brave, uninhibited, or insane? Who knows? Does it matter? The guy was HAPPY! One wonders how some of these people crossed through the sixth street gauntlet to get there that night, dressed (or NOT dressed, as the case may be) the way they were. Admiration is given where it is due. My word.

To each their own, we say. To each…their own.

After wandering around and talking to various vendors of pleasure cream and original erotic art (photos, oils, acrylics, and multi-media pieces – all of them skillfully done), it was time to watch the main event. Oh, the main event…

We aren’t prude, in the strictest of terms, but we might be described as “out of the loop” on certain sexual deviances. Who was to say what would be on the main stage, given what was on the second stage (let alone wandering the crowd)? Shit could get mad-crazy up there! Like, donkey-whip-machete-dildo-juggling crazy! Whoo hoo! It felt as if anything would fly.

And we secretly hoped it would! (Don’t tell our mom, mmkay? It would ruin Christmas.) But we were pleasantly surprised at how tasteful the acts actually were. Yes, there were some sexual elements involved, but it was toned down by some Review standards.

As promised, the always overbooked (NSFW) Maitresse Elise was on the mic, steering us through the stage acts. Nice lady, we suppose, but she was hella-overshadowed by the entertainers. The first act to hit the stage was the Kitty Kitty Bang Bang Burlesque crew. Sweeeeeeet Jesus, they were electrifying! We know very little of the art of burlesque, but we have certainly seen our share of shows (La Femme in Vegas was our previous favorite, along with a host of smaller, seedier spots in New Orleans, but there is NO need to detail any of that, um, here). So we feel confident when we say these ladies are complete badasses. The trick to good burlesque, in our mind, is CONFIDENCE. Christ, these girls had all the chutzpah and “fuck all y’all! Look at these tits and curves while I STARE. YOU. DOWN!” attitude necessary to keep us impressed and entertained. That they tended to shed their clothing helped with the “entertainment” part. Yes, we are a bit piggish in that respect, and we are comfortable that way. Some might say we are the target audience for this type of show.

The Kitties banged their way through several solo/duo/combo performances between other acts. The other acts being Magical Mystical Michael (who came out twice, and did standard parlor/review style slight-of-hand and whatnot), “Buffy” (a dude in…drag? Or something like it, who stripped down to his garters while balancing a glass of emerald liquid on his forehead – sweet) and our personal favorite (of the non-burlesque): Drakon. Drakon is tough to describe, so we will not cut many corners here.

He belly dances, sort of. If you ask him, he would certainly tell you that he did, but really, there was not a whole lot of that going on. The man is ridiculously tall with a hairy, exposed midriff. He saunters and shimmies, ever-so-slightly, around the stage to some crazy-ass Break-beat-meets-Middle-Eastern/Bangra-esque music. He had a wispy, purple cape with extension sticks that made it look like he was a big gay bat when he twirled around to the rhythm. His steadfast stare was highlighted by eyeliner that had to have been Husky Pencil in size. To say that this man was entertaining would be an unfair understatement to what he showed up and delivered. He was scary, gentile, sexual, ludicrous, and the man had crazy rhythm. To this day he has us questioning our own orientation. No one has been able to do that since Bowie, damnit.
He does his thing around town. Check him out if you have the chance, but be warned. He’s on some crazy sexual voodoo tip, man. Cuuurraaazzy. Crazy good.

Then of course, there were the Satan’s Cheerleaders who did a magnificent take on the whole 2001 Space Odyssey theme. Instead of a monolith, they had a five-foot inflatable penis on a pedestal, which they danced and fought with each other around, eventually involving strap-ons in the fray. Satan’s Cheerleaders have a wonderful history here in Austin, and they never disappoint. Their show was both sexually deviant AND intellectual. But what we really enjoy about them is that they hold nothing back. Anything goes with them, and no taboos are out of consideration.

A special note should be made for the Kitty Kitty Bang Bang girls for their Thriller dance routine… Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. The makeup, the moves, the coordination, it was all to perfection. It was at once both hilarious and sexually charged. We wanted to make out with zombies after that number. A whole horde of them.

A special shout-out goes to Forbidden Fruit for organizing the thing, the (NSFW!!) DJs who were working hard all night AND Legs Cadillac of the Kitties. We tend to pick favorites out of such group-shows, and while all the girls brought to the stage their own special talents, when she just kept on going with her routine while Maitresse Elise was trying to bust in and emcee something or other, we were won over by her determination. And her cheetah outfit. We cried when she finished up that number. Quiet sobs of joy.

Cheetahs do that to us.