Cowboy Dreams

This is an older experience I haven't shared for awhile here in Cyrsti's Condo. In fact it goes back to the 1990's.

In those days, I was spending my life divided between the two binary genders. Along the way, I managed to locate a couple small lesbian bars I liked to drink in. One disliked me totally, the other I was accepted in.

On certain nights, the venue I was accepted in had karaoke. I don't sing at all (except for a David Allan Coe song I knew.)  The song was/is "You Never Even Called Me By My Name but I digress.

I was only vaguely aware it was karaoke night when I got there. I didn't really care because of course singing was the last thing on my mind.

I also remember I was wearing my blond wig with jeans, boots and some sort of tight top. Indirectly, I wanted to look nice for the other patrons. It turns out I did I guess!

About half way into my second beer, a big butch lesbian comes up (in a cowboy hat no less) and demanded, not asked, if I would sing with her. Of course I tried to politely decline. Then I learned quickly I was going to choose the song and sing it with her.

As I panicked, I thought there was only one song I knew and mentioned David Allan Coe to her, hoping she wouldn't want to do it. No such luck though, she grabbed my hand and headed to the stage. Fortunately the lights were dim in the place and there weren't many patrons there yet and I did the best I could to sing with her.

After we were done, she looked at me and said my voice was lower than hers and headed another direction. I took that as my time to escape. I paid the bartender who knew the truth about me and took off.

I never saw the butch lesbian in there again and wondered if she ever learned the truth about her duet partner that night so long ago.

Comments

  1. Your slight digression made me want to know more. At that time, you had two names. Today, you have a different one. How, then, do you respond, should someone call you by any one of them? I imagine that you would react differently, depending on which one was used.

    My dead name has become almost incognizant to me after adopting my new name many years ago. If I hear someone in a crowded place say, "Connie," I will likely turn my head in recognition these days, but I no longer do that when my dead name is heard. Well, not until just a couple weeks ago, anyway. I was grocery shopping, and I heard a woman say, in a stern voice, "(Dead name), stop doing that!" I turned around to see a small boy holding a can of something from the bottom shelf, and Mom was standing right over him with a waving finger. It doesn't take a psychologist to tell me why I reacted to the sound of an irritated mother shouting (Dead name), but I can only laugh now about such a thing. Among many other things I did, as a kid, that would irritate my mother was my natural walk; placing most of my weight on the balls of my feet, rather than using a firm step on my heels. I did learn to affect a more-masculine walk, but my mother would always let me know when I had "regressed" to my natural one. Later, as an adult, I started shaping my eyebrows as much as I thought I could get away with, and every time mother saw me, she would say the same thing she said to me regarding my walk: (Dead name), stop doing that!

    Hmm, maybe I have Cowboy Nightmares and Cowgirl Dreams. :-)

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