First Time In A Gay Bar

One year while I was attending college in Vermont, I signed up for a summer English class that my university was offering in London. I’d never been to the UK before, so I was ecstatic. The schedule provided us with four days a week of instruction and viewing plays at the Globe Theatre. We had plenty of time for excursions within the city or to other places on the island.

One evening, the young women in my class wanted to go out clubbing. Now, this was occurring about eight years before I realized I was trans. Since I was considered one of the “women,” I was invited to join them.

Sounded like fun to me. I’m not much of a drinker, but I enjoy dancing, so I agreed to go. The group then discussed wanting to go to multiple spots, and the first on the list was a gay bar.

Straight women. Club for gay men.

…Why was this an option?

The reasoning was that most of the women in my group had boyfriends back home, and being the faithful girlfriends that they were, they wanted to party without worrying about being hit on by other guys.

Ok, this made some sense.

So we dressed up and went out. The women were a collection of tight skirts and low-cut blouses. I stuck with my tomboy attire: cargo pants, t-shirt, loose over shirt, and a flat cap to add an Irish flair. Nothing fancy, but I was comfy.

We arrived at the gay bar. The layout was a little tight. Bar on one side, limited seating along the opposite wall, small dance-floor in the back with couches. I’m pretty sure a number of the fellows there did not appreciate our group coming into their space, but some were friendly. They didn’t kick us out at least.

At one point I needed a break. I asked the bartender for a coke (“No, no rum, please. Just a straight coke.”), and sat on one of the couches. I watched my group to make sure we didn’t get split-up. They were enjoying themselves and chatting with a few guys asking about where they were from and how they were liking London.

Suddenly, there was a guy standing in front of me. There was no instance of locking eyes across the room and watching him walk over. He just appeared from nowhere. Then, without a word, he straddled me and started giving me a lap dance.

…Ok, so this is happening.

I didn’t know how to respond, so I decided to go along with it. I grabbed his lower-back. He grooved along to the music with a hand on my shoulder. Then his hand slid down until it reached one of my breasts.

He stopped. His eyes took on an expression of “That shouldn’t be there.”

Neither of us at the time knew how right he was, but in that moment it felt like a case of mistaken gender identity. He got up and walked away. I was left alone with my coke. The encounter lasted a minute at most.

This was one of two instances where a man took an interest in me pre-transition while at a gay club setting. At the time those moments were humorous, but now I wonder if these men had a subconscious intuition that prompted them to think “Hey, you’re one of us and you’re cute.” Makes me want to meet them again to say “Hey, you were right. Now how about that dance?”