Brighton #3 – part 5

[Anonymous]

Bar Revenge.

An unimposing building with only a pink neon sign to advertise it’s presence.

A standard layout on the ground floor, high chairs around a central table which runs most of the length of the inside, with a small area around a small DJ booth for dancing at the end, a large sofa inside the door to the left, and staircase to the right, going up to a mezzanine and upper levels, with an additional bar.

I ordered a soft drink, and looked around for Luke. He wasn’t visible, so I went up the stairs to the upper bar, and was immediately invited to join a table by a guy who introduced himself as John, and his friends Mid and Jim.

I learned that John is a hairdresser, and he had plenty to say about my makeup and wig, and I took it all in good humour, pointing out that I am quite new to this. His GG friend, Mid said she thought I’d done a great job – we got on really well.

Jim originates from the far North of Scotland, and was clearly a little the worse for wear from drinking, but told his story, and how hard it was to be a young gay man in Scotland.

After hearing a little bit of John and Mid’s stories – both are gay, but good friends, they became very interested in my story, which I was happy to relate and expand on when questioned.

Jim was surprised, and said it must be even more difficult for a married, heterosexual man in Tory central, England (I live in Theresa May’s constituency) than for a gay man in the far North of Scotland!

I told them it was nearly my birthday, and bought a round of drinks. I loved their faces when I told them it was my 55th!

We talked about all manner of things, the banter flowing easily – they quickly twigged that I quite like jokes about men in dresses, and no-one was over sensitive about anything, no subject taboo, and I had a fantastic time.

I soon felt that I’d like to get into the party mood, so excused myself and went back to the hotel to glam up.

I put on the black and copper sequined dress that I had planned to wear, and my heart sank.

It just didn’t cut it. It didn’t have the wow factor I wanted for my birthday. It was good, but good wasn’t enough!

So I gingerly unwrapped the tiny red sequined dress that I had planned to wear the first time I was in Brighton, but had chickened out of.

This time was the time. Yes!!! This is the one!

So I took it off, and back into the nightie to re-apply and glitter up my makeup, fresh underwear and a quick wash with perfumed soap, then back into the dress, some black tights and the shoes.

Ah, the shoes.

Fabulous, sparkly black heels. I’d worn them briefly around the house, and they had felt ok. The placement of the 3″ heels seemed to push my feet into the toes a little, but otherwise fine to walk in.

I set off, out of the hotel, a little nervous about the length, or lack thereof, of my dress, but feeling so glam it just didn’t matter. The shoes were OK on the carpeted floor of the hotel, and I had no issues going downstairs or out of the door… but suddenly, the pavement and slope of North Street down to the sea gave an issue I wasn’t prepared for.

Gravity pushed my feet into the toes of the shoes in an uncomfortable way, and made the back of the shoes slip, and the side kind of tuck itself under my heels.

I stopped, put my hand against a building, and with the other, flicked the side of the shoes back to where it should be, all the while being careful not to raise my knee too high and expose my undies, whilst maintaining my balance on one foot in a high heeled shoe.

There’s an art to this, which I needed to master (or mistress!) quickly.

Shoe rectified, I continued the short walk back to Bar Revenge.

At least, it was normally a short walk, but my steps were much smaller than usual, and I had to stop a few more times to address shoe issues, all the while maintaining a feminine dignity and smile, like this is all expected and no big deal.

Finally, it seemed, I was saying “Hi darlings” to the door people, and walking back, through the doors, and up to the bar, where I ordered two Flaminghos (pink shots), and two bottles of Peroni. It’s happy hour, so the second drink is cheap, so it was a budgetary consideration…

2 shots down, I sipped from a bottle, and turned around at the bar to look at the people, and face whatever would come my way that evening.

I’ll have to consider very carefully how to continue. All manner of images of that lovely night live in my memory but, as you may imagine, in a slightly tipsy haze, and I do not wish to encourage my darling friends to over-consume – moderation in everything is my usual approach, but my 55th is special for me for many reasons.

Love Laura

[Author]

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