I made the dubious decision to bring the biggest male flirt I know to Dyke night with me.
I was tired of flying solo: standing in line by myself while couples and groups chit-chatted on either side of me, their eyes studiously avoiding mine as I sought to interject myself into a conversation. Dykes waiting in line can be so uptight. I had seen men there before: too many the last time I went out really, their stench overpowering whole swaths of the dance floor. I hated to add to that, but well, I didn’t know anyone else who wanted to go.
So I brought my friend, who had expressed an interest in going.
I should have known this night would be slightly off when I parked in a very convenient but crowded spot downtown and attempted to share a bowl with him. I packed my glass Sherlock and bent over to light it so passing pedestrians would not see me. After taking a hit, I passed it to him. He bent down as I had.
“Could you light it for me?” He asked, streetlights gleaming orange off his shaved head.
“I guess.” Quirking my eyebrows, I lit the lighter and held it next to the pipe. A shoot of flame an inch long shot out of the lighter. After failing to really hit it, he handed it back to me. I took a hit, watching the flame suck into the bowl. We tried again, this time the flame seemed twice as long. “Suck!” I exclaimed, but despite all his stories of sucking cocks, apparently sucking pipes was not his specialty. What was that smell? Oh my god I just burned his eyebrows!
“Here.” he handed it back to me, and I took another hit.
“What’s the problem?” I asked. “I thought you smoked pot?”
“I only smoke joints .”
So after I apologized for burning his eyebrows we headed through the throngs of Saturday partiers to Dyke Night.
* * *
It was in a different venue than usual, and there seemed to be a lot less people. No one was on the dance floor, and my friend became even more uptight as he realized he was the only man there. (This despite his boast on the phone the night before that he wanted to be the only man there.) He started fawning on me, but I pushed him away. I felt like a traitor for bringing a man into this woman’s space.
“Don’t you know I’m here to meet women?” Now I felt bad about that too.
He is more outgoing than me. He almost immediately introduced himself to a couple sitting at a table near-bye. They were a traditional butch-fem pair. The fem one was large and well endowed, with drawn on eyebrows and long curly gelled hair. The butch was your average butch, just as unattractive as she would have been as a guy. Still they were friendly, and we soon claimed the dance floor, which filled up almost immediately, as if everyone was waiting for someone else to start dancing.
“Yes!” My friend broke out into a big relieved smile when he saw a couple of other guys line humping a group of women near-bye. Soon we were all dancing in various permutations, and I lost track of my friend.
“So, I like your friend.” Said one of the two other guys in the club, pulling me aside. “Is it weird to ask out a guy at a Lesbian Club?”
“Well,” I said, “You’re already a guy in a Lesbian Club, can’t get much weirder than that.
* * *
Somehow my friend ended up dancing with the fem we met earlier, while I ended up dancing with her girlfriend. The quality of our dancing was quite different. The butch and I danced a couple feet apart. She was a decent dancer.
“I try not to dance like a white boy.” She told me confidently.”
“And I,” I said hesitantly, tracking my motions to hers, “try not to dance like a–er–white girl.”
I looked over to my friend and the fem. She was all over him: grinding up against him, kissing him.
“I know,” the butch said wryly, following my gaze. “She’s drunk.”
“You don’t mind?”
“What can I do?” She shrugged.
Her girlfriend pulled me into dancing with her and my friend. She pressed her short, round body up against mine. Was that her pussy? Was she really rubbing her pussy up against some random part of my body (the underside of my own paunch)? How did she even do that?
Suddenly, there she was, giving me a kiss. I know I should have stopped it, but it was like a train wreck. The next thing I know my friend is following up with his mouth! Ewwe ewe and double ewe!
My mouth felt soiled. Soiled by both of their skanky kisses! I couldn’t help myself, I wiped my lips, wishing I could wipe away all memory of the last few minutes. I left the dance floor.
When I went to find my friend later to tell him that it was time to leave, he was sitting on two girls laps, with a girl in his lap and the guy right next to him.
I think next time I’ll just fly solo.