When I got to the Club there was a line outside the door–but I walked past it. I gave the bouncer my name, and he conferred with the door woman. He came back and told me that, yes I was on the list, but they were at capacity. I took a step back, and in a moment he let me inside.
I was greeted upon entering by the most beautiful smile. Hmmm…how to describe this gorgeous woman: 5”3…5’4″ slightly thick, but with delicate features and beautiful shoulder-length dreadlocks. The force of her smile and her eyes so captivated me that it was hard to look away. But I did, and found a spot to stash my coat & sweater.
The spot was packed. It was a mixed crowd–an oil and water combination of studs and femmes and what I think of as the “plaid set” (okay, okay, more studs than I’d like sported plaid too–Look, I’m still recovering from the nineties, okay? I like plaid on school girl uniforms and flirty femme tops, that’s it!)
I wandered around the room trying to find a space where I felt comfortable. I didn’t know anybody, and the music–a local alternative band–was not my speed. I ordered a drink and draped myself over a chair. I felt like stud-bait: in my black sparkling top and jean leggings, surrounded by chicks in white t-shirts and jeans — and a stud at the bar seeemed like something I wouldn’t mind reeling in. I sat there for a bit, but I was too shy to approach her. After a while I looked up and she was gone.
My friend Chelsea arrived, cheerful like a ray of sunshine. Just then a talented Asian stud (or Trans Man, as I was later to learn) Hip-Hop Artist started up, and we watched for the sidelines until I couldn’t take it anymore and had to dance in the front. When he finished the DJ took over, but not before I got his number. Chelsea and I hit the dance floor, where we joined a circle of dancers, including the Asian stud. He was a little ball of fire on the dance floor. Chelsea was also the life of the circle.
There’s a certain look that people who have rhythm give me when they realize that this suburban-housewife-looking woman has rhythm. I know that look, because I found myself bestowing it on a talented young thing with mousy brown hair and flashy moves. Our dance was bouncy and audacious –but we drifted apart after a while. I think we both are more followers by inclination, so neither was a strong lead. I danced through the crowd–when suddenly I was assaulted by the most terrible odor.
What was that smell? I turned around in a circle and noticed a hairy man behind me dancing energetically with a slender “straight” woman–stink poring off of him. EWWWW! I looked around–trying to find a spot where no men would be in nose range–but everywhere I looked was a there was at least one man! What on earth were all these men doing at this sold-out lesbian event?
I started to feel claustrophobic–man-o-phobic?
Scanning the room, Chelsea caught my eye–shakin’ in canary yellow amidst a crowd of fine women on the stage. Finally, the only spot with no men! I headed towards it.
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