In which I am forever awkward and Joie is the best wing-woman there is…

(My post yesterday about my experiences with masculine women reminded me of the hot butch bartender situation! Thought I would post this here for posterity. Real life tale from March 2015.)

Last night my bestest friend Joie and I decided to attend a munch together for the first time (a munch is a social meet up for kinky folks). It was an event specifically for queer kinky women. There was a boisterous crowd, it was busier than we expected, we sat at the bar and ordered a drink.

The moment I caught her eye I fell head over heels for the bartender.

Now, anyone who knows me in real life is already giggling at how ridiculously typical this is. One of the things that holds me back from flirting with women in social situations is that I don’t know “their situation”. Are they interested in women, are they looking for partners currently, are they comfortable with non-monogamy, are they interested in kink and d/s dynamics, these are things you can’t generally determine when you randomly see a cute girl. And I certainly don’t have the nerve to start a conversation with ‘are you gay, poly, kinky and looking?’ So here I am cleverly attending an event where I am literally in a room filled with women who are looking for kinky sex with other women, the guess work has been stricken from the game so I can just flirt openly and not nervously fret over offending someone or stepping on anyone’s toes. It’s genius really! And, of course, the only person in the room I am attracted to is not a patron at this event.

She was gorgeous, her face might as well have been cast in marble for all of it’s beauty and grace. Her flawless brown skin accented by tattoos that ran down both of her arms, I wanted to ask about each and every one with my fingers tracing their lines. The contrast of her delicate features against her masculine presentation made my knees weak. Her hair was a short neat fade, her piercings and black jeans and t-shirt, she was effortlessly beautiful and completely out of my league.

Joie kept egging me on to make a move. I refused. My list of reasons was long and cerebral; I don’t usually hit on someone unless I know their situation, I had no idea if she was single or into girls like me, I hate making assumptions, I hate putting people on the spot because I know firsthand how uncomfortable it is to turn down unwanted advances, and furthermore as a rule I don’t like to hit on people while they are working, especially if they are in a service industry where they are being paid to be nice to me… but in spite of my Very Good Reasons I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her. Some dude at the end of the bar was holding her attention.

“What if I just leave my number when we go? Is that too lame?” I asked Joie, relieved that I had a plan that would allow me to save face and avoid awkwardness and rejection. “That’s a great idea let’s do it,” Joie replied. “Do you have a pen in your purse?” I asked, and when she didn’t she stood up and leaned over the bar to see if there was one close by.

“Can I help you with something?” the devastatingly hot bartender asked with a smile. “Do you have a pen we could borrow?” I asked quickly, not wanting to give Joie the opportunity to demonstrate why she has earned the nickname “The Instigator” in our social circle. “Sure, need some paper too?” the bartender asked kindly while walking over to the cash register to tear off a piece of the receipt roll. “Yes please,” I replied timidly when Joie jumped in “Or you could just let her write it on your hand,” she said with a smirk.

I could feel myself turning pink and wide-eyed. The bartender handed me the small square of white paper and reached her palm across the bar with a twinkle in her eye, “Sure, what did she want to write on my hand I wonder?” she asked T but she was looking at me, she seemed entertained by my blushing and stammering. There was no way out of this except bravery. “I wanted to give you my number because I think you’re really cute,” I spat out, hiding my face in my hands and immediately regretting the word cute because dear god this woman deserved a multitude of more accurate adjectives. She grinned and shoved the piece of paper that I had abandoned on the bar closer to me. “Thank you, I’m flattered. And I would love your number… what’s your name?” Joie excused herself to the washroom leaving me in my flustered and tongue tied state.

And with that I struggled to remember which 7 digits were required for phone communication while she told me about her other more interesting job and I tripped over my words in an effort to summarize what it is I do, exactly. She was gracious and kind and my eloquence was a distant memory as I tried to rein in the butterflies in my tummy.

Joie returned and we grabbed our coats and I said a quick goodbye through downcast eyes while playing with my hair. As we walked out into the busy street I shrieked at my friend for putting me on the spot and she coddled me “Ohhh…Poor nervous bunny…” We both giggled and I thanked her for giving me that push.

Even if I never hear from her I must admit, it felt really good to just be nervously out there with no idea how it might end up. It’s certainly not my comfort zone, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t good for me.

And we’re going to another munch together soon.