I’m what has been described as a handsome butch dyke and proud of it. My hair’s close cropped, always neat, and it’s pretty sure you’ll find me neatly dressed in jeans and a button up or a t-shirt so I can show off the arms I’ve worked so damn hard for. I drive a delivery truck, so I get to keep it up without spending hours in the gym. I also get to meet a lot of femmes who thing that maybe just this once they’d like to be with a woman.
I hate this shit. Just because I look what they might call masculine, and I pack in my off hours, this doesn’t mean I want to be a guy. I’d not spend a minute with a straight girl cuz they’ll just never get it. Anyway, back to the story.
I’m on a business trip as a courier to El Lay and I’m looking for a fine femme to keep me company for the evening. I’m in a nice hotel in the nice part of town and I’m thinking I can really impress her with this place. Problem is I’m not scoring, and after two bars I decide to just give it up and get drunk.
I land in this kind of tough dyke bar and I figure if I see her walk in I’ll take her, or just catch a cab at closing time ,and call it a night. I crawl into a booth and order a Scotch, sitting back to watch the world go by and drown my sorry ass sorrows.
‘Round about midnight this sharply dressed dyke walks over to the table. She’s big and her impressive biceps make her look powerful. She’s smiling which confuses me. Most of the time, this late at night I’d know she was looking for trouble or a fight, or both. I’d noticed her earlier and hadn’t seen her with a femme, so it couldn’t be that she thought I was poaching. In fact, I’d hardly spoken to anybody all night, much less flirted with another chicks girl.
Damn. I hate fighting. I like arguing and tussling, but not fist fights. Anyway, I brace myself but instead of calling me out she just stands there and smiles at me. She tells a passing waitress to bring me another drink and orders a Scotch for herself as well and slides in next to me.