Drag Queen Story Hour’s radical origins and the subversive sexualization of our kids
I once had a very vivid dream. In it, a few friends, having long ago quit their jobs, were gathered around a table at a house party. They, like everyone else present, were well educated, charming, well-traveled, handsome, and, above all, wealthy. One of the four, a woman we’ll call Susan, came up to chat briefly with one of them. (I always had the impression she was wearing a very revealing outfit, in hindsight, but in her dream, it was a blouse.) She found the conversation very interesting, and then, suddenly, a hand shot out and grabbed the woman’s shoulder, and that woman’s skirt went up to her waist. Two more hands reached out, but this time, a very strong hand grabbed the woman’s crotch. (I’d forgotten the dream until just now.) Two more hands moved around to each side, and then the hand that had held the woman’s shoulder, in her dream, grabbed her neck. Susan was the only one who resisted. Her skirt remained up. With one final, powerful squeeze, the woman was held firmly against the wall, her legs spread just a bit, her eyes screwed shut.
Then, my dream ended. The hand that had grabbed the woman’s shoulder came up again. This time, the hand grabbed the woman’s breast. My friends and I were horrified. But Susan’s skirt did not move. Not one single inch. She remained on her hands and knees, her legs spread just slightly, her eyes still screwed shut. That hand, that breast, that arm, that thigh, that neck, all were still the same, Susan’s hands holding Susan’s shoulder, that woman’s breast clutching tightly and then being given a small but effective kick in the crotch, the hand holding the woman’s neck, and yet, in the dream, the woman was not yet turned completely around. She could have turned her head.
The hands, the breasts, the arms, the thighs, the neck, and the groin, were all the same. The only difference was the body that was present – our girl. In other words, the dream was a sexualization