In 1988, when I was sixteen years old my parents went to Reno for the weekend and left me at home. I was a trustworthy kid. But I still liked to have fun and I intended to have some during my mom and dad's absence. I just didn't know what kind.
That first night at home by myself my best friend Joe stopped by. He was a black kid the same age as me. Really fucking nuts but in a good way. He was always great for laughs and he did the weirdest shit like running out in the middle of the road on a red light to break dance for the people sitting in the cars or telling some random bald cop that he loved what he'd done with his hair, just to fuck with him a little. You never knew what Joe was going to do.
We got to talking about lesbians and the lesbian bar down the street from my house. It had once been a honky tonk, but after being boarded up for a few years it re-opened as one of my hometown's first openly gay bars. I admitted I thought butch dykes were kind of hot, and Joe said he did too. Then he suggested we dress up in my mother's clothes and see if we couldn't get picked up by butch chicks.
No way it was going to work, I laughed. But fuck it, you know?? What else was I going to do??
So we raided my mom's closet and we spent about two hours shaving our legs and pits, trying on pantyhose and dresses and heels. Modeling my mom's different wigs and applying make-up to one another.
I had to admit, when we were done we didn't look half bad. I personally wouldn't have touched any chick that looked like either one of us, but whose to say we wouldn't appeal to someone else??
"This won't work," I said. "The second they ask us to talk, our voices will squash it."
"Not if we pretend to be a couple of mute girls from that assisted living place downtown," Joe suggested. He handed me a little stack of post-it notes and a pen.
"We don't have ID's," I frowned.
"Those gay chicks are horn dogs," he grinned. "They'll let us in because we look underage and easy."
"You look easy," I smirked, "Im a lady!"
That broke us both up. We left the house around 9 o'clock, walking so clumsily in our heels I'm amazed we didn't break our ankles. I knew we'd get turned around at the door of the bar, but.......
we didn't.
In fact, the big butch chick guarding the door winked at me and squuezed my ass on the way in.
So we sat at a table and I took in the dark smokey room. Women were everywhere. Lipstick lesbians and big burly dykes. Most drank and talked, some danced. "Naughty Girls (Need Love Too)" by Samantha Fox was blasting on the jukebox.
"What'll you have??" Someone asked.
We jumped (I did anyway). Joe scribbled a note and handed it to the waitress, she frowned. "Notes??"
Joe explained with two more notes, and asked for two Tom Collinses (I had no clue how to order drinks).
"You girls look a little young to me babe," the waitress said. "I don't suppose you have IDs??"
Joe and me exchanged guilty glances. The waitress laughed. "Uh huh, that's what I thought. I'll bring your drinks but if you see the cops come in, you both get out quietly."
We smiled. Our drinks had barely arrived when a couple of butch chicks in work boots, jeans (they had wallets attached to chains in their back pockets) and plain white wifebeater shirts walked over and introduced themselves as Sam and Terry. Could they sit with us?? We nodded. Sam sat beside me and threw an arm around my shoulders.
"Damn, you're fine as hell," she told me, a white trash accent flavored her words. "Whats your name little mama??"
I nearly wrote down Paul, but then quickly added an extra A.
"Paula," Sam smiled. "That's nice. So you girls are from the assisted living home??"
We nodded. I guess we must have chatted about an hour, and knocked back a half dozen drinks. I was drunk as a skunk by the time Sam and Terry suggested we go for a walk to clear our heads. Out in the night air, I felt a little less woozy and more sober. We walked to the park and sat on a couple of benches. Joe and Terry a little ways down from me and Sam. We started making out and I got hard. I was glad it was dark, I was pretty sure you could see my erection through my tight little black dress.
All of a sudden I heard cussing from Joe's bench and Terry yells "What the fuck??"
"Run Paul!," Joe screamed. "She grabbed my binky!"
He called it a damned binky. Not she grabbed my dick or cock, but my binky. Maybe it was because I was drunk or because I tend to laugh when I'm nervous (and I was suddenly plenty nervous) but I started laughing hysterically.
Sam glared at me "Whats going on??"
I reached down and grabbed my heels and started running barefoot as fast (and as balanced) as I could. I got home about twenty minutes ahead of Joe.
I don't remember much else until we woke up the next morning with pounding headaches, still dressed in drag. We were ugly.
"Jeez," I frowned, cleaning up. "How the hell did they ever go for us?? We're putrid."
"Maybe you are," Joe said. "I was a fine piece of sweet brown chocolate. That white girl wanted me."
"She wanted to kick your ass," I replied. "And you owe my mom a pair of wedges. You lost the ones you were wearing."