So as I started to say in my last post, during this period of time, I didn’t know what I was. The only option I could come up with was gay. I dressed accordingly. I remember going to dinner with a straight male friend of mine, a pianist . . . hmmm, I’m seeing a pattern here (see Memories of Times Past which concerns an organist). I wore tight trousers, stacked heels (they were in at the time) with a puffy, ruffled shirt — very ruffled! I looked like a gay pirate. I ordered a bottle of wine with the meal. So the poor server brought a bottle of wine, then couldn’t figure out who to pour the tasting sample for. I may have ordered it, but obviously, I was the girl. I helped him out . . . I nodded towards my friend.
I played electric bass in a jazz trio the pianist started (understand I was actually a bassoonist but wanted to make some extra money. I took a week off to learn electric bass, which made me one of the worst electric bassists in the known world). He booked us gigs in South Dakota — jazz in South fucking Dakota. All of the requests coming from the floor was for country-western music. We hadn’t a clue so basically we played “Kansas City” in different keys several times a night. Ghastly!
He went to school in Sioux Falls and had a girlfriend there. They set me up with a tall, red-haired basketball player. Awww, such a nice friend.
That was a really odd period of time. I knew I wasn’t straight, yet the gay sex I had was unsatisfactory. Something just was not right. What could it be, I wondered? I didn’t solve that conundrum for nine more years! Wow — I’m a slow learner.