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I found myself at a bar on lesbian night recently because I'd been whisked away (long story) from a house party packed with womyn planning a feminist revolution (longer story). Elements is nearly hidden; it's an unassuming storefront without a sign. I passed seven bucks over to the doorman for entrance, then waded my way into a sea of females. The place was packed tighter than a South Beach dance club. Lights flashed and the sound system rivaled that of most local rock bars — except that it was blaring Madonna. A young Latina clad in garter belt, tight silvery panties, and matching bra undulated while girls shoved paper currency into every lacy strap. Elements is more laid-back than other dance clubs. Although it's a lesbian bar on Saturday nights, the crowd was anything but homogenous. Near the pool tables, four or five frat-boy-looking fellas were drinking Buds, a few couples lined the bar, and boys, girls, and some that were tough to identify bumped into one another on the dance floor. I was pushed around the dance floor so much while trying to keep my beer in its upright position that I wasn't even sure I was dancing with anyone other than myself. But I had a great time doing it.


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