Barrie James

Donna told me never to do this. She is a sister of ours. She said, "You look much better as a brunette than you do as a blonde. In fact, you look like an attractive woman as a brunette. When you're a blonde, you look like a guy with a blonde wig on (I had sent her some photos, and asked her to comment on them). If I were you, I wouldn't wear a blonde wig."

Why don't we listen to our friends? In our subculture, it has been proven again and again that honesty is the best policy. There's also a saying that goes something like, "The truth hurts." And there's an unwritten rule somewhere that says, "You don't want to draw attention to yourself. Instead, you want to try to blend in/be like other women in the establish ment you are going." But, I'd been working real hard on my "blonde" look since Donna's comments, so I decided to give it one more shot, this time in public, and in Omaha.

It's been several months, but I decided to go to a chapter meeting in Omaha. I had never been to one, but had wanted to go for over a year. So, I got all my feminine things together, and headed north on I-29. It's only a 3-hour drive going the speed limit. In my wife's champagne-colored 240SX that's loaded with every option available, including ground effects, it still took me 3 hours. I try not to speed.

I didn't tell anyone in the chapter I would be coming, but I figured I would be able to attend the meeting anyway, because I write to several sisters in the chapter/area, and I had met others while they were in Kansas City. I figured someone would recognize me, and there would be no problem.

I arrived at Embassy Suites around 2:00pm (about 2 miles from where the meeting was going to take place that evening), and started to unpack. I was in the mood to go out and have a drink before going over to the meeting, so I decided to dress in a nice blue, above-the-knee dress, matching color textured hose, blue pumps, and (for some reason) my blonde wig. I had brought my brunette wig along, but I never really considered wearing it this day. We all make mistakes.

I guess I thought blonde would go better with my light blues. Hmmm. I don't know if there's any logic to that, but it sounded good at the time. Blonde definitely looks better with the car. Maybe, subconsciously, I wanted to look better with the car.

After a half-hour, perfumed bath, and a smooth body shave, I applied lotion everywhere I could reach, and got dressed. Not bad! I had even remembered to bring the right make-up to go along with this particular outfit.

I felt very confident, and thought I looked pretty good. Remember, this wasn't the first time I had ever gone out to get a drink en femme. Time to cruise Dodge Street, and find a suitable establishment where I could sit in peace, and sip on a nice glass of wine. It was about 6:00pm.

I slipped on my heels, and walked out to the car. As I got behind the wheel, I realized two things. First, my wife's car is much lower to the ground than mine. Second, because of the cloth interior of her car, I was going to have a heck of a time keeping my hem line from creeping up to the very top of my thighs. On a leather interior, like the one in my car, my clothing just sort of slides with me. In her car, my clothing seemed to stick to the seat. So, as my body moved, my dress just kept riding up.

But, hey, this is a "radicool" vehicle, so you have to put up with some "inconveniences." Besides, I was only going to be driving a couple miles, anyway. I quickly blocked these things from my mind, and remembered a great little restaurant with a good bar right across the street from the motel where the meeting was supposed to take place. It's called, "Jams." I thought, "How convenient."

I had been to Jams on three or four other occasions, and really liked the eclectic decor, and the excellent menu. They have booths as well as open tables, a nice bar, and the staff has always been professional. I've always felt safe there. Besides, it was early in the evening. The dinner rush wouldn't start for about another hour. I decided on Jams.

As I pulled into the parking lot, I remember thinking to myself, "There seems to be more cars than usual here today." It didn't bother me, because Jams is a pretty good size place, and I had seen it more crowded. Of course, those other times were later in the evening, but I didn't think of that at the time.

I parked about fifteen cars to the left, and three rows of cars deep from the front door, turned off the ignition, opened the door, and just about had a heart attack! "Hey, darlin' you're lookin' good tonight." From about three cars over, there were these two very well-dressed guys drinking beers, watching me. I never saw them when I drove in. However, in an instant after their comment, I did see them. I also looked down, and there was that hem line at least half way up to my derriere, and I was showing a lot of leg with one foot in the car, and the other on the parking lot pavement. Cheeze!

Without answering them, I got out of the car and stood up, brushing imaginary dust from my dress, wishing I had worn a dress slightly longer. They both smiled as they took another sip, acknowledging a "hello" toward me with their cans. "Nice car, too." I returned a semi-sort-of-smile, and quickly headed for the front door. I wasn't here to party. I was here to have a nice relaxing drink.

As I entered, one of the waitresses came up to me. "One for dinner?" "Yes," I replied. Then she said, "You'll have about a 10-minute wait. The people from the Cornhusker Round-Up are here, and they've sort of filled the place up. But there's a seat at the bar if you want to have drink and wait there."

Jams was packed, and noisier than usual, but I figured, what the heck. There wasn't anyone throwing tables or anything. I seated myself and short dress at the bar, crossed my legs, and ordered a glass of white zinfandel. I took a sip, and was just placing my drink down on the bar, when I heard, "Hey, darlin' good to see you again. You with anyone?" They were back! The guys in the parking lot! "I'm waiting for a friend," I said.

The chunkier of the two said, "He's a lucky guy, but I bet we got more money than him," as he proceed to put his beer on the bar, and pull out a wad of what looked like fifties. "Yeah, darlin', we could sure use a little fun tonight, and you sure look like you'd be fun," the other one chimed in.

Then it hit me. More money? Fun with these two tonight? Hell, they think I'm a hooker! I had to get out of there. I nervously took another sip of my wine, and said, "I have to use the ladies room. I'll be right back." I must not have been too convincing, because the taller guy put his big arm around my shoulder and said, "Hold on there, honey, we want to buy you another drink before you go anywhere." Now, I was seriously beginning to worry, especially since the short guy was completely focused on my very visible thigh.

Suddenly, out of nowhere came Florence Nightingale. I don't know what her real name was, but she came up to the three of us and said, "Bubba? Billy? What are you two guys tryin' to do to this lady?" "We're just havin' some fun with her," said the short guy. "Looks like you were trying to have more than fun. Why don't you come over to our table, and leave her alone."

I was looking petrified, and it was just about this time I noticed "Florence's" eyes get real big, like something was wrong. Then, all of a sudden, she broke out laughing, turned, and walked away. She had read me, and Bubba and Billy were still standing there! They looked at each other totally confused. "What's goin' on, Billy?" "I don't know, Bubba. Let's go find out. I hate bein' laughed at." They turned and followed the woman.

I saw this as an opportunity. I put a $10 bill on the bar, and quickly walked to the front door. I glanced over my shoulder, and saw Billy and Bubba just arriving at the woman's table as the door was closing behind me. Fortunately, I had the car keys in my hand as I headed for the car. I unlocked the door, started the engine, and tore out of the parking lot. As I looked in my rear view mirror, I saw Bubba and Billy come running out of Jams, jump up and down, and Billy throw his beer can at the car. It fell several feet short, since I was already well across the parking lot, and into the intersection.

I got back to the Embassy Suites in record time. I still wanted to go to the meeting, but since it was right across the street from Jams, I figured the risk would be too great. Besides, what if either of those guys was staying there? I'd be dead. So, my "fun" weekend turned out to be me getting a bottle of wine from room service, and having my "nice quiet drink: on the small but private balcony off my room.

The blonde wig? Well, it's gone. In fact, as soon as I returned to my room, I trashed it, and replaced it with my brunette one. Donna was right, it looked a lot better. More conservative, too. As I sat back, with my heels resting comfortably on my outdoor balcony and the soft breeze caressing my legs, I thought, "Barrie, you were one lucky S.O.B. tonight. I hope you've learned a lesson. Next time, listen to your friends." I smiled, and took another sip. I knew I'd be back...but not as a blonde.