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I just stumbled back from my friend’s birthday party. I went with her and her lady friends to a lesbian dance club. That’s right, a lesbian dance club (in case you don’t know me, I do like the ladies, but, sadly, am also a dude).

We rolled up to the club around one o’clock. There was a crowd of women outside smoking and half-heartedly trying to keep dry under the awnings over the clubs shuttered windows. I thought I saw a few guys in there with them, but upon closer inspection, I learned that they were the “diesel” ones. (I’m not sure if I’ve got the correct terminology there). And speaking of surprises, I was astonished to learn that men had to be on “the list” just to get in! According to my friend, it’s because most lesbian couples don’t like to be propositioned for threesomes by drunken guys (Who knew!)

Luckily, I was looking particularly trust-worthy and with just a quick inspection from the bouncer was allowed to pay my ten bucks and stroll into the club unmolested. Once inside, however, I was greeted by a surreal world of gyrating women, drinks with umbrellas, and stripper poles in odd corners of the room, and not a single guy in sight. Knowing that I was “on probation” from the bouncer-lady outside (and also knowing that nine out of ten women in the bar could probably kick my ass anyway) I spent most of my first minutes there with my hands pressed up against my sides, awkwardly rocking back and forth to the music, trying to keep as far away from the heaving bosoms and booty shaking as I possibly could. Women were knocking into me from all directions. As one would brush up aganst me, in mid-grind with her partner, another would spin around, whipping a head of deliciously scented hair against my face. Lights flashed, arms waved, a woman in black lingerie was up on the bar, coyly shaking her thang. And in the middle of all this there was me, eyes unsuccessfully averting contact, nearly yelping in alarm every time someone touched me, the words “Don’t. Touch. Anything.” shouting in my brain, even over the volume of the pounding jungle rhythm.

Maybe it was that my eyes were shut tight. Maybe it was my robot-like, herky-jerky, DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING!! dance style, but my friend saw what was going on and pulled me into the middle of her circle of compatriots. I opened my eyes, friendly faces. I relaxed a little. The jungle track morphed into a more metal-ish song and I started to mix a little headbang action into my dancing. I looked around at the sea of women around me. Nobody was looking at me, nobody even cared I was here. From behind I felt a hand lasciviously slide across my bum. I turned to see who it was and a strange woman was looking right at me. Upon seeing the beard she gave me a sheepish grin and disappeared into the pulsating crowd. I grinned as well, more to myself then to anyone around me, and settled back into a nice night of getting my dance on.

This entry was posted on Saturday, August 26th, 2006 at 7:45 am and is filed under Bumblings. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.