OMG Machine was off the hook last night!
My best friend Tina and I braved the cold to hit the club last night. (For those of you who don’t know, there are no Lesbian Clubs in Boston, but there are Lesbian nights. The biggest one is Dyke Night at Machine every Second Saturday.) Miraculously I found street parking, and we headed in. Being out of cash, I had the brilliant idea that if Tina paid my way in and for my coat check, I’d put her drinks on my card.
It felt–I don’t know–somehow right to have this tough, beautiful tomboi paying my way. It seems unlikely that I’ll ever end up in that kind of chauvinistic relationship where the boi pays, but if I was, I thought: this is what it would feel like!
One of my coworkers from work was behind me in line for the coat check with a tall boish chick, but she seemed to barely want to make eye contact–whatever! When I got to the check I laid my coat on the counter and was gratified to see the barely concealed response of the butch taking coats as I lifted my sweater over my head to reveal my D cups under a sparkling black drapey tank.
We headed over the bar and I order two Heine’s and a water–only to remember that the bar was cash only. I’d have to get cash from the Machine. Feeling foolish, I lead Tina to the other side of the club, where she settled onto a stool as I attempted to stand in a “line” for the ATM–which consisted of four women drunkenly line-humping up against each other. I had just taken a step back from a particularly wild gyration by the group when a man easily as old as my Father walked up and stood way too close to me. He was nattily dressed in a tweed jacket like a college professor.
“So I know this is a Lesbian club, but can I just say that you are absolutely gorgeous? You just look perfect.” He said.
“Um, thank you.” I replied, not so subtly excavating my personal space by pushing him away as I took a step back. “But this is a Lesbian club.” Why did he look surprised by my rebuff? “Thank you for the compliment and have a good night.” I told him with finality. He took the hint and stumbled off looking befuddled. What the hell was he thinking? Not only was he as old as my Father, he was hitting on a woman in a Lesbian bar! Did he think just because I was dressed femme that meant I was also looking for men? Even if I do occasionally swing that way, the thing I like about going to Lesbian nights is not being hit on by men. (The thing I don’t like about Lesbian clubs is not being hit on by women–do you Ladies not like me or are you just shy?)
As I turned around from the guy with these thoughts in my head, a tall, red boned, long legged tomboy/soft stud danced up to me, shaking way too much ass for a stud! Now that is what I’m talking about! I danced with her for a bit, but she kept trying to lure me away from my spot in line for the ATM, and when it opened up, I hopped over to it to grab some cash.
As Tina and I headed for the bar, she commented on the stud: “She’s drunk!” Maybe, I thought: but I hope I get to dance with her again tonight! Maybe get her number! (Alas, it was not to be.)
The club filled up until there were probably a thousand women of all shapes, colors and sizes: kissing, grinding, dancing. Tina and I hit the floor. Tina’s a good dancer, and I’m a good follower, so we were getting down. It’ a sad fact that the art of dancing–especially the art of following–is pretty much a dying art in white, western culture, but I’m doing my best to bring it back.
The music slowed and two pole dancers undulated up and down–one, the cute Jewish-looking one with the thick ass–was the better dancer, but there was something striking about the slender pale one as she shaped her body into impossible-looking geometric shapes. Finally they danced together on the same pole, and that was sooo sexy! If they had been on stage instead of in the club they would have brought down the house! It kind of startled me when a couple of butches started putting money in their panties–I mean, I guess that’s what you do with pole dancers, and they certainly deserved it, but these were artists! And this was the club, not the strip-club. Oh well, I guess that’s my own prudery.
The music sped up and the floor filled up. I pointed out a thick, fierce dark chocolate dancer to Tina, and she told me I should ask her to dance. This is what we do, check out women and edge each other on to ask them to dance. I’ve never had a friend like that, and I know it’s a little high schoolish, but I love it! A little later as we chilled out in the corner the fierce femme was shaking it with her two no-dancing friends: a slender white femme with the rhythm of a broken metronome, and a scragly asian stud similarly impaired. As she bounced energetically between both of them, we tried to figure out if one of them was her girl or if she was single.
When she stepped away for a minute we had our answer as the Asian stud slobbered drunkenly at the white femmes chest.
“If you don’t ask her to dance I will.” Tina said to me.
“Go ahead.” I replied. Tina and I rarely like the same women (thank god) but if we do I try to defer to her and let her go for it (bro’s before ho’s? lol).
She went over and talked to her–and brought her back to dance with me! (I love Tina.)
“Let’s do it Ma” She said, shaking her arm enthusiastically. I moved up on her and started throwing down. I knew I couldn’t just follow with this femme. “Wow you have some moves!” She called out with a pleased and surprised smile. We danced for a little bit, but she wanted to grind, and with my height (I’m 5′ 8″) and bad knees, I just couldn’t hold that position for that long. Which was fine, because then she danced with Tina. It was soo sexy to watch two beautiful, talented dancers together, matching rhythms and rubbing their ample brown cleavages against each other! OMG fantasies of threesomes flitted through my brain.
But before we knew it, her no-dancing drunk friends beckoned her over to them.
“We should have gotten her number.” I sighed to Tina as she sashayed away, taking my fantasies of threesomes or at least another friend to go out dancing with with her.
Tina and I went back on the floor, sacrificing mind and ego to the spirit of the rhythm as it rocked us back and forth, left and right. Our bodies grinding, our energies merging as we lost it on the dance floor.