The place is not what I expected. The atmosphere is bright, glitzy, with an overall techno feel that seems almost cold. I had expected something warmer, more ... nurturing, feminine, I guess, from a place that caters exclusively to women. I wonder if this appeals to the butch types, and then laugh at myself for indulging in stereotypes. What do I know, anyway - it's my first time in a "girl bar".
Yep, first time - finally legal, just two weeks past my twenty-first birthday, out with all the grown-up lesbians. Already I feel self-conscious, like a little girl who doesn't belong here, doesn't know what she's in for. After all, I'm petite (5' 2") and look even younger than I am. The security person at the door was skeptical when she first saw me, but then she checked my ID, gave a little laugh, and said, "Welcome to the club, big girl." I laughed with her, but I was nervous, too. I'm not really the bar type, but I've always wondered how it would be in a place like this.
It's fairly empty - not surprising, I guess, at just past 7:00. I have my choice of spots and I choose a barstool at the curved end of the bar, where I can see as much as possible, without being conspicuous myself. I'm the only one there, and the bartender is friendly, calls me "Sweetie." I try to be cool as I order a glass of Chardonnay. "First time here?" she asks. "Well, just relax, hon, and have a good time. Everybody's pretty nice here, they'll treat you good. Especially you - you're cute." She touches me lightly under the chin, and I give her a smile in return. I wonder if she's coming on to me, but then decide that she's just being nice, the friendly-flirty bartender.
Looking around, I realize it's more crowded than I thought. The dance floor is essentially empty (I assume that will pick up later), but I notice there are darker spots around the perimeter that are more populated - two women together in several spots, a larger group in one area, and a number of single women at tables. I wonder if the single women are waiting for friends or if they are there, like me, to find new ones. I try to subtly check them out, but it's too hard to tell from this distance.
I sip my wine for a while, hoping that the drink works its magic on my nerves without getting too out of hand. In about 30 minutes, I finish the first glass and order another. The warm glow of the alcohol is starting, and I feel myself becoming more relaxed. More relaxed and a little horny, too. After all, there's a reason I came here tonight. I even had the foresight to take a cab, just in case something (someone) interesting came up.
The barstools have started to fill up now, so I can blend into the background more. I check out the other patrons at the bar. It's a diverse group - a few butch girls, some "soft", some harder, some femme types like me, and even a couple I would call "bull dykes". I notice the latter two eyeing me and start to get uneasy - not my type, for sure. But when I avoid their stares and show no interest, they get the hint and go back to their own conversation.
Just as my second Chardonnay arrives, someone new sits down at the other end of the bar. From my spot, I have a clear view of her. In any case, I couldn't help but notice her. She's the type of woman that always draws my attention - attractive and feminine, conservatively well-dressed, professional-looking, not the type the average person would expect to see in a gay bar (another stereotype that isn't true). Her full mane of hair looks to be a darker brown than my own, or maybe black, but as she moves into the light I realize that it's actually a deep, rich red. It falls over her shoulders, about the same length as my own, and frames a face of icy-cool beauty. Even from this distance, I am caught by her eyes - steely blue daggers, which, I suspect, could look right through me, into my soul. She looks to be somewhere in her thirties, and carries herself in a way that exudes strength, confidence and competence. She's clearly a professional. My guess is that she came here directly from work. I'm immediately captivated.
Myra, the bartender, notices my interest and chimes in with some advice. "Careful of that one, sweetie. Know what you're doin' there."
"Oh?" I ask. "You know her?"
Myra shrugs. "Don't exactly know her, but she's kind of a regular here, comes in every couple of weeks, alone. Doesn't usually leave that way, though." She gives me a look that implies she knows a lot more.
"I see," I respond, still keeping a sidelong, admiring look at the object of our discussion.
"The point is, hon," she continues, "she's not lookin' for a girlfriend, if you know what I mean. Never seen her leave with the same girl twice."
I'm still looking down the bar as she talks to me. Noticing my distraction, she continues, "Of course, if you're into that, well ... whatever. Like I said, just know what you're doin'" She gives me one last questioning look, which I return with a weak smile, and then she goes back to her work behind the bar.
The fact is, I am into that. A relationship is great - supportive, fulfilling, even empowering - but anonymous sex provides a special thrill. The occasional one-night stand is an adventure, a feeling that can't be captured again after that first time. There's just something delightfully sinful about meeting someone new and ending up in her bed the same night. Yes, it's a little risky, too, but that's part of the thrill, isn't it? And for my first night out, that sounds pretty good.
I drink my wine and continue to survey the room, but my gaze keeps returning to my mystery woman, who seems to be doing her own survey, like a lioness stalking prey. As I glance back one more time, I'm surprised to see her looking directly at me! Those amazing eyes stay on me for several seconds, apparently evaluating me, and I stay with her, transfixed. I try to smile, but I just can't, I'm too nervous, and then it's over and she's off to someone else. I exhale and realize that I had stopped breathing during our visual encounter. Suddenly I'm very flustered.
