QOD: Be gay for a day! (Or straight, if that's your other side) How did it go?

“Let’s be gay,” said April.

I rolled my eyes. “That’s the best you can suggest for a Friday night?”

She shoved the personals column at me, the Women Seeking Women section. “I figure we do our nails, shave our legs and stuff, and then we’ll check this out.” She opened the fridge. “They’re having a get together tonight.”

I read the ad. “This says lesbian and bi-sexual only. It doesn’t say anything about tonight.”

April retrieved a container of cinnamon-apple yogurt and got herself a spoon. “I read this article someplace that all women are bi-sexual, more or less.”

“How come you’ve always read an article about whatever you think?” I flapped the paper at her. “What’s this about tonight?”

“Oh, I called and talked to somebody named Maggie.” She sat, kicked out another kitchen chair and put her feet up. “I said we’d come. We have to pick up some chips and dip on the way.”

I hollered at the ceiling and headed for the bathroom. I’m not a wuss; you just don’t know April.

Maggie lived way out in the boonies, so we were later getting there than I figured. A tiny buxom blonde bounced out of the house as soon as we pulled into the huge gravel drive, waved us along to a place to park amidst a dozen vehicles, and wrapped each of us in a soft squishy hug as soon as we emerged from the car. “C’mon in and get a drink, hons,” she said with a slightly southern accent. We followed her into a spacious kitchen and were swept up into friendly greetings. Teri, Alanna, Mary, Judy, something that sounded like Tippy, and a string of names that slipped in and out of my ears before I’d downed my first drink.

Before long we were settling into an assortment of chairs, sofas and cushions in the living room for formal introductions around the circle, with a few details on each woman. A nurse, an author, a hospital administrator, an exotic dancer, the treasurer of a commune (who knew they still had those?), a pediatrician… On we went, me without a prayer of tagging names to occupations.

Maggie showed off her new nipple rings that her husband had gotten her for her birthday, as well as the beautiful shawl their girlfriend (Lynn?) had made her. Soon we’d launched into a laughing discussion of difficulties concerning alternate sexual lifestyles and the truly obtuse things people say.

My eyes kept wandering to Teri, the exotic dancer. I’d never even experimented in college, probably because she hadn’t been there. Next thing I knew, she was whispering in Maggie’s ear, after which she left the room. Maggie got up and searched through her CD collection. “Got a treat coming, ladies,” she trilled.

The music started, and Teri slinked in wearing a full-length, shimmering dark green, ultra tight evening gown. I popped my eyes back in and joined the applause. After a few moments of sauntering and swaying around the circle, she was suddenly almost in my lap, her silky dark hair brushing my face. One shoulder strap slipped down as she leaned to whisper, “No touching allowed when I’m working.” Then her perfect buttocks pushed against my shoulder as she wriggled arms and breasts from the dress, and turned to smile and trace her hands from my forehead, down my neck, and ever so lightly against my breasts. She swayed away to cries of “Me! Me!” but her eyes returned again and again to me.

By the time the dance ended and Teri slipped out, dragging her dress behind her, Maggie and one of the others were dragging out massage tables. Dazed, I didn’t get up until Teri returned, clad in her original T and shorts, to pull me by the hand. “You should have been quicker,” she pouted, and I realized April had managed to situate her now naked body on one of the tables. I eased Teri toward the other, not sure I wanted to be part of my roommate’s show.

I don’t know (yet) what it’s like being massaged by twelve hands at once, but it was delightful being part of a team so utterly focused on the task at hand. Most of us had our tops off before long, and by the time we’d overheated the room to our conclusion, we were all ready to slip out of our dungarees and run squealing out in the autumn night air to jump into the hot tub.

Teri sat by me and bumped me along the seat into a jet of bubbles. “We should have us a nice long chat,” she whispered in my ear.

Oh, yeah. Sometimes those stupid articles April reads are right on.