were not out to use one like a grasping woman uses a decent man left me pretty cold. So I tried to be a femme. That came off even less well. I could not conform to the standard concept of how a femme should dress and act any more than I'd ever been able to conform to how a normal woman should dress and act to attract a man. After a few more months of this nonsense, I declared war on gay bar society. I answered "ki-ki" to anyone who asked and made it damn clear that anyone who objected could stop drinking my beer and eating my pretzels. I dressed as I pleased, and permitted my partners to do likewise. I led in dancing when necessary and followed when my partner could lead better. There was a long, cold period when gay kids stayed away from me in droves, but after a while the situation thawed, as I had known it would. Six months had taught me a lot about butches and femmes. Namely, that for the most part-98 percent most part I'd estimate butches and femmes did not really exist. The pose was a front

an act a role-playing bit, and a very selfish one at that. Mainly the butches did permit their femmes to make love to them also; although this was sometimes worth a bottle in the face if mentioned in public. Frequently, I found, these big, manly butches let their femmes support them. Some even pimped for their femmes. The knowledge turned me cold, and I no longer cared what these pitiful people thought or did. How they could degrade their minds, their bodies, and their honor in such ways escaped me. I ceased trying to figure it out. I knew that there were many like me; many who were afraid to declare themselves ki-ki to the group. I knew that I had only to wait patiently till someone who thought the same way as I did and who had the honesty to admit it would help me build the kind of life

we both wanted. This did indeed come about.

It had now been some years since I frequented the gay bars. I got to wondering whether the situation had changed any for the better. An old friend, a femme (they do truly exist, but rarely) assured me that it had, that the situation wasn't anything like what I had experienced 12 years ago, that she was the freak now, not me. Somehow I doubted it. My love and I had been coerced into a gay bar by young friends several years before and the first damn question was you know what. I was surprised to find that ten years had not dampened my anger at the inhumanity, the stupidity, of the situation. For the sake of the youngsters who liked the bar society, we went several times. But it was hopeless for me, even then.

I went down to one of the old haunts recently, to see whether or not my femme friend was rightthat things had changed for the better. My love and I sat there looking for all the world like two buddy butches and we waited. But this time was different; I wasn't hoping to fit, nor to be accepted by anyone. I was looking for an answer to the question, "How goes it for the young Lesbian who enters Life through a swinging door? Can she be herself, or will she be smashed into a simpleminded mold?"

It was a Saturday night. We waited. The bar was practically empty and it was 10:00 o'clock. Some disappointed tourists left. I decided that I'd picked the wrong night myself and almost left too.

Then they came the butches and the femmes. Things had changed all right! Maybe somewhere for the better. but not here. The butches were not the well-dressed masculine types I had known twelve years beforeslacks, keychains, etc., or suits. frenchcuffs and neckties, depending.

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