I know I am stereotyping but stereotypes exist for a reason. I have lesbians grouped into four distinct groups. Femme or lipstick les, flannel, dykes and bull dykes. The last three are of no interest to me, don't ask me why but from the outset I have written them off, thinking I am not that butch or non feminine.
When I awoke from my sangarita sleep, I tried to recreate my night before and see why I felt so hung over today .I remembered Vicki arriving and the first glass of wine but the edges got fuzzy after that.
Then I felt a slight urge in my loins, still in my frontal lobe from the previous night. The naughty thoughts I had for Vicki came back slowly and in great detail. I had pictured her naked and what her breast and nipples looked like, her flat tummy and her lean body as well as the ultimate mystery, what her lips down below would look like. I found myself quite aroused.
Having the day off, I decided to do a bit of research, I booted my computer and went online. I first goggled the different definitions of lesbians, getting a much broader perspective of the types I had been ignoring. I found out much of the wardrobe is merely a disguise to identify them as lesbians. I had a whole different perspective.
I had always assumed women wore flannel and short haircuts to identify them as the butch woman in the relationship. I also thought it was a subconscious into result of the woman's movement, convincing my fellow women they needed to be more masculine to be lesbians .I also found my mind wandering under the flannel and wondering how many perfectly potential mates I had passed up.
After a coffee break, I came back to the desk and my mind wandered in a new direction. I began to wonder what gay bars catered to what crowd and take a peek to see if I had automatically eliminated some potential hang outs.
It is a numbers game after all, unless you are waiting for true love to walk up and snatch you off your feet, the odds are better if you go out and play the odds.
After an hour and two reboots, I had made a short list of potential bars. My idea was to go out and have a quiet drink in the new clubs and move on if there was no spark or I felt uncomfortable.What could it hurt but my fragile ego?
My next chore was to map quest the locations and make a walking list I could follow on my quest for flannel Funny I suddenly realized that was what I was doing. When my list was complete and I had a purse size reference sheet, I looked at the time and realized the day was nearly shot.
I decided to start my quest tonight, wondering if Sunday nights are a slow night for our crowd? I hopped in the shower and dressed in my finest, short skirt, fancy hose, FMP's and a tight sweater that left little to the imagination. After I had my face on, I made sure to use my perfume, just so the ladies knew I was femme all the way. I touched up my nails top and bottom and looked at the time. Eight thirty, a bit early for bar hopping but I could go and get a bite out before getting started.
As I locked my apartment door, I suddenly realized how fast my heartbeat was, I was truly excited, filled with anticipation.
After dinner, I walked to Volli-Bal, a bar boasting fem/butch.The atmosphere was very upbeat, no subtle soft lighting, here you could get a very good look at your new acquaintance with out having to let your imagination wander. There were some very tough looking women inside, some more gentle flannel women but most seemed to be lower on the hygienic scale than I would care to sample.One quick cocktail and I was on my way, avoiding the first two large women who approached me.
Outside I scratched this one off the list. Next was Hot Legs, I walked seven blocks instead of hailing a cab,I hate the attitude from the cabbies when you ask for a short ride. This was more my style, at least the lights were subdued and the noise was not earsplitting.
This time I walked into a really mixed crowd, more couples than singles but a nice mix of lesbians in general. I sat at the bar and ordered a manhattan, receiving a warm welcome from the bartendress.