I eventually settled down with a nice gay man. It's said that “birds of a feather flock together.” Budding alcoholics that we were, we soon began to drink like fish out of water.Over time we would toy with the idea that we had a drinking problem. Then we would take a few days or a few weeks off from our daily happy hour routine just to reassure ourselves that we could stop. Then it would be back to the “same old, same old.” Only time would tell the whole story.
We'd been taking a “time out” when we were enjoying an evening with a lesbian couple who were friends of ours. They suggested we visit a popular lesbian bar. It sounded okay to us. After all, we'd always been curious about the place and we thought we could handle a sober night out.
We arrived at the bar and encountered a brutish butch bouncer who proclaimed, “No men are allowed!” Our friends defended us. They advised the hostile door-person that we were their friends and they were going to take us into the bar. Phew!
Being on the wagon, my partner and I ordered iced tea. We didn't seem to mind that the beverages didn't taste like any iced tea we'd ever had. As a matter of fact, they were extremely refreshing and we quickly downed them, ready for more. Of course, by that time we'd been advised that we had been served Long Island Iced Teas which were pure alcohol. Oh well, we thought. What could be the harm of a handful of drinks!
Several drinks later and feeling no pain, we took a tour of the bar, entering an area where some more butch lesbians were playing pool. We noticed a wall of empty bar stools and we awkwardly took our perches, probably a little unsteady on our feet by that time.
All of a sudden, one of the pool players started purposefully stomping her way in our direction. With her cue stick in hand, she marched toward us as if she was brandishing a sword. We shivered in our seats. The three hundred pound lesbian with salt and pepper hair, swept back in an Elvis Presley duck tail hair style, pounded her way across the reverberating floorboards as she advanced upon two very drunk and confused gay men.
Not knowing what we'd done or what to expect, she got right up in our faces so that we could see the whites within her steely blue eyes. Then she snarled, “That's my seat!”
Needless to say, we surrendered both seats promptly – so much for our tour! Little did I know that this butch number would play an intimate role in my life some twenty years later.
Author Davis Aujourd'hui
"The Misadventures of Sister Mary Olga Fortitude"
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