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3. Phantom Faggots Detachable, separable parts of the body . . . retain something of the cathexis and value of a body part even when they are separated from the body. There is still something of the subject bound up with them—which is why they are objects of disgust, loathing, and repulsion as well as envy and desire. They remain (peripheral, removable) parts of the body image, magically linked to the body. —Elizabeth A. Grosz (1994: 81) If the Soviet era was remarkable for its sexophobia, palpable as, paradoxically, an absence of explicit speech about sex or sexual matters, then the post-Soviet era, notable for a virtual explosion of unambiguous and open speech about sex—in the yellow press, as well as in academic discourse—might be seen as its garrulous corrective.1 A televised assertion in 1987 that “sex” did not exist in Russia (“u nas seksa net,” “we don’t have sex”)2 could find its postSoviet counterpart in 2004 in the form of the program Pro èto (About This),3 a U.S.-style talk show that featured topics and discussions, the frankness of which would be almost unimaginable on broadcast television in the United States; for example, one program contained an extended segment on fellatio, including extremely explicit questions to both the panelists and audience members, such as whether they swallowed or spat—a frankness rendering questions such as “boxers or briefs?” positively puritanical by comparison. An illustration of the stark differences between the present-day liberalism in matters sexual with those of the past decades, and people’s cognizance of such, is also illustrated by an event that occurred during one of my first visits to the gay club Greshniki in 2004. Two young men were enticed, partially by the promise of free alcohol, into taking part in an amateur striptease, a spectacle that, through the promptings of the host and audience, grew increasingly ribald over the course of several minutes. Although full nudity was prohibited at the club (even for the professional strippers), both contestants bared their buttocks, and one shed his clothes entirely, holding only his hand or a piece of removed clothing over his genitals. Both bumped and 64 chapter 3 ground at the audience and against each other, made facial expressions approximating sexual ecstasy (in the manner of gay porn), and seemingly took pleasure in exposing their flesh as sexualized and sexy. As things reached a sort of climax—the nearly nude boy, his back against the wall, grinding against and being ground against by the other boy, the latter’s jeans at his knees, his posterior gently and rhythmically thrusting, the drag queen hostess exclaimed over the microphone, with great sarcasm, “oh, they are so modest (skromnye)—just like in Soviet times.” The laughter that followed her exclamation arose from the obvious knowledge on the part of the audience that this sort of spectacle—if not entirely public, then hardly wholly clandestine—was certainly the very opposite of Soviet ideals of modesty. And it was also in many ways the absolute antithesis of the position of an embodied and visibly sexualized homosexuality in Soviet Russia for the majority of the twentieth century. Whereas before 1993 homosexuality in Russia might be, like sexuality “in general,” notable for its (signifying) absence from the public sphere, male-male sexuality, as well as those who practiced it, became to some extent visible following the repeal of Article 121—as characters in detektiv novels (Baer 2005) or theatrical productions (Beumers 2001), and even as guests on television shows; talk shows Pro èto and Pust’ govoriat (Let Them Talk), for example, have both devoted episodes to the topic of homosexuality. Gay men, however, were and are not simply “spectacles” for the general public, and the various forms of media offer not only a representational affirmation, but also the possibility of didactic sexual information; for example, gay men with internet access who go to Russian gay sites may find banner ads referencing analnyi seks v pervyi raz (“anal sex for the first time”), the link from which leads to the large, online store of the gay.ru website, where a wide array of sex toys, lubricants, and sex “manuals” (such as Terry Sanderson’s The Gay Man’s Kama Sutra [2004], translated into Russian) are available. Those without internet access could also in the first decade of this century find similar items on sale in St. Petersburg’s one “sex boutique” considered “gay-friendly,” Pornomania, or at the...

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