Finally, I ask her if she wants to go outside. My hand is moving all over her body and her body is moving all over my hand. We’re still just standing at this crowded bar, people all around us. She’s wearing a pair of overalls and nothing else. I think something is about to happen with Claire but then she says we should go inside too - I decide this is for the best since I’m more interested in Carissa.Ĭarissa and I are standing at the bar - Claire is in the bathroom - and Carissa just starts gushing about how I’m so beautiful and how she wishes she wasn’t married and how devastating it is being near me. Then Carissa goes inside - I decide this is for the best since she’s fully married. Claire says that she’s separated from her husband. Claire is a Scorpio and Carissa is a Sag. For obvious reasons, I’m not using their real names, but let’s call them Claire and Carissa. The two women tell me they’re married - not to each other, to men - and have kids. But it’s a straight bar where lesbians know they can come and maybe meet someone. You’re so beautiful.” I thank her and tell them I’m visiting from LA - a flex - and say that I was told this was a lesbian bar.
And as I make my way to the door one of them says, “Oh my God. A normal Kentucky bar.īut standing outside are two very attractive women who look about my age. First of all, the clientele looks entirely straight. The only lesbian bars I’d been to were in New York and this place has nothing in common with Cubbyhole. That’s why I called them.Īs my Uber pulls up to the lesbian bar, I start to worry I’ve gone to the wrong place. Or, actually, I go outside to call my best friend back in LA to ask if it’s crazy to cross state lines this late. It’s already 1am and I’m a block away from my hotel, but I finish my drink and go outside to call an Uber. One night, I end up alone at a queer bar called The Birdcage where a trans drag queen I’d befriended tells me there’s a lesbian bar twenty minutes away in Kentucky. And most of the people I knew from work were straight. Vaccinated and unaware of the danger of variants, my sex and social life had returned to a sort of normal. Last summer, I was in Cincinnati working on a movie. I can only hint at the lives I briefly entered. Someone else could tell you more than me about this night and what it meant and what it led to. This is a story where I’m not the protagonist. For Drew Gregory, what started as a trip to a rumored lesbian bar led to so much more than expected. We took that opportunity to ask our readers and contributors to send in their juiciest sexcapades, and record themselves reading them. This year, two of our editors, Xoai Pham and Vanessa Friedman, are contributors of a book called Sex and the Single Woman.