There is something about tacky music playing in a lesbian bar that just catches at my feet and hips. As soon as was decent after the show, I started dancing. Long skirt and tight shirt. I know Beth raised eyebrows at my dirty dancing. It was a ball. I hiked my skirt up and tucked it in too short to walk on the street. Her name was Robin and she likes me. Swaying, twining. Pelvis and thighs and french fox face. We had a song together and she kissed me. Long hair, caught thick in midnight curls down her back. I gave her my e-mail on our way out. I’m suspecting she’ll be disappointed when she finds out I’m only interested in dance partners. *laughing*
Before that particular flirt goodbye, I was caught in the doorway, a woman who’s known me for a good four, five years. She stopped me, and asked, “alright girl, I finally have to ask. Is it girls or boys?” “I’m AIDS generation darling, of course it doesn’t matter!!” *laughter* “Well – on stage tonight, was it the men or the belly dancers?”
Small, sweet victories. Walking in femme and walking out a man.