I live in Chicago, on the near north side and from time to time frequent the girls bars. I have made it point to avoid the dyke bars, I am very, make that very, very femme and like the same. I feel there is nothing that compares to a very feminine well dressed and well groomed woman, who walks and talks with confidence.
I rarely if ever meet someone who meets my standards at the bars, I suppose I am always somewhat withdrawn and not quite myself, knowingly I am in a mating scene.That is not to say I never meet a potential MS Right, however so far none have crossed the finish line.
We go home with mutual expectations and usually have a few good nights but perhaps I am too picky because it never works out. I have a weakness for a woman's scent, her soft neck and her lip kisses, but I also have very high standards, I have to have intelligence above all, sure beauty is part of the equation but intelligence trumps all.
This particular Saturday night I was hosting my friend Vicki, since her partner was out of town on business. Susan knew she could trust us to have an evening together, not only because Vicki was not my type but because she knows my proclivities. Vicki is a tad butch, not over the top but far from femme.That said, we are so close and have so much fun together,
Vicki showed up on time and I buzzed her in, she carried an armload of goodies as I met her at the top of the stairs.It seems she has discovered a new drink and was going to turn me on to the new concoction. I inquired as to what we were having and she refused to divulge the secrete ingredients, banning me from the kitchen as she mixed up our drinks.
When she appeared with what looked like red wine in glasses with fruit floating on the surface. I was a bit disappointed, I was expecting more than Sangria.
Sangria? Giving her my best fake smile.
Sangarita's she said, taste it you bitch before you pass judgement on me. We both laughed, knowing she had called me on one of my worst traits.
I took a sip and suddenly smiled, I had to admit this was different and extremely tastier. She smiled with great satisfaction, then she warned me to take it slow as this was a very strong concoction.
After two glasses and a lot of girl talk, I found myself eyeing Vicki with a whole new set of eyeballs. I suppose I had never mentally undressed her before, now I had to wonder what she looked like naked. Even worse I was wondering what the difference was between MN chosen prey and her.
I suppose deep inside, although I never consciously thought about it, I imagined butch women to be more aggressive, less feminine and well rough in the sack. I assumed that lack of feminine outside meant lack of femininity and sensitivity in the bedroom.
Vicki was quite wasted as well and quite frankly if we weren't such great friends and Susan was not her partner the whole night might have taken on a whole new direction. We laughed an flirted and eventually dodged the bullet and she left around mid-night.