BOIS WILL BE BOIS
I walked into the bar not expecting anything. I take a look around. The dim lighting encourages the one-mind mentality of pure lust. The thick smell of both sweat and attraction permeate the air. Some men are strewn about, but the bar is mostly populated by women. It’s like high school all over again, the femmes are on the dance floor, the butches begging to court their stereotypical counterparts from the bar. You have your somewhat in-between women sitting at the bar or in tables, cruising the place, but also catching up with friends.
I had planned to take on this night with my own little brigade of friends, but they all ditched on me at the last second. I decided to come without them. A girl’s gotta have a little fun every now and then. Tomorrow is the first day I don’t have work, or a friend or family thing in a loooonggg time. I plan on flirting, drinking and dancing then sleeping off my hangover for all of tomorrow.
I saunter up to the bar and asked for a whiskey sour. I don't even know what a whiskey sour is, but I thought it might make me sound like I knew what I was talking about. There are old fashioned stools with blue velvet fabric stretched over the tops and the bar is made of dark cherry wood and polished to shine.
"Do you even know what to do with that drink, baby dyke?" I hear from the other end of the bar.
I look towards the voice. She's six feet tall, with a soul patch and a twinkle in her eye. Her brown hair is cropped short, but shaggy, like a skater. She's wearing dark blue baggy jeans with one pant leg rolled up to her knee and a long red t-shirt. You can see the ghost of her tits pressed against them. I wonder if they're really that small or if they're bound. She's wearing two different shoes and I know it’s on purpose. She is fucking sexy. I’d lick my lips, but she’s watching with those careful eyes.
I realize I am staring and shoot back with, "Oh, I know exactly what to do with it. In fact, I know more than that. I'll show you sometime." I toss in a wink to be coy.
Her smile grows wider, reaching her eyes and, with a wink, she struts away.
"Whiskey sour," says the bartender and with a flush, I take my drink and kick it back in two point five seconds. My mouth would rather be all over her, but this whiskey sour will have to suffice.
The drink burns the back of my throat, but feels so good going down. I'm not crazy about the taste but almost instantly I feel warmer and more confident. This feeling is highly addictive, so I order just a beer to follow. Drunkenness brings sloppiness, and I definitely don’t want to leave that kind of impression.
The stage lights come on and a beautiful drag queen comes out. She has long blonde hair and deeply tanned skin. She tells a few jokes to get the crowd loosened up and then with a flourish (like a true drag queen) she introduces the next act, Mike Literous. The stage is pretty small, this isn’t a big joint. It is, after all, a gay bar in a small Midwestern town. The soft blue curtains are made out of the same velvet that was on top of the bar stools. I wonder if they got it at a discount price since it seems kind of tacky. I grab my beer and walk over to a table, pulling out a single cheap chair and taking a seat.
The tables are what you’d expect tables at a bar to be. About three by three and square with the mark of the many beers enjoyed commemorated on its surface. I place my beer on a crappy thin coaster and focus my eyes on the blue curtains. I’m not ready for what comes next.
Ms. Two-Different-Shoes comes out and my breath is gone. Her music is in the background and she's dancing and lip-synching all over the stage. Her body moves like fluid. They say that you can tell how good a person is in bed by looking at how they dance. She’s going from one movement to another and if she’s as good as she is in bed as she is at dancing, I have to find myself a way into her bed tonight. I enter a trance-like state, I can’t hear anything, I just stare at that gorgeous boi singing. It’s almost as if she’s singing to me. The way her body moves makes me bite my lip and my clit ache. She looks like she could show me a thing or two.
I gulp down a large portion of my beer. It gives me something to do with my hands, which I can't stop thinking about running through her short hair and cupping her ass cheeks. I bet her ass looks even better with those jeans off.
I wonder if under those jeans is a hard cock, just waiting at the ready to fuck me. I can imagine its girth expanding me and I squirm in my chair. My nipples grow hard and my panties wet. I wonder if I should have worn different underwear. There's nothing to my negligee and with a few more thoughts like these, everyone in the room will know my scent.
My eyes snap open and I focus on finishing my beer. I chance a look up at her act.
When she looks into the crowd, her eyes pass by mine, and she winks. The girl in front of me squeals and I wonder if by thinking that wink was for me, I am becoming like every other one of her little fans. The thought irritates me. I allow myself to get caught up in my fantasies too much. She has no idea who I am or even what my name was. All she knows me by is my flirty little comment and she called me “baby dyke.” I finish my beer, wipe my lips and head towards the bathroom.
I open the door and step in. The bathroom consists of a couple white porcelain column sinks and those amazing gigantic mirrors that are perfect for fixing makeup. I can see myself from every angle. There’s only three stalls. They’re like the ones from high school, with the four inch gap between the wall and the door. If anyone wanted to watch me pee, it would be next to impossible to stop them. I skip past them and head straight for the sink.
I stare at myself in the mirror. My light brown skin hides a flush, but not that well. My cheeks are tinged pink and my skin feels like it’s on fire. At every move of my shirt, my nipples reach out earnestly, trying to find any source of friction they can. From between my legs, my treasure yearns to be plundered. That King’s dance moves brought me to my boiling point. I shake my head as if to shake the thoughts. This is no time to get lost in some stranger’s chocolate eyes. I study the mirror again, I took a lot of care in my looks tonight. My hair is short, falling somewhere between my chin and my shoulder. I curled it tonight, putting soft waves my raven hair. I pucker my lips, noticing that the juicy red I had carefully applied just thirty minutes ago is already wearing away. Eight hour coverage, my ass.
I hear the door open, but ignore it. I’m digging in my purse for some lip gloss. I need a quick fix for these faded lips. I start thinking how I’ll stay another hour, maybe two. I start applying it in the mirror and suddenly, she’s behind me. The drag king. Ms. Two Different Shoes.
My eyes lock onto hers in the mirror and I catch my breath. They're so beautiful. A shade of brown I never could imagine. Almost as if I'm rolling in this caramel-chocolate fantasy. She takes a step towards me and I put my applicator back in the tube. She moves behind me and I can feel her body pressed up against my back. She's taller than me, by about four inches. She smells of cologne and sweat. I really fuckin’ hope she’s about to get sweatier. My body can’t take contact right now because it’s so wound up.
She holds up one finger and walks over to the bathroom door. She flips the lock and I realize that I'm stuck in this bathroom with a gorgeous boi. My clit is pulsating now, but fuck if I’ll let her see. She needs to know just who controls this game. Heads up, it’s me.
