Stepping onto the dance floor, it was as if someone was winding my strings as tight as possible and soon I would be set free. I wanted to play and dancing became my vehicle to loosen myself and keep me in tune. Still not knowing how to control my own inner drives, once again becoming a star in my mind. Only one of the few women there amongst a club filled with men who like men and I wanted their attention. Bumping n grinding with them and then arms in the air jumping up and down. I wanted to be close to them and they never refused me, gay or not. Fashionable, free and fun, a presence exuding style, I certainly could dance.
The bar was called Martha’s tucked away on a side street from the Main Street of Rochester. Easy to get to from midtown plaza, where I worked. Martha stood behind the bar looking matronly in her dress and pouring us all drinks. It was said she was rich in profits. My drink of choice was a slow gin fizz or rum and coke, they were an easy first drink. I was not much of a drinker, telling myself I had a personality high enough by nature. I had no body fat, probably couldn’t handle much alcohol anyway. The men floating from man to man didn’t bother me. Accepting it all. Twenty became a pivotal year for me. I had been to England and that gave me an automatic key to attention, as well. My pretend English accent followed for fun, pretense as a lifestyle, without a clue followed.
I looked like Twiggy as I walked to work knowing I would go out after dancing. I dressed in a wild backless mini skirt dress and my breasts were barely visible. Cars would drive by looking and rolling down the window and shout at me, “Is it a boy or is it a girl?” I didn’t care, for it was the attention I carved. My lost perspective with floundering direction also floated everywhere. Attention was the goal. My job loved my wild self because it attracted sales for the store, it worked for them.
Then one awful night a herd of Police found their way into the bar raising their guns; shouting “Queers”. Screams and running out the front door followed as the police moved into the bar. One of my friends grabbed me and pushed me into a small bathroom to hide. We expected the door to fly open, however, for whatever reason it didn’t. We had been spared an arrest. Still the story followed for weeks in every imaginable kind of drama, cursing the injustice of the police infringing on our freedoms. I became impassioned and looked for other explorations with men who were gay, however we became friend more in an exclusive way instead of just hanging with all of the guys dancing and laughing. I felt like it was a boyfriend girlfriend arrangement and my fears about men made it fine. I had been trained to be a good girl with no abilities for allowing and understanding my feelings of sexuality. Dissociations from myself were hard wired early and only my dancing was a way to feel or distract.
