Last Saturday was a busy night.
I was on the edge of the dance-floor, watching, when a man approached me. There were too many men at this club! And too many of them are straight!
I eyed him distrustfully. I’m partially faceblind, and I couldn’t be sure if he was one of “Chloe’s” “friends.”
“Hey do you want to dance?” He asked me, standing too close.
“No,” I pushed him away. “I’m not in the mood to dance.”
“What’s wrong? I’m a total stranger, you can tell me.” what the hell, I told him about the debacle with the aggressive femme.
“So you’re mad at her for kissing the guy?”
“I’m not mad at her–it’s just–this was all in public! I have to deal with these women again after this!”
“So you’re worried about your reputation?”
“Yeah, and she wasn’t even my type!”
“What is your type? I think she’s cute,” he pointed into the crowded dance floor, where a blond, faux hawked butch was getting down. “Not the big Dyke! Her!”
“Oh,” I replied. “I was looking at the big Dyke.”
“So, what do you find attractive in a woman?” He asked me.
“I don’t know,” I responded, giving it some thought. “I guess I’m attracted to her energy.”
“Oh wow.” He responded,”I could learn a lot of technique with women from hanging around lesbians! Seriously, though, what kind of women do you like?
“I like butch women,” I said, eyeing a light-skinned stud across the room. “Bois, women who dress like men. Big Dykes.”
“Wow. That surprises me. You see anyone here you like?”
“That woman behind you, with the gold lettering on her shirt–I’ve been checking her out all evening.”
“You want me to get her to talk to you?”
“No,” I said, once again excavating the space between us. “I can be attracted to her and not want to do anything about it.” As cute as she was–she looked like trouble! And I had enough trouble for one night!
“Man!” he said, right before walking away. “I’ve been talking to more lesbians tonight than in my whole life–and you all are fucked up!”