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At the time, I frequented a certain goth club in midtown, so I mentioned that my Friday plans were set. She suggested we meet at The Sidewalk Cafe before hitting the club, which was probably so she didn't have to venture into the cavern of cloves, synth dreads, and ennui alone while wearing jeans and Uggs (sigh, I know).She invited herself along, and although I was apprehensive about bringing a "normal" girl out with me, I figured this was my shot to do something I hadn't done before — have a real date with a woman. She bought me a beer and asked me some questions about myself."It would be so much easier to just go out with girls," they would declare with false confidence.
There was a casual vibe between us, but she had leaned over to remove an errant hair from my jacket and I was somehow completely turned on by the gesture.
Dancing (aka clearing the cobwebs) as seductively as I would with any guy, I lured her into the center of the room.
We shouted flirty comments every now and then as the The Bolshoi blared above, before I had to excuse myself to the bathroom.
I'm definitely not "straight" in the way most people mean it, nor do I identify as bisexual.
I place myself staunchly in the "hedonist" or "non-identifying" category when it comes to sexual orientation — but there was always a curiosity stirring in the back of my mind about how things would go if I pursued women more seriously.
After waiting an eternity as everyone entered stalls in twos and threes to fix their eyeliner and do coke, I returned to find her dancing with another girl.