Bisexual Girls Club

Random texts on a random night in New York City

Luckily I ran from the train station to meet my friend (of course I was running late anyway). It started raining right after I made it inside.

We’re at Stanton Public outside in the back getting wet under the umbrellas. So much for protection. Some white guy douche trying to flirt with us. No free drinks here though. Glad I brought my own stash. Just met the owner. I wonder if he knows I’m not actually drinking water.

Ah an old favorite, but I won’t say the name since it’s not it’s usual best… tonight it’s filled with jocks and bridge and tunnel types who aren’t all that friendly. What a waste of comfy couches and a rough, edgy vibe.

On to some cheesy looking all white restaurant. Just a quick food stop for my friend. Over-priced though. Makes me lose my appetite. I think I’ll stick to my “water” and try to catch a bite at another place soon.

My friend had to take out some money at her old deli place (near where she used to live). Almost bought a banana, but then I realized.. Shit! I left my bag at the cheesy looking white restaurant. Food will have to wait.

Thank goodness, bag was still right where I left it. Couldn’t leave my water behind.

Next stop, awesome wine place. Just what I was looking for. Shrimp apps are delicious. Finally something to soak up all the rum “water” I’ve been drinking. Didn’t realize I had so much. Luckily I brought the smaller bottle.

Now that I have some food in my belly, I can enjoy some wine too. Asian girls who live by are a lot friendlier than most people all night long. It’s only now that is seems like the lower east side I remember.

Hey we might as well stop at Katra.

Or maybe not… some stupid guy smoking my cig, now says he doesn’t even smoke anyway. How annoying is that?

Okay, now this is getting ridiculous. Some guy grabbed me so I grabbed him back, held on really tight, squeezed pretty darn hard, screamed No! at him and stuck my middle finger at him. I wasn’t going to let him get away with it. Too often I just let that shit go and they think they can do whatever the fuck they want. I didn’t let him leave my sight until the bouncers got involved. Man I was pumped. No one was going to mess with me.

Okay, time to leave. Hispanic guy who doesn’t smoke but asked for a cigarette anyway earlier now tried to kiss me goodbye when he saw me heading off. Woah. Fuck off I told him. Grabbed my friend now that she finally got sick of some random guy pressing his penis against her and calling it dancing… Off to the next place.

Random stop number what? Luckily the last place didn’t kill my party mood, or maybe lucky we found this band place. So awesome and spacious I had to do a cartwheel… I happened to be wearing my mini dress and wedge heels. Yeah that seems kind of crazy. I probably wouldn’t have done it with other heels on. Wedge heels are pretty sturdy so it was okay.

Sexy band just cause the leader was all sweaty and fit looking like he was working out with every note he belted out… gets your heart pumping more. That’s the great thing about watching a live band. You can fall in love with life in an instant.

Now where to? 4am and not a clue where to next, but not ready to call it a night. Walking around aimlessly might possibly help.

Oh, what do you know some Brits started talking to us and offered to buy us some beers. So we followed them to a bodega and then a nearby park and sat down to enjoy sharing a sick pack while the light of dawn came up. How romantic??

That was a lot of drinking. I had to pee and so did the other Brit, but he had a shy bladder. I had to show him how to pee fearlessly against the tree.

Okay, 530, buzz is wearing off. Time to go home. I guess it’s going to be a long way home with all the weekend train problems lately. Maybe I can doze off and eventually I’ll get home.

Wow, now I am awake! I was on the train for who knows how long, dozing off, when I realized I had to pee really bad again. I got up and got out of the train, not knowing or caring where I was, started up the stairs to the outside world, went up to a vestibule without a booth, found no one around, so I just peed right there in the vestibule! Ha ha! Then I went back downstairs to try to get back on the train and realized I was actually at a station with a better transfer direct to my house, got on that train which was right there just waiting for me, lay down and fell asleep till suddenly I was at my home station just like that. Magic happens on a random night out.

Next day my friend got a text from someone she’s not sure who. Probably the guy who was grinding his penis against her. I told her it must be love. Not sure what ever became of that “connection.”

A Mellow Night in Brooklyn

In just 20 minutes I’ll be at The Sea and relaxing with a drink in hand. I’ll have just one drink or two and then head back home. Getting out of the house for a little while is okay for tonight. No need to overdo it.

Damn, it’s been almost an hour and I’m still waiting for this train to leave. That Shuttle detour took even longer than I imagined.

Finally! It took yet another half hour to go just one stop (at this hour I was not going to walk around in my mini dress and heels by myself. I don’t know these streets as well as Manhattan). At least I’m out of the station now anyway. So I’ll just make it in time for one drink at least.

Standing outside - it looks to me more like a Bridge and Tunnel crowd. Not what I expected from Williamsburg, but I came all the way over so I have to at least check it out inside.

Ah, what the heck, I’ll find another place. It’s just a little bit after 130am and the bartender is giving the last call already. That’s a few points off this place. And I heard it was the place to be. I’m so much more used to places like Cafeteria in Manhattan!

Fortunately it sounds like a party, though the place is a bit too large and bright. In any case, maybe this night won’t be a complete loss. It is going to take me a while to get back home, so at least let me get some semblance of a buzz going. Karaoke may not be my favorite thing, but at least it’s something that’s open. I’ll just have one drink and then try the more mellow surf bar up the street.

Wow, STIFF drink. And only $5… me likes, me likes…

Still it’s kinda noisy and people aren’t all that friendly – they all seem to be out on dates. I  somehow think Europeans got this socializing thing down better than Americans do. If I’m not on my top game, I’ve noticed that nobody is ever really that open to branching out of their own little world. I’ve always found that attitude to be very different outside of here. I remember when I went to Morocco, all you had to do was bump into someone and they would share their hash. Then you’d instantly have a new friend for that night. Let me check out the surfer bar if I can fare any better there.

***

Okay, that was another dud. Sand on the ground was interesting, but the drinks were at least $2 more than at the Karaoke bar and the company was not exactly pleasant. The place was practically empty and two of the four patrons were actually employees visiting on the night off. Some girl said she wore the wrong shoes and I responded, “When you lose, don’t lose the lesson.” I could have parlayed that (from some spam) into a good flirting technique, but her wimpy looking borefriend whined till she agreed to go back into the deserted bar.

At least the last place had cheap and strong drinks. Taking my own advise, I decided not to lose the lesson and figured it was better to go where I could enjoy a drink and at least that way the night would not be a total loss. As soon as I realized there was a Karaoke bar downstairs I figured I’d give it a shot – at least there was some possibility of meeting people there.

There was way too much sausage and the company wasn’t all that inviting. I mistakenly had such high hopes for Brooklyn, but I suppose this was just not really my type of neighborhood. Well, It was a smidgen better than any other place I’d been to so far, so I was at least going to finish my drink. A cute girl and her date sat next to me. Every time he got up I would chat her up. Hell, guys do that shit to me all the time when I’m on a date. Not that it panned out to say taking her back to my place, but at least it was temporarily entertaining. They had just reunited after some time. They had known each other in high school but never dated. She confided to me that she might sleep with him that night. Unfortunately, the bar had a very straight vibe. It felt a little like midtown Manhattan or even Queens. Note to self: Don’t come back. In the meantime I decided to enjoy a second drink before taking the journey home.
 
Soon I had a bunch of large unattractive guys make a few attempts at flirting with me till an older guy sat right next to me and just ordered a drink. I would say he was a bit heavier set than I am usually into, but he was cute and he made me laugh for some reason. We somehow got to talking about his gun. He was a cop. He had his gun strapped to his ankle. Wow, I wanted to squeeze that. It is taking entirely too long to fulfill that fantasy of mine. I checked out his badge. I took a phone picture with it. He bought me two or three drinks and a shot. I was VERY happy, despite not having too much conversation and not meeting any hot chicks. He offered to take me home after I told him I’d be fine going back via train-shuttle-train. It seemed like a good idea at the time to accept his help, but I did insist that I just wanted to go straight home.

By his car, I leaped on him and kissed him and it felt good, but I was probably high from the drinks and the thought of shooting his gun (his real gun not his flesh gun). He let me in his car, all the while probably thinking he would be getting sex. Luckily for me, I noticed he wasn’t quite going the right way and he kept talking about his place. I insisted emphatically that I had only agreed to let him take me home. He seemed worried that I didn’t trust him (which I momentarily did not, but trusted my fighting instincts well enough to prepare myself immediately in case this got ugly) and assured me that he would not try anything. He reminded me that he was a cop and he had no bad intentions.

He pulled over (at which point I was ready to run from the car if I had to, but he said he was just going to take a leak. I saw him get out and waited for a little further information before making my next move). He did indeed take a leak on the side of the road. Suddenly I needed fresh air. I opened the car door and threw up all over the ground. Some of it got on the car door. Phil the cop didn’t seem to get too upset. He just asked me if I was okay, drove me home and even kissed me goodbye (yuck-did he forget what just happened? Was he drunk too??)

All I thought later was that I could have really gotten myself into a big mess. Somehow I managed to use some judgment and also got a lot of lucky too. Phil the cop did not harm me, but he could have! I pride myself in being able to get myself home safe, but simply being drunk by yourself and going home with a stranger (who had also been drinking, though he had said he had sobered up, but was I in any state to really know the difference??)  can be a recipe for disaster. I am reminded that the buddy system is always best. It probably would be better to just improve on my judgment calls going forward. How many women find themselves not being fully aware of their surroundings after a night of drinking. Not all the people you come across will be as nice as Phil the cop.

Blazing Quietly on a Monday

It really was quite an uneventful Monday night. I knew I had a gathering to get to so figured it would be a night to chat up some people and get my drink on a little bit. Earlier in the evening, though, I wasn’t even sure if I was going to get to the party destination safely. It was shortly after work, before I made it to the club, that I was offered a quick smoke. I had mentioned that I was very tense (it had been a tough couple of weeks), but it was my intention to grab a cocktail and let loose that way. Regardless, before I knew it, I was outside, about a block away from the building I had just left, and going in the opposite direction of which I needed to go, waiting for my turn, thinking “ah, what is one hit gonna do really?” Even after I considered that I might inhale too much, I convinced myself that I would just take a short breath and probably not feel much of anything at all. It ended up being a pretty good hit, and unfortunately it took my heart and mind to some crazy dark places for about 40 minutes. I had to use up all my strength to fight the feeling of wanting to fall apart. My heart threatened to explode (it was racing a mile a minute even though I felt like I was moving at a snail’s pace); my mind threatened to implode (probably with the pressure of all the paranoid voices screaming in my head). My adrenaline was pumping.

I couldn’t get the right timing for crossing the street. I kept thinking everyone was laughing at me because I hadn’t figured out the unspoken pedestrian traffic rules… if there are no cars coming, you don’t have to wait for the green light or the yellow walking figure. In fact you pretty much look like a fool if you just stand there on an empty street waiting for the official sign. But what if I misread the signs and lack of focus and depth perception led me astray? What if I ran at exactly the moment that a car was heading right into my path and I broke all my bones? Wouldn’t that be embarrassing? Then I started to think about what people are really afraid of in that situation. Are they afraid of death or life? Because if there is death in that situation, you probably will just find peace. But if you survive and have to live the rest of your days in pain, then it’s life that you should really be afraid of. I kept thinking about my thoughts (what was happening to my mind?) and all the fingers pointing at me and all the faces laughing at me. I became almost paralyzed and wondered if my legs would stop working. They felt like jello and I knew I was walking unsteadily, even in my sturdy timberland boots. It felt like I stood a full five minutes at each light, yet I still somehow made it 30 blocks in about 30 minutes.

It had been cold out before I ventured on this journey, yet I was not feeling cold. I knew that had to be asking for trouble so I was sure to keep my jacket closed tight and my glove less hands in my pockets. I had to be careful or my self would begin to seep out of my body.

Eventually I made it to the lounge, but I was dying of thirst or out of breath or out of my mind. My bones felt very heavy and I could hardly hold myself up so I forced myself to sit down. The place was filled with dim red lights and you could hear the laughter coming from the basement despite the lonely and quiet bar upstairs. I had to compose myself or, I considered, I might get arrested (!) for public lunacy. After I sat down, I asked for some libation and the “water boy” quickly complied. He saved my life really. He sat a few tables away from me, eating his dinner, but also talked me down from wherever I was, confirming with me that although sometimes we over do it, we just need a moment to gather ourselves and then everything is all good. He got in my thoughts somehow and helped to relax me. All the time I was texting my hubby wondering when he was going to make it to where I was. He was stuck on the train somewhere in Brooklyn, trying to figure out how to get into the city more quickly. The “water boy” and my phone where my lifelines.

I had a hard time interpreting people’s responses to my questions because I imagined there was hidden meaning in everything. Did, “go downstairs and enjoy yourself while you wait,” really mean what it sounded like, or was it just a test? Did, “I’m a really cautious driver, you know drive at the speed limit, stop at all the stop signs,” mean my cousin was a conservative driver or was she talking about me? What could these text messages really be telling me? Who were these people? Could they be trusted? Did they see inside my soul or were they just fucking with me. It all felt so fucking deep, you know? But as long as I kept looking at my phone, looking at the time, looking at my messages, listening to the water boy, it was all going to be okay.

When I finally made it downstairs, 10 or 15 minutes after I arrived at the lounge, I was feeling quite uncertain. I worried that if I dared to talk to anyone I would completely unravel. So, mostly, I kept to myself. There were a lot of strangers. I wondered if they thought I had crazy eyes.

An attractive tall dude did actually approach me, but as soon as I said the “h” word (husband), he literally did a 180 turn and walked away from me without so much as saying goodbye. Clearly, some people did not get the memo before they stepped into the joint that this was a poly cocktail hour. Everybody who heard my story about Mr. 180 said that was his problem, not mine. That incident is not going to make me want to hide the fact that I am in a relationship because if it is going to bother someone that much then why should I want to know them. Yet still, I wondered which of my faults caused the unpleasant experience at that moment. Was it my stoned state of mind? The subtleties necessary when revealing your true self can sometimes look like a lie (which I do not want to do), but sometimes they are just well timed information deposits. Does my lack of mastery in this field make me a bad flirt? Am I just incapable of flirting with men?? It made me think about whether I’m really addressing both sides of my sexuality. What conflicts do I have that might lead me to push men away? You can work on one part of yourself for a long time, but neglecting other things for too long can’t possibly be healthy. So that’s something that I’m going to have to digest later of course.

Finally I struck up a conversation with someone and we began to discuss the true meaning of life. Pot makes me think about that you know. I revealed my observations from earlier as I had attempted to cross the street, and I must have made some sense because the long haired dude responded in an agreeable manner by offering his own two cents worth. He noticed that I was obsessed with my phone because I kept glancing at it every minute or so. He didn’t understand why it was my lifeline. He didn’t understand how stoned I really was, even though I might have warned him about of my state of mind. I couldn’t tell the difference between my thoughts and my words. My brain was slowly leaking out.

I exclaimed in confusion about one particular email. It came from an unknown sender with a picture of a Tinge Razor, of which they wanted to send me a free sample. Apparently it was a sex toy in disguise. The long haired dude found it odd that I get random emails from people sending me such intimate information (it wasn’t spam) and I concurred. That is until I remembered who I was and what my life was like and then I realized it’s not odd at all. Then I knew I had to walk away because clearly he didn’t even understand why HE was at a poly cocktail hour. There are many reasons why I would get a “random” sex related emails from a stranger and it was actually perfectly acceptable. I could not wait to read the message thoroughly and figure out what it was all about, but that would be later when I had a clearer head on my shoulders.

At some point, however, the long haired dude told me I was mixing metaphors and I had him totally confused. That was my cue to walk away because I was clearly in another world and couldn’t communicate my thoughts.

Eventually I saw somebody I recognized and I made another attempt to hold myself together and communicate. Apparently, unless I heard the name wrong (which is entirely possible in my state of mind), he was dating a girl Lex and I fucked about once or twice. Not sure if he was aware of that. I didn’t bother to tell him. He might have known it already though. I guess these things can become a bit incestuous sometimes, which is why we try to find different environments rather than going to the same things over and over again. New York is such a big place and such a small place really. And people really do travel in the same circles. I have always loved that you can feel so comfortable here, knowing your surroundings so well so quickly, but that too can be a hindrance to getting a fresh perspective. It’s good to get out of your comfort zone sometimes and meet people in different worlds. It is possible to find people who understand you even if they’re not necessarily living your kind of lifestyle and traveling in all the same circles. There is a whole other world out there that does not have to be poisonous to your way of doing things. It is one matter to have an inclusive group that sees the world like you do and is accepting of who you are, and another matter altogether to have an inclusive group that isolates you from the rest of the world, expecting that you would get all that you need in just one place.

In any case, this time the conversation led us to, among other things, the difficulties of dealing with younger chicks.

Just because I am older, they often seem to expect me to do all the work (as if it didn’t involve two people reaching out to each other) to keep things going and interesting. His comment? “Now you know how men feel.” I told him that I have found them to become cold after a night of sex maybe because they regret the “dirty things” that happened on the previous night, maybe because they lack the maturity to deal with sexual encounters and are afraid to become vulnerable to others for fear of losing control. And even if they may be afraid they tend to be more manipulative. Because of this, I often don’t know for sure what they are looking for and I don’t know for sure how to keep things from getting weird/awkward.

I have found that you have to allow yourself to be vulnerable in order to gain control of your life and find meaningful, fulfilling relationships, even if you are just looking for good sex. Connecting emotionally doesn’t mean you give away everything that you are. You don’t automatically have to have an attachment with someone after fucking, but if you allow yourself to both enjoy that for what it is and then attempt a connection beyond that then you will find your world opening up a lot.

Many of the younger women I meet, however, can’t seem to go that far. Although I do prefer to date younger women, because they can be the least jaded and are more likely to try anything, they can definitely be a huge pain in the ass. I used to think that men would be the worst in that department, but it turns out that younger chicks seem to be the most insensitive. Yet, I am still most interested in younger women. For that reason, I rarely actually date the women with whom I have sex. It’s not that I’m necessarily looking for a relationship, but well maybe I am looking for relationship junior.

I think that interaction with Mr. 180 stuck in my head. That and being stoned didn’t help… because I started to talk about how sometimes I am so uncertain about what sexual experience I’m looking for that I wonder if I am a big fraud when I say what sexual orientation I am or what lifestyle I am about. He assured me we all feel like that sometimes. I guess the thing for me is that my sexuality is more fluid and sometimes I really dislike labeling it. Giving it a name or label, you know, like putting it in a box, helps to find others who might be experiencing a similar type of life, who might be in that box too, but giving it a name also forces you to always have to either be true to what is in that box or become that person who isn’t really supposed to be in that box (like in order for you to fit in, you have to identify who DOESN’T fit in… one of these is not like the other). And that I find difficult. Because I am continually working on figuring out what it all means to ME. What if I just want a custom label for what I am, like a custom license plate… if I must have one?

And then there’s the matter of having to look a certain way. At this particular event, I wasn’t as sexed up as I normally am. Someone noticed it and kind of called me out on it. So I guess having to always look the part, though obviously is fun when you’re into it, can be aggravating, exhausting, and really kind of makes me want to not bother all together sometimes.

I really just want to have an exciting sexual experience with someone and build from there. I love to meet new people, but when you constantly have to rebuild something, it becomes taxing. So I have less energy to explore different aspects of my sexuality and it seems I’ve learned to tough it out with women more than with men. It’s not easy as a sexual being is it? If I were texting this I’d say LOL. Have to lighten the mood a bit. It’s not that terrible really. Dating is the best remedy for me…

Yes, I was going to some dark places that night. I probably would have just brushed most of what I saw and heard off my shoulders if I hadn’t been so stoned. I look forward to going back to that party and NOT be stoned. However, there was definitely a lot of fodder for later analysis. You have to be affected by it all sometimes, otherwise you’re just cold and what’s the sense in that. But if you’re affected by it too much all the time, then you’re mind and body and soul just become mush. And what’s the sense in that?

I walked around for a while looking for a free cocktail with great difficulty because somehow I couldn’t ask directly. Being stoned was really screwing with my head. I’m usually very direct. I tried to hint at getting someone to buy me a drink, but all I could get was guys telling me that if I really wanted a drink I should just get one… so not having the power to pull myself out of this mind fuck I was in, I had to wait for Lex to arrive and amuse myself in other ways. Yeah, there seemed to also not be too many women around, but part of the problem was obviously my less social state of mind. And I guess I give off very strong vibes whether I’m feeling open or closed up, so mostly people seemed to stay away from me. Until the junk in my head finally wore off.

But not before I happened upon my nemesis, who always makes me feel stupid, no matter how much I want to not care. The nicest thing she ever said about me was that I was a lot smarter than I look. Obviously an insult. That’s just what she does to make herself feel smarter than other people. I usually play the dumb girl in front of her because really, why should I even bother to try to prover her wrong. She doesn’t deserve to know what’s really inside of me. What helps (or doesn’t help) is that I’m usually stoned or inebriated around her because well those are the kinds of environments we find each other in. In any case, I made it through that interaction and I was on to other things.

At one point the “water boy” came by and I reached for his arm, thanking him for saving my life - calling him by his proper name as I knew it, “Water boy! My savior!” Realizing he might have been offended by that, I explained that is was honestly a compliment. Fortunately he had no hangups about it he ended up offering me that free drink I was waiting for. Of course Lex had already arrived and gotten me my drink as he had promised, but still, it’s always nice to be complimented with at least one free drink (from someone other than your hubby) if not five or six when I’m out partying.

Eventually I did come out of my funk and the night turned much brighter. I found myself talking to a woman, Jessie, I had looked at earlier who had, I thought, looked at me too… but I confessed to her that I thought she wouldn’t want to talk to me, and that I was also too stoned to approach her. Surprisingly, Jessie confessed to me that she too thought I wouldn’t want to talk to HER. My god! All that time wasted. Before long we were making out. Honestly, I hate to just jump into that and not give an explanation for how that happened, but there really is none. I mean, at first either I was not open or was not meeting open-minded people, and after, I was open and I started to find those open minded people. I think sometimes there is some magic about how I can flirt with people or soften them up, because when I can’t do it, I have no idea how to do it. And when I’m doing it I don’t even know how I’m doing it. I just do it. What I did do was strike up a simple conversation (which I was incapable of doing earlier). And from there, you either get someone who is receptive or you move on. Because dwelling on my inability to get over my stoned state was definitely not helping my cause at all. And certainly being under the influence of something that is really going to restrict your ability to reach out does not help either!

I also struck up a conversation with the coat check girl from the Valentine’s party. We compared tats and had some drinks and I started to plan my next Bisexual Girls Club party (officially in May, an unofficial one at the end of April) and things started to go a little more smoothly. But by then, the night was really over for most people. What happened to partying till 4 or 6am or 10am? I only feel asleep once in that situation and that was after some fun sex… but usually, even after the first round of sex, I can last a pretty long time, especially when it takes me a little while to get started! At least the Jessie and her boyfriend gave us a ride home, but you see, it was quite an uneventful Monday really.

Blogging

A girl asked me the other day, “What is the hardest thing about having your blog?” She went on to speculate whether it was the fact that I am vulnerable and anyone can write all sorts of comments anonymously; judging me and not appreciating that I put myself out there.

No, I guess I can’s really ask anyone to feel sorry for me about that. I chose this.

I am not worried about sending my picture over the internet or exposing myself in this blog though obviously I’m choosing my own limitations like not having my face posted here or things like giving out my last name, SSN and mother’s maiden name. But I meet a lot of people who have read my blog or my husband’s blog and I don’t hide from them.

There is no privacy on the internet, so I hear. I think I’ve gotten over it. I got over it after Lex first started his blog and discussed it with people we knew who had their own livejournal. After a falling out (because we wouldn’t have sex with the couple) the girlfriend posted nasty comments on the loft site (we have since learned about a little thing called “moderating comments”). Eventually she apologized. I got over it after the Swedish couple was insulted upon discovering the blog (I don’t remember telling them). Rereading it now, I can’t be sure, but I could almost swear the entry might have been modified. Though it is a rare occurrence, in this case I think it was less hassle to remove some of the details. The husband was just not happy when he found out the wife was getting eaten out by some other guy without his permission and he lashed out at us. Anyway, here was another lesson on needing to moderate comments.

It took me a little longer to get over our email stalker, but once she finally vanished (I’ll save that for another story) it was just a matter of me remembering I don’t want to become a hermit just so that I keep all the crazies away. I eventually got over it me when an ex-girlfriend blew her top (apparently not even my friendship was needed anymore shortly after we introduced her to her fiancé - so she fabricated an argument) threatening me over AIM (AOL Instant Messenger that is - I myself have mostly gotten over the whole chatting phase in my life).

I got over it almost immediately after a now ex-coworker found my woman-for-woman profile (with a photo of me wearing nothing but a painted dress) and proceeded to inform me that since there was no picture on his profile I would never know who he was, but that I shouldn’t worry my secret life was safe with him.

Well, listen, I became vulnerable long before my blog, first of all. Second of all, it’s not the internet that could kill me. It’s the people everywhere and anywhere that could hurt me, whether I meet them in real life or in cyberspace, whether or not I get “voice verification” before I agree to meet someone. As long as I meet people in neutral space and never bring back someone to my apartment or go to theirs unless I feel comfortable and safe as best I can.

So, I made a decision long ago to not stay in my house and hide away for the rest of my life. And yeah, at least keep my sex life separate from my family life and probably from my work life. But outside of that, what I do on my time is my own choice. No one else can take that away from me. Only by shutting me up would they have won.

I told the girl that I did feel vulnerable though and there was that matter of being judged by others as a potential problem. But there was more to it. I told her it was difficult sometimes. The girl continued to probe, “Is it that you don’t have a enough material or that you don’t have time to write about it.

I felt like I had to defend myself. Yes! I have plenty of material. I’m not a total loser. And some days some interesting things happen in my life too. And yes, I have definitely felt like I often just need to live my life. Although I have fantasies about keeping up with my dairy every day like I used to as a little girl or a crazy teenager with a crush on every other person I knew or every other celebrity I wish I knew (it was a form of catharsis), I am often too busy living the chaos of my life. Still, there was yet more to that answer. But my response to her was simply “not enough time.” That’s not at all untrue. It’s just that it’s only another part of it.

What was I unwilling to share with this woman I had only met minutes before she asked me the questions? She read my blog and my husband’s blog for some time. She knew something about me. I knew nothing about her except that she was married and her husband bought us wine. Could I share the truth with her in that moment. If I had known I was going to post it here, I would have said it, but these thoughts were still dancing around in my head and I was not ready to share. I didn’t even know for sure if I wanted to share that information.

Well, the full story, the full truth was that people cannot handle the truth. I myself have trouble with it sometimes, being known as a bit sensitive. Well, this blog isn’t so much the catharsis I wanted it to be. At least not yet. I feel like I CANNOT be completely honest. And I thought having my blog would allow me to say what I could not say on my husband’s blog. Even just knowing that people know what’s really inside of me… as long as I can control it, that can be quite a rush , but really, how would people react if they really knew the truth about certain things. Only a super secret blog to blog what I just can’t blog about sometimes would be a true catharsis. The problem is that although I want to not care about the traffic I get, I can’t help it. I’ve probably been accused of caring too much somethings. And then there’s the fact that people can do some crazy things when faced with the truth.

I DO believe in the truth so it’s not that I outright try to lie… I just feel the need to omit certain truths. It can be lonely - easy to alienate people with too much truth. Where is that line? How much risk is worth it? The biggest problem for me with my blog is that I want to be more honest but find that hard to do it. I don’t want to seem bitter if and when I feel angry because I do feel disappointed often. Life is full of disappointments. And I have this nagging feeling that if I am too positive about certain things, I will just jinx it. Maybe that’s connected with the Catholic guilt. But I do wish I could be more honest. I wonder, would people receive that well or just dismiss it as a rant?

I mean, I’m all for finding the positive in life and not focusing so much on the negative. I believe that positive energy brings you more positive energy while negative energy can be poisonous. But, when something is not right you can’t always hold it in. There’s a time to be nice and a time to not be so nice. As I continue to blog, I will work on that. While it is probably not always wise or even necessary to be brutally honest, there are times when I just want to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

The After Party

I’m sure Lex must have been very confused riding in the cab with five women, literally minutes after he arrived at the scene, thinking he was joining me for a drink at the end of my meeting. Still, he just went with the flow. He didn’t make anything of it and we all continued in our excited fashion to wherever the night took us next.

As soon as we got to the apartment, I busied myself behind the bar in our kitchen to get cosmos for everyone and Lex got the music going. In the middle of preparing the drinks, I remembered the marijuana and ran to the bedroom to retrieve the clear plastic container I kept it in.

Actually I had gotten that container back in the 90s to hold a single joint (it could probably hold about 5 or 6 stacked) moments before I was sent back on the train by the man who first introduced me to ecstasy. Luckily they didn’t check bags at the time. My “supplier,” a friend and ex-coworker, was never able to get into my pants, though not for lack of trying. Maybe his mistake was that he provided a certain quality of drugs - excellent enough for me to want more, but not excellent enough for me to do anything for them. He didn’t count on the fact that I never would have given in for that reason anyway.

His supply was probably about on par with the stuff from the Israeli guy who wanted to marry me (supposedly for a green card). Back in the day, before my club days, people with drugs just seemed to find their way over to me.

And yes, I was a slow starter with the whole club scene - never mind that I grew up in New York. I went to the Limelight only once when I was 14 where I was offered free drinks by 40 year old men all night long. My aunt drove me and my sisters there and back home - that was a big night out for me. I didn’t even have to sneak out! One of the few times I did sneak out, it was for a dumb guy who was cheating on me, but I still got my ass whupped for it. Yes, New York, New York - where by the time I finally did get into the club scene long after college, I was meeting 21 year olds who were already seriously burned-out, and refused to give up the whole thing. But I digress…

I felt like I was bringing out a big prize. Who would be the first to win it? There was a nice stash too so I figured we would only use a small part of it. I shouldn’t have been shocked when I eventually found we smoked the whole goddamn thing! First things first though. Who would roll it? While one of the girls was rolling, I finished preparing all the drinks. Soon enough we were passing around her art work.

I used to date a girl who was an expert at rolling… she used to compete with all her friends to see who could roll the best looking, tightest joint. Although I was present for some of these contests, I was always too inebriated to actually learn anything… or maybe I did, but just forgot. Honestly, it wasn’t the pot that did this to me. I’m pretty sure it was the ecstasy that fucked with my memory. Hence probably also the reason I always go off on these tangents.

In any case, there’s a certain kind of weed that just makes me go wild and it takes over me once I got the righteous hit. I’m kind of a light weight. I can only take so much of it at once. It could be one hit or two that does it. If I have to go beyond three hits, well, either the stuff I got is not good at all, or I’m going to be in big trouble in about 15 minutes. But this time I got just the right amount of just the right stuff. And that was some good shit because it really got me moving. One of the girls started to take of my corset saying, “Les needs to wants to take it off!” Honestly, I don’t know what I expected, but it was nice to have girls pawing at me and stripping me.

I began to shake my body and slither like a wild animal. Lex warned the girls, “watch out, she’s doing the snaky thing!” Eventually I get down on all fours and crawled around the floor like a cat. Something got inside of me and I just couldn’t stop it, but I certainly didn’t want it to stop.

After a couple of us took turns performing for everyone else, shaking our booties wearing nothing but undies (and eventually less), we all just started to make out, randomly changing partners. It became a free for all and we were just grabbing at each other.

In between all the fondling, a girl blurted out, “Les, is this what you call trading recipes and sharing craft ideas??” Not to be called a liar, I brought out my arts and crafts tools - my crayons and glitter… all this while getting my ass slapped repeatedly. My mind was spinning. It all seemed so surreal.

Eventually there were two other girls left, one passed out on the couch, and another asking to sleep on our bed. She dropped herself between Lex and me. She and Lex seemed to get along swimmingly. They were making out and he was jerking her off, but trust me there was no real story in between the sheets that morning. All the action really happened in the living room between 1am and 6am. By the time I went to bed, we were all too exhausted for anything else. Besides, the girl I had my eye on would seek me out on another day. I couldn’t complain. It certainly couldn’t have been a better after party.

Miss Bix Kat Meets the Girls

I was a little nervous as I walked along West Houston. I wondered if anyone would show up at all. I always wonder about that. No matter how good an event turns out to be, the moments before the actual event cause me great anxiety. I had a feeling of losing control and it didn’t settle well with my stomach. Still I was determined to make this a fun night so I simply thought about all the girls I might meet and whatever happened would have to be… And if no one showed up, well, I could have a few drinks and see about calling some friends to come to my rescue. The bartender was usually willing to give me a free shot now and again - I’d have to play it by ear.

Damn, I hate when I have to play it by ear. Usually when someone says play it by ear it means they don’t really want to make your idea a priority and they’re already preparing an excuse not to make it happen. So that phrase only reminded me that the meeting might not happen! And I really wanted it to work out. None of that so-called-positive self-talk was working for me.

I hadn’t even met any of the girls yet so what would make me think they were really committed to this gathering? How many times do I get a response from women such as, “I’ll see if I can make it,” or “I have so much going on…” you know all these maybe excuses that make a girl seem like she’s so popular you have to prove why she should be interested in you. It’s funny because I found that women play more games than men. Sure, I get that they might be scared too… but it’s so much more likely for women to not commit to meeting you than for a man to do this. At least that has been my experience. Another classic response is, “I love the idea, but I can’t make it to this event. I can’t wait for the next meeting though!” If everybody gave me those responses, who knows if this club could ever take off! And then eventually there wouldn’t be a next meeting.

No matter, I wanted this to work out and dammit I had to make it work. I remembered the reasons I wanted to start this club. Sure there are other parties - there’s always something going on and someone else could pick up my slack with all the (tons of) other events… But I truly believed (and do believe) that my club idea had something unique to offer and I wanted to share my ideas with other women. Perhaps those same women who made those countless excuses and could have been the least likely to show up because they were actually too scared or shy to take that first step would be there. Or maybe I would meet those same women who really did have too much going on, but they figured for this one moment, that my club would be worth their time. We all have to try different things, right?

This was the image I used on the eVite:

So here I was, hoping that some women got my message and made tonight’s meeting fit into their tight schedule or found the mood they needed to get their butts over to the Bisexual Girls Club - setting all fears and assumptions aside - and give this night a chance to become the beginning of something great.

And with that in mind, I continued along the rest of the path assured that no matter what happened it would all be worth my efforts.

Once there, I settled into the reserved area. There was way too much light of course. I seemed to be in the spotlight all by my lonesome. What to do? What does a girl do when she is sitting all alone waiting, waiting for someone to show up… Now anybody who is ever waiting for me when I happen to be late for a date can’t tell me they felt awkward waiting by themselves because honey, I’ve been there and well, I just had to pull through. So, I bought a drink and waited some more. I had to keep my mind off the fact that I was waiting for like ever (I think it was only about 20 minutes, but it felt like an eternity) or else I would have dashed out and given up.

Eventually I tried o start a conversation with some fellow patrons nearby, though I probably sounded like a fool and besides they seemed to be wrapped up in their own little drama. They did look over at me a few times, I could feel it (no definite proof). What is it that makes people act so distant until you prove you’re worthy of a second of their time? Just talk to each other dammit. What’s the worse that could happen? If you don’t enjoy the conversation then you can move on and no harm no foul. Is your time always that precious??

I sat there, in my Victorian Jacquard corset (and removable garters - no I’m not trying to sell it - I saw it in a magazine after I bought it elsewhere and well it sort of makes it more interesting when I use their description), long black skirt, long black round-tipped pirate-type boots (sort of ready for combat I guess, but the round tip gave me a madam-esque look), my black fedora, and glitter all over my body (most of it around my chest as to accentuate the umm nice red color of the corset). It was on this night that I found the name of my party persona - Miss Bix Kat.

Finally a lovely vision walked towards me and I immediately recognized her from her pictures. Suddenly I wondered about her lovely nipples. I had not asked for any racy photos, but she had provided them anyway, so I had an idea what was behind that blouse and it made me smile a little. Now of course I was going to behave so I just greeted her with a kiss on the cheek and we immediately began to share stories about our lives as bisexual girls. We got along peachy and my stomach began to settle a little. Or maybe it was just the drinks. I think my wonderful bartender friend gave my drinks a little extra shot.

Eventually the lights were dimmed so that the red lamps could provide a soft ambiance. Soon another girl showed up and we introduced ourselves once again. As each new girl arrived we would recap some of what had already been said. Before I knew it there were about 8 of us gathered around the plush red couches asking for more drinks, laughing, giving advice, and enjoying each other’s company. A sort-of-ex showed up with her date (a very enthusiastic woman) and apparently her current boyfriend waiting somewhere off to the side (which I did not even know about till days later because I was too captivated by the ladies around me to notice anyone else - I ask you, would you be thinking about your sort-of-ex and her boyfriend in this moment?).

Now I must say I didn’t expect this kind of chemistry. If the meeting had ended at that point, I would have been perfectly happy. I certainly could not have asked for a better turnout. The size remained intimate and it was a nice start. Of course the intention was and continues to be just to meet other bisexual women with whom to share ideas, laughter, drinks, and whatever else the group is open to.

It is part of the lifestyle in New York to always be at your best and ready for any competition for attention. And depending on who you ask, it may or may not be the downside of a metropolitan life. Though I still dearly love New York City, I’ve certainly been here long enough to know that truth. And often I just find myself getting the evil eye from so many (straight?) women. I wanted to find others like me. I wanted to have a moment of pleasure without fear of judgment, without us all having to try to fit in or prove that we’re cool enough to be a part of this or that clique, or having to pay an arm an a leg just to talk to a like-minded individual. And maybe I hoped for some validation of who I was as a bisexual woman - what does it mean to me? what does it mean to others? what do we have in common? what don’t we have in common? what can we learn from each other? It was just an opportunity to bond, perhaps, over a drink. And today’s reason to celebrate was acceptance of our bisexuality.

As it turned out, there were some girls with whom I felt more of a connection… but I never could have guessed we would become the after-party too.

At some point in the night, I found a space on an ottoman with one of the ladies and we both said, “you’re so beautiful.” As not to let the perfect opportunity pass I quickly asked if I could kiss her. Eventually three of us were kissing and then another, more shy girl, was asking if she could join in. Then a couple of girls disappeared into the bathroom for a short while. No one seemed to care that there were a lot of other non-club members all around us. The moment seemed to exist only for us. And the bartender brought us a round of free drinks. And somehow my skirt was lifted - maybe I just wanted to show the rest of my sexy ensemble - but there were no complaints… there was only talk about going to the next location, which would bring us to the second half of the night.

****

While things were slowly winding down and there was a motion to relocate, I got a call from Lex telling me he was nearby and asking if anyone minded if he drop by. The girls urged him to join the party, but by the time he made it, we were already heading out. Upon someone else’s suggestion, it was decided - we were going back to my apartment, where I had more alcohol and some 420.

Lex was quickly introduced to the ladies and we grabbed a cab uptown, making a lot of commotion on the way there, ready for anything.