It was called Marvies.
A long time ago in southern California, after work on a Friday evening in Monrovia, a borough next to Pasadena where I lived, I stopped at a bar. It turned out to be a lesbian bar. For a while I had some of my best times there.
I was sitting at the bar there and struck up a conversation with a brunette and a blonde next to me. Suddenly the brunette starts kissing me on the lips and after a while the blonde nudges the brunette away and continues kissing me, with me unable to even take a breath in between. I have never ever been kissed so tenderly than that evening. An other time I get a kiss and after an awkward moment her friend says ” well, you know, she has certain needs”. Another time a beautiful blonde is sitting next to me and I tell her: “would it not be much simpler if she took off her clothes while standing in front of a mirror and play with herself?”. She looks at the mirror behind the bar and laughs and laughs. When touched on the arm tenderly, some of them would turn their heads to look at me, and then make a bee line to the bathroom as fast as they could. Occasionally one could get a whiff of Aqua Velva in the air. On the juke box two favored tunes were “Blue Bayou” and “Blue Denim”. This went on for some time till one evening I was politely asked to stop coming because I was upsetting the clientele too much. Even that had the sweet feel of unfulfilled love about it.
However, I was never able to talk one of them to come home with me. But then I do not think I could talk a nun to come home with me either.
I have a hard time equating lesbianism with male homosexuality.