Out and about. Or should I say a continuation of chilling out.
Saturday night – and its off clubbing in Milton Keynes. Not quite the world’s trendiest nightspot, but not bad for a dance and a spot of people-watching in a decidedly LGBT friendly environment.
One spot of interest was how and whether and with whom the trans contingent would mingle. The club appears to be on its way to developing a “trans friendly” policy: obviously well-intentioned; but possibly falling into the same old trap of confusing identity and interest, ts and tv.
No matter, if its an add-on, designed to help those who need time and space to become themselves, then its good: just so long as it doesn’t, with the best will in the world, become an argument for segregation. I enjoy the company and advice of others who are transitioning, who have transitioned: I can learn much from their example.
Yet, like many others in my position, I don’t automatically see myself first and foremost as part of some wider trasn community: I identify as female, frequent female spaces, and above all, enjoy the company of other women.
Enough. All that is philosophy, rather than complaint. Twas a good club, good event, and the management are doing good things.
Back to the evening, a large part of which ws spent in a basement space devoted to loud and intense dance music. Did I say loud? I said, did I say. . .
Oh. You get the gist. It was so loud that all those entering were advised first to insert ear plugs,. Which rather felt as though it defeated the object of the area – apart from the fact that, as the music headed bass-ward, I could feel vibrations vibrating my entire body.
And the first? Well, I’ve had my share of occasional interest from some very obvious t-chasers. Last night, however, I was hit on. For real. By a guy.
Which, apart from a couple of odd chat-ups back when I worked, as a bloke, for the Liberal Party (may it rest in peace), makes this the first time a guy has ever looked twice at me.
I can’t say I was impressed. About the only thing louder than the music was his shirt, a nasty white-and-something check pattern. It wasn’t much of a hit – more a sort of drive-by: still, it was interest of a sort, however unwelcome; and it seemed an appropriate end to a day in which I was passing in shops and in public.
What to say? I did the girl thing: turned and continued dancing with my companion – who thought it all rather amusing. He moved on, and an hour or so later I went home. Impressed? Not exactly: if this is the xtent of my pulling power, it ain’t great. On the other hand, it would appear to be a 100% increase on a month or so back – so that can’t be all bad.