I hadn't been clubbing alone since before Christine and I got together. But my friend, Lanie, said she and some of the girls were showing up there, so I dragged my ass out for the night.

*****

There was a line out "Club Femme" when I got there. And as I walked to the end of the line, I checked out and was checked out by the variety of female specimens. One femme, wearing a suede skirt and stiletto heels made eye contact with me. So did a baby-dyke in flannel and Doc Martens. I was glad that I decided to wear my black leather jacket. I knew I looked pretty good that night. Hah, take that, Christine.

*****

Inside, the house music pulsed so loud I my heartbeat adjusted to the rhythm. The club was teeming with women. I breathed in the atmosphere - cigarette smoke, perfume, beer, and girls! It was refreshing to be in a room full of women; a room devoid of any testosterone.

On stage, the dancers writhed and gyrated -- teasing the women on the floor, tantalizing them with their bodies, tempting them and inviting them to place their dollar bills inside their g-strings and bra-straps.

I sidled up to the bar and bought myself a beer. I planned on standing back, just taking in the scenery. But as I was scanning the dance floor, I sensed a presence. Like a hound who picked up a scent, I tried to hone in on whoâs aura I was feeling.

I made a circle around the club, ignoring the redhead with a nose ring, and the preppie girl with the pearls and cowboy boots. Where are you? Who are you??

And then I found her. "Hi, Fran. Fancy meeting you here."

"Hey Jane, you crazy thing."