Every year, my law school sends a group of students to the National LGBT Bar Association’s annual conference and career fair. This means a weekend of hot power dykes, well-dressed gay men, and trans hotties all smashed together in conference rooms eating complimentary continental breakfasts. This year the event was in Brooklyn, NY, home of one of the most delicious lesbian scenes in the country.
Needless to say, I was excited. While all my other law school colleagues were researching firms to interview with at the career fair, I was researching places to get laid. With the help of fellow Curve blogger Stephanie Schroeder, I was able to compile an assorted inventory of places to go and people to see.
Before I could attempt to go out, I had to look fabulous. First stop was Re/Dress, a queer run vintage store in Brooklyn that specializes in plus-size wear but offers something for everyone (redressnyc.com). I went with a group of four womyn, all varying sizes, shapes and styles, and all extremely satisfied and well-dressed when they left.
Looking quite fabulous in my new ensemble, I headed out on the town to view the eye candy. The lesbian goddesses above blessed me with the fortune of being in NYC for fashion week. I almost fainted when I saw the Brooks Brothers store featuring live female models displaying their tailored men’s suits. Oh, how I love me a lady in a suit.
All worked up from my walk around town, I headed to NYC’s famous lesbian bar Henrietta Hudson’s. I flirted with an adorable andro gal who was also visiting from the Pacific Northwest. I gave her my number and almost had her convinced to spend the night with me when her extremely rude and jealous blonde friend abruptly pulled her away.
Hopping in a cab to head to a drag show across town, I realized my wallet was gone. Immediately, my friend Damen and I blamed the jealous blonde, and continued to blame her as we explained to the butch security guard at the show why she should let me in. Luckily, Damen is well known around these parts, and I got in.
The famously vicious drag queen Bianca Del Rio (biancadelrio.com) caught wind of my ordeal, and brought me on stage to partake in a dance off. I won (with a little help from Bianca), and got a $50 bar credit, which Damen used because everyone in the bar bought me drinks on Bianca’s command.
Showing off more of my moves, I grabbed a tall sporty gal on the dance floor and began to bump and grind. As her hands roamed over my body and my lips met hers, I forgot all about my missing wallet.
Moving outside to get some fresh air, I caught eyes with two friendly femmes and moseyed their way. Number One immediately grabbed me as I walked by and kissed me. Talk about a New York hello. She tasted of cigarettes, and I pulled away faster than she wanted me to. We chatted for a bit, allowing our hands to wander onto each other, until Damen pulled me back inside to meet a hot boy he was toying with.
It took only a couple minutes for femme Number Two to find me on the dance floor. She grabbed my arms and threw them around her waist, pulled me in and kissed my neck. She made her way up my throat and to my lips where we kissed ferociously.
A few minutes later, so pulled me off to the side of the dance floor. “I thought you liked my sister,” she shouted over the thudding music, pointing at Number One who was rapidly moving towards us. “Oops,” I thought to myself, “Sisters, not friends!”
Number One came over and demanded I pick my favorite of the two. I reassured them they were each equally beautiful girls, and quickly left to find Damen before the drama could get worse. Unable to pay for a cab ride to Brooklyn at 3 a.m., I spent the night on Damen’s couch cuddling with his cat Shelby, who, unlike the sisters, is declawed and drama free.
I spent the next two days canceling credit cards, working out how I was going to get on a plane without an ID, and dreaming of the sisters. I’ve never been a fan of the whole incestuous threesome fantasy, but I can’t deny I was turned on at the idea of being with the two of them at once, drama or not.
It was with this glorious image that I boarded a plane (after extra security screening) and bid adieu to the Big Apple.
Epilogue: About a month after my return from NYC, I got a phone call from Henrietta Hudson’s telling me they found my wallet, everything still in it, shoved behind a radiator in a far back corner of the bar. Damen and I immediately laughed and blamed the jealous blonde.
Article originally written for Curve Magazine.