As it turned out, 'Dancing' was not the only suggestion in the Mistress Book.  When it came to seducing women, the author had all sorts of ideas.  The most important concept was "Turf".  Find a place where a man looks his best.  First a man has to develop a skill to the point of excellence.  Then he has to find a way to market that skill.  Take Mick Jagger for example.  Not a handsome guy, definitely on the scrawny side.  Put Mick on the beach and you have a pale, skinny 90-pound weakling begging for someone to kick sand on him.  Put Mick on a stage and watch the girls scream.  Great singer, terrific showman, oodles of charisma. 

The author, Jim Deane, said women are attracted to excellence.  This preference has been wired into female DNA ever since they first discovered some men are better at bringing home the bacon than others.  Survival of the fittest.  To attract a woman, a man must find a walk of life where he rises above the crowd and can be noticed.  So what was my skill?  Well, perhaps 'intelligence'.  But since I was tongue-tied due to Phobia, it had been a long time since anything witty had left my mouth.  Nor did I have a college campus to market myself.  What else was I good at?  Basketball, but with an asterisk.  I was good, but I wasn't 'that good'.  Furthermore, I played basketball in obscurity.  To date, not one woman had ever seen me play.  In other words, Basketball could not be considered "Turf".  So now Reality kicked in.  When it came to women, I had no skill.  You can say that again.

One important suggestion was cooking ability.  This was given the highest rating.  Claiming that women go gaga over men who can cook, this was the author's first-date go-to move.  Noting the proximity of the dining room to the bedroom, Deane's suggestion was wine them, dine them, flatter them, take them to bed.  Unfortunately, my idea of cooking was peanut butter and jelly.  Nor did I have any interest in learning.  But I understood the principle.

Deane's next suggestion was to develop the ability to lie to women with a straight face.  Every woman wants something, so promise to deliver it in a persuasive way even if it involved deceit.  Deane had a mantra he referred to as the Four F's.  "Find them, Fool them, Fuck them, Forget Them."

Deane claimed that nice guys finish last because they are weak, then added that women are trained to say no.  However a little 'don't take no for an answer' persuasion has been known to change a girl's mind.  And if that doesn't work, as a last resort use Force.  She will thank you later.  Deane claimed women possess unconscious programming that responds favorably to male dominance.  However, since most women are unaware of this programming, do not be alarmed if women fail to agree with his clever insight.  Their conscious mind will always object.  However, once a little arm-twisting evokes her previously hidden desire, the heat of moment will override her good girl instincts.  Deane suggested all men test his theory, then prepare to be amazed when she gives in.

As we walked to my car after dinner, I casually asked Yolanda if she liked to shoot pool.  When she said yes, it was time to spring the jaws of my trap.  I challenged her to a game.  Yolanda's eyes grew wide and then a big smile crossed her face.  I guess she didn't figure me for a pool shark.  Considering I only had the table for a week, she was right.

"Oh Rico, poor Rico, are you sure about this?  You will beee sorry."

"Knock it off, Yolanda, you don't scare me."

"Okay, vato, you're on.  You are making a beeg mistake.  I like to shoot pool.  I am dangerous, I am a hotshot.  You don't want to play me!  I will make you look bad.  Oops, too late now.  You shouldn't have asked.  A beeg meestake!"

So far I had not mentioned the location.  Although I did not know how to cook, the Mistress Book had given me an idea.  My pool table was eight feet away from the bedroom. 

We were almost home when Yolanda's curiosity kicked in.  "Okay, Rico, where are we going?" 

"How about my apartment?"  

Yolanda stared at me impassively for a second.  "You have a pool table in your apartment?"

When I nodded, Yolanda never blinked an eyelash.  She just grinned.

"Okay, muchacho, you will be sorry you ever messed with me.  I will clean your clock, I will keeeck your ass beeg-time!""

No truer words have ever been spoken.  It quickly became obvious that Yolanda was no stranger to a pool cue.  Yolanda didn't just beat me, she annihilated me.  So what was my excuse?  For one thing, I was extremely nervous.  In addition I had badly underestimated her skill level.  Typical male ego, I had no idea this mere wisp of a girl could be this good.  However, I could not have cared less about losing.  That is because this incredibly brash girl had a stunning and quite unexpected way of advertising her charms. 

I won't lie.  I was sorely tempted to use force.  However, I accepted Yolanda's refusal without protest.  I had too much respect for women to defy my code of honor.  In my book, 'no' means 'no'.  So we left immediately.  In the car, my heart was pounding.  What in the world had gone wrong??  Given her brazen display, I had been certain she would say yes.  My disappointment was almost unbearable.  Why did she turn me down?  What woman claims to be faithful to her boyfriend after prancing around practically naked?

Soon enough we were at her house.  I walked Yolanda to the door praying she might invite me in.  When she opened her door first without saying goodbye, my hopes rose.  However, no such luck.  Yolanda turned to me and grinned. 

"Hey, Reeeco, I am so sorry I beat you so bad.  I feel bad, you're a man, you're supposed to beat me.  But don't blame me, I warned you!  Now I am your worst nightmare [the second understatement of the century].  Go home and practice your stroke.  You never know, maybe I will give you another chance.  If you can beat me, maybe next time your luck will change."

With a little peck on my cheek, Yolanda went into her house and closed the door.  When I got home, I stared at the pool table in disgust.  Yolanda was my worst nightmare all right.  Is it possible to desire and despise a woman at the same time?  Of course it is.  However, this was new to me.  I had never met a prick tease before.  Caught totally off guard, I wanted to murder Yolanda.  Or maybe commit myself to a mental hospital for taking such a big chance.  Homicidal or suicidal, take your pick.  Sure enough, just as Yolanda predicted, the nightmares came.  The tough guy side of my brain spent the night chewing out the decent side of my brain for being such a chump.  Horny, lonely, disappointed, filled with doubt, I could barely stand to live with myself for letting what should have been a sure thing get away without a single tough guy peep.  

Yolanda had suggested I try again, so when I saw her at work the following day, I asked her out for a third date.  Yolanda readily accepted, but not before rubbing it in again how badly she had beaten me.  Expecting a rematch, I spent Thursday night practicing furiously for our Friday night rematch.  Only one problem.  Yolanda was not home when I drove up.  I was incredulous that she had stood me up for our date.  I waited for half an hour, growing ever more furious as each minute passed.  I returned home and spent a long night on my back staring at the ceiling in frustration.   My hapless Nice Guy side was replaced by the Tough Guy message.  The words 'no more groveling' played on endless loop.  Ordinarily I shied away from confrontation, a bad habit that had allowed Vanessa to walk all over me.  One thing I had learned in therapy was to demand Respect from a woman.  Not once had I confronted Vanessa about her lies.  That encouraged her to lie again.  And again.  So I had made up my mind to confront women from here on out.   Determined to get an apology or at least an explanation, I decided I would drive back over to Yolanda's house the following day.  So what if she blew me off?  At least I would have the satisfaction of standing up to her, something I had never done with Vanessa.

On Saturday afternoon, July 20, I drove to Yolanda's house to chew her out.  As I neared her house, I was proud of myself.  Meet Mr. Tough Guy.  Today I would actually stand up to a girl who had rejected me not once, but twice.  No more groveling!

To my surprise, I spotted Yolanda as I drove up.  She was standing in her front yard talking amiably with a rotund 300 pound biker guy.  They appeared to be examining his shiny Harley-Davidson motorcycle on the driveway.  The man was a short, squat Mexican with heavily-tattooed arms and a massive stomach.  Considering Yolanda was a slender girl and this guy was larger than a whale, the two were so completely mismatched I assumed the man was a neighbor or a chum of some sort. 

I parked my Volkswagen Beetle on the curb, then walked over in a huff to demand an explanation.  Yolanda saw me coming and waved hi with considerable enthusiasm.  Her reception was so warm and energetic that I was confused.  Did I get my wires crossed?  Did I misunderstand what night our date was scheduled for? 

"Ola, Rico!  I want you to meet Robbie.  Robbie es mi novio, my boyfriend."

Her boyfriend?  Taking another look, I was aghast.  Yolanda turned me down for this guy!?!?  I was so stunned, I nearly tripped as I drew near.  When Robbie stuck out his hand, I had no choice but reluctantly shake the hand of my unexpected rival. 

So what about my tough guy speech?  Forget it.  I was speechless.  Besides, it didn't matter.  Before I could say a word, Yolanda took the lead.  In her usual animated style, she exclaimed, "Hey, muchacho, I am soooo sorry about last night.  I meesed my ride home from work and Robbie had to come get me.  Oh, Rico, Rico, will you ever forgive me?  Puleeeze?"

I stood there frozen.  Too confused to go through with my confrontation, I muttered something lame about dropping by to make sure Yolanda was okay.  I was desperate to make sense of the situation as a million thoughts hit at once.  If this guy was really her boyfriend, why would Yolanda discuss standing me up for a date in front of him?  Was this some sort of game?  Was I being set up?  Meanwhile Robbie's big grin indicated he knew exactly who I was.  I didn't get it.  Wasn't this biker guy supposed to threaten me for making a move on his woman?  Instead, here he was pumping my hand like I was his mucho favorito amigo on Planet Tierra.

Boyfriend?!?  I don't get it!!  How on earth does a woman who looks like Yolanda pick this overweight gang banger to be her steady?  It was even worse than that.  There was something about Robbie's smug face and Yolanda's cat ate the fish grin that suggested Robbie had spent the night.  More than likely, they were outside because Robbie was getting ready to leave after a big night.  This blew my mind.  First Yolanda teases me upside down and sideways, shows me her panties, turns down my proposition, then casually invites me to ask again sometime.  But Yolanda has no problem sleeping with a guy who makes Jabba the Hut look skinny.

Due to my confusion, all fight drained out of me, taking my Tough Guy personality with it.  I was an idiot to walk into this trap.  Why didn't I see this coming?  I noticed Robbie ahead of time, but failed to give him a second thought.  I really must lack any sort of innate common sense.  Overwhelmed with embarrassment, I just wanted to crawl back to my car and get the hell out of here.  So I apologized for interrupting their conversation and meekly told Yolanda I would talk to her next week at the job.  With a short nod to Robbie, I turned abruptly and walked briskly back to my car.  Now I was angry at myself for being rude on top of everything else.  I could not take this anymore.  I needed to go some place and lick my wounds. 

So... are we done with this story?  No, of course not.  We are just getting warmed up!

Serious

When I got to my car, it would not start. 

I am completely serious.  My car would not start!!  I turned the key.  Whirr, whirr.  The engine turned over, but wouldn't catch.  I tried again.  Whirr, whirr.  Still no luck.  Panic-stricken at being stranded here in No Man's Land, I tried a third time.  Whirr, whirr.  The engine turned over slowly, a sure sign the battery was running down.  One more try and the battery might be dead.  Oh my God, I am already flustered out of my mind and now I am stuck in enemy territory!  I was fit to be tied.  The car had started every time in Colorado.  It had started every time in Houston.  But now at the worst possible moment the car had stalled.  How can this be?  How is this possible?  Pounding my head against the steering wheel, I had never felt more cursed in my life.  This was beyond Epic.  This was Tragic.  

At this point, Robbie and Yolanda strolled over with big grins on their faces.  They knew what that whirring sound meant and were clearly tickled by my predicament.  Yolanda poked her head through my open window and said, "Yo, Rico, you need a leetle puuush?"

Putting sense before pride, I smiled wanly.  "Yes, Yolanda, that would be great.  Thank you."

I got out of the car.  "Yolanda, why don't you trade places with me?  You can work the clutch and that will free me to help Robbie."

Robbie and I quickly got the small VW Bug moving.  Like a seasoned pro, Yolanda engaged the gear and the car came to life immediately.  As Yolanda got out with the motor running, she somehow managed to let her skirt ride up high on her dark-tanned thigh.  Just in case I was still interested, it was the return of the Yolanda Peep Show.  My mouth dropped open.  Yes, I was still interested, but at the same time I had never hated the utter cruelty of my life quite like this before.  Did Yolanda do that on purpose?  Then I noticed Robbie had also seen her flash me.  Our eyes locked for a second.  When he just kind of grinned at me, I was beyond flustered.  What is it with these two?  For the life of me, I was morbidly fascinated to know what their connection was.  However, now was not the time. 

After thanking them both profusely, I jumped in the car and drove away as fast as humanly possible.  Yolanda and Robbie waved goodbye complete with highly amused smiles.  Peeking in the mirror before turning the corner, I looked back and saw them convulsed with laughter.  I burned with shame.  Just when I thought my life could not possibly get worse, it had exceeded my worst imagination.

So we can assume this is enough bad luck for one day, right?  You have no idea.  This was the Twilight Zone.  This was the day when anything that could go wrong would go wrong. 

I was in no mood to risk my car not starting again, so I headed home.  I slammed the door to my apartment and screamed at the top my lungs.  How was it possible for me to lose Yolanda to that giant blob?  Not only was I humiliated, this made no sense.  This good-looking, big-breasted toothpick could have any man she wanted and she chose a human bowling ball over me?  Was I really that pathetic?  No matter how badly my face was scarred, surely I was still better looking than that overweight biker guy Yolanda called her boyfriend.  I wanted to look in the mirror, but decided not to.  Ever since the Debbie incident in Denver, I had I avoided mirrors like the plague.  As I have said repeatedly, my acne-scarred face was a major reason for my feelings of inferiority.  Several people promised me the scars did not bother them, but their encouragement did no good, especially now with my self-esteem down to zero.  I seethed with jealousy, rage, and a sense of worthlessness.  Such was the Curse of Vanessa. 

Fearful I must be living under a dark cloud, the safest thing to do was stay home.  I tried shooting pool, but it did no good.  The pool table reminded me too much of Yolanda.  The irony was killing me.  Here I am, a guy who is terrified of a woman's rejection.  So naturally I find myself tangled up with Yolanda, a crazy maneater who has taken my fear of rejection to a startling new depth.  I could not decide which was worse, Debbie in Denver or Yolanda with Robbie. 

At that moment I was struck by an overwhelming sense of eeriness.  Why, I asked, did my car stall at the worst possible time?  It defied comprehension.  Yes, during graduate school I considered my string of bad luck with women to be excessive.  However, I never considered a 'Supernatural' origin.  For the entire year, I had interpreted my bad luck strictly through the lens of Psychology. 

"My bad luck is a self-fulfilling prophecy.  Negative past experience has conditioned me to believe I will fail with women, so I unconsciously do things to reinforce my belief." 

I assume many of my Readers share my interest in Psychology.  So let me say that I agree a strong argument can be made that my problems with women can be explained by the principles of negative self-image.  However, the failure of my car to start at such a critical time could not be explained by the laws of Psychology. 

This was the moment I transferred the Curse of Vanessa from the realm of Reality to the realm of the Supernatural.  I no longer blamed my Epic Losing Streak on Pavlov, I blamed it on Voodoo.  I had the weirdest feeling about this.  Something very strange was going on in my life.  The Mistress Book was weird enough, but Yolanda was absolutely THE WORST POSSIBLE WOMAN I could have met during my Rejection Phobia crisis.  And now the stalled car had made things even worse.  In fact, the Stalled Car was so improbably weird I wondered if it was another omen from God.  If so, what might be the message?

Having my car quit in such a highly charged situation had me spooked.  My car had not failed to start a single time in memory, so I was staring at a coincidence of the highest magnitude.  If the Universe had decided to torture me, what better way than to disable my car long enough for my tormentors to sidle over?  Bewildered by the frightening sense that my stalled car was no accident, I was unable to settle down.  Plagued by questions I could not answer and desperate to rid myself of this acute anxiety, I decided to take a long walk around the neighborhood.  It was Saturday night and I could not bear to stay cooped up one minute longer.  Maybe the exercise would help me let off some steam.  Besides, what could possibly go wrong?  That turned out to be the single most ironic thought of my life.

Lynn smiled.  "By all means, please try.  But are you sure you can you do this?  The window is very high."

Still haunted by the memory of breaking into Vanessa's house, I thought it best not to reveal my expertise as a cat burglar. 

"Don't worry, Lynn, I think I can pull this off.  However, I need something to stand on.  I need to find a trash can or something similar."

We looked around, but there was nothing in sight that would do the trick.  Lynn said, "What if I gave you a lift?"

I weighed 200 pounds, so the thought of a girl lifting me up was pretty far-fetched.  I looked at Lynn skeptically.  "Are you sure about this?"

"Let me put my hands together and give you a boost."

A woman was going to lift me?  Yeah, sure.  Lynn was a big girl, definitely not petite.  I suppose it wouldn't hurt to try.  Lynn clenched her hands together and I put my right foot inside for a boost.  To my surprise, she was able to support me just long enough to push the window opening a little bit higher.  I jumped back to the ground to let Lynn regain her strength.

Lynn said, "That opening is not wide enough.  You can't climb through that."

"No, but now I can get one hand inside the window to grip the ledge.  While I hang, I can use my other hand to push the window higher."

On my second try, I pushed the window high enough to climb through, then jumped back down.  Lynn stared at me wide-eyed. 

"Holy smokes, Rick, I had no idea that window could be opened so easily.  If you had a ladder, you could be inside in one minute or less.  That is pretty scary.  A girl could get attacked that way."

"Good point.  To be on the safe side, from now on lock the window.  Then get a hide-a-key in case you get absent-minded again."

Lynn nodded.  "That's a good idea.  Are you ready to try again?"

I used my third boost from Lynn to put both hands inside the window frame and get a firm grip.  From there, I struggled mightily to pull my body halfway through the opening.  After resting on the ledge for a moment, I resumed my effort.  I was able to wiggle in head first a little at a time.  Finally I was able to reach down and put my hands on the kitchen sink.  That allowed me enough balance to squirm the rest of my body through. It had taken three tries and ten minutes to complete this exhausting work, but I had succeeded.  I walked through the apartment and unlocked the front door. To be perfectly honest, I was impressed with myself.  In addition to my pride, I had a hunch it would be worth it.  Sure enough, Lynn was right outside the door waiting for me.  Seeing her beam with delight, I melted inside.  It had been a long time since a girl had smiled at me like that. 

Lynn gushed breathlessly, "Oh, Sir Rick, congratulations!  Such a noble deed on my behalf and I am so grateful.  You are my knight in shining armor!!  You deserve a reward!"

Lynn impulsively wrapped her arms around me and gave me a big kiss on the cheek.  Wow!  We were a lot closer than strangers had a right to be.  Does this mean what I hope it means?  My imagination was running wild.  It had been a long time...

"Rick, you must be exhausted!  That did not look easy.  I know I couldn't have done it.  Now that you are here, please stay a while.  Come in and let me get you a beer.  I'm sure you're thirsty."

I was ecstatic.  This was exactly the invitation I hoped for.  I dreaded going home and who could blame me?  The memory of Yolanda had already poisoned that pool table.  Plus my inner demons were surely awaiting me.  The recurring vision of Robbie having sex with Yolanda plus their side-splitting laughter at my stalled car predicament was maddening.  But why think about that when I had Lynn to cheer me up?  Right now this friendly young lady wanted me to stick around, so I followed her inside.

After insisting I sit on the couch, Lynn asked, "Do you like Motown?"

"Sure, of course."

"What about Marvin Gaye?"

"Marvin Gaye is awesome.  'Heard it Through the Grapevine' is my all-time favorite song."

Lynn played Marvin Gaye's Let's Get it On album, then left to fetch us both a beer.  As subliminal messages go, interesting choice of music.  I also noticed Lynn draw the curtains and turn off two living room lights.  These were very good signs.  If I didn't know better, I was going to get lucky tonight.  Unless of course Lynn turned out to be another tease like Yolanda.  Suddenly nervous, I said a silent prayer.  Not another Yolanda, please.  Let this woman wrap her arms around me and maybe I can escape this neverending desperation.  Let tonight be the night I break the Epic Losing Streak. 

My thoughts were interrupted when Lynn got up from the couch.  "Do you know how to dance, Rick?"  She beckoned me to join her.

Instantly the memory of Connie Kill Shot kicked in.  This was not a good development.  Lynn's current opinion had me perched high on a pedestal.  Well aware I could not dance a lick, why risk my lofty status?  But when she insisted, I decided it wouldn't hurt to try. 

"Lynn, I confess I am not much of a dancer, but I would like to learn.  Can you show me?"

"Sure, I can teach anyone!"

Lynn surprised me.  I thought she was going to show me a few Soul Train dance moves.  However, when I saw Lynn wanted me in her arms, who was I to object?  She grabbed my right hand and put it around her back, then she wrapped her left arm around me.  Then she grabbed my free hand and brought it in.  I had never slow danced in my life, so I immediately tensed up.  Sensing my reluctance, Lynn kept a discrete distance.  Before I knew it, we were moving to Marvin Gaye in the darkened living room.  To my relief, slow dancing was not hard at all.  All I had to do walk slowly taking small steps.  Even I could do that much.  Despite the gloom, I could not help noticing again how good-looking Lynn was.  I trembled with anticipation.  This was too good to be true. 

When it came to women, lately nothing ever seemed to go right.  For that reason, I was more fearful than confident.  There's an old saying.  If you want to know why someone is paranoid, follow them around a while.  The memory of Kenny pounding on Vanessa's door was the perfect example.  Christine, Debbie, and now Yolanda were further examples of promising situations that turned sour.  It seemed like every time I could taste success between my lips, something crazy always happened to ruin my life.  Would Lynn be any different?  Feeling insecure, I asked myself why a girl who looked like Lynn was alone on a Saturday night.  So many things had gone wrong over the past year I was almost certain something would go wrong again tonight.  Women who looked like Vanessa or Yolanda always had other men hanging around.  Surely Lynn had a boyfriend.  Or maybe a dozen boyfriends.  If so, I prayed none of them came pounding on the door to interrupt where this was headed.  Feeling my pulse race, damn it, for once, how about a happy ending?

With my hands on her hips and her arms around my neck, Lynn was definitely in the mood.  We were close, but not touching.  By the way, Lynn was leading.  As I said, she was not exactly petite.  Lynn moved me around without much effort.  It was weird being pushed around by a woman.  Speaking of happy, Lynn was happy.  Very happy.  Lynn hummed Marvin Gaye word for word. 

"Let's get it on
Ah, baby, let's get it on!"

Just when I thought we were about to embrace, the music changed to something up-tempo.  Lynn let go and took a step back.  Instantly my heart sank.  Now what?

"Rick, I love to dance!  In the black clubs, we do something called the Swing-Out.  It's not too hard, you can do it."

Lynn began to lead me through partner dance moves similar to Swing dancing.  Holding my left hand, she moved close, then she moved away.  Now she raised her hand and did an underarm turn.  I tried to copy her, but this open style was complicated.  I could not figure out what Lynn was doing with her feet.  I stumbled repeatedly, probably because I was guessing what to do instead of feeling.  Fortunately Lynn was patient.  She didn't want me to quit, so I tried again.  We stayed with it a good ten minutes, but I wasn't getting the hang of the Swing-Out.  Connie Kill Shot returned to mind.   Haunted by another nightmare from the past, I recalled the vast humiliation I had felt from being such a lousy dancer.  Feeling clumsy and foolish, obviously the passage of time since college had not improved my dancing ability.  Furthermore, after what took place at Yolanda's house this afternoon, I was not feeling brave. 

"I'm sorry, Lynn, but I'm just not getting this.  Maybe I need to be black.  I used to watch Soul Train and wished I could move like all those great dancers.  The people on that show had dancing in their blood."

Lynn nodded in agreement.  "Oh, I know just what you mean.  I grew up watching Soul Train.  That's where I learned my moves.  But you're doing okay, Rick.  I think you're just nervous.  You are giving up way too easily.  Let's try again."

I shook my head.  My self-esteem could not take any more failure, especially not in front of a girl I was trying to impress. 

"No, I'm sorry, Lynn, but I am really confused.  I have no idea what you are doing.  I don't know which foot to move or where to step.  I realize you are trying to help, but I am clearly not catching on.  Listen, I've had a tough day.  I'm in no mood for more aggravation, not tonight anyway.  How about a rain check?  I want to try again, but let's wait for a time when I am in a better frame of mind."

With a heavy heart, I figured Lynn would use this as a reason to send me packing.  Expecting the worst, I got ready to leave and spare myself a humiliating send-off.  To my surprise, Lynn insisted I stay. 

"Rick, please don't go.  Let me get you another beer."

I was very disheartened.  When it came to dancing, I had just confirmed again I was born with two left feet.  This was a bad sign, the same sort of bad omen as losing the pool game to Yolanda.  In the clutch, I couldn't do anything right.  Feeling inadequate, my confidence took a major hit.  Was Lynn going to turn me down too?  Why would any girl want to sleep with a loser like me?  When Lynn returned, she was about to hand my beer, but suddenly put my beer on the table instead.  She grabbed my hand, then spun me to her like a yo-yo.  I was shocked at her strength. 

With me in her arms, Lynn whispered, "I understand if you don't want to dance.  Don't worry about it, I have a better idea." 

Lynn put her left hand to my face and initiated a soft kiss.  At last!  However, a warning message hit.  The kiss didn't feel right.  Something was wrong, the thrill was missing.  Having never kissed a black girl before, I wondered if they kissed differently.  Her closeness did not excite me either.  However, I was in no mood to give up so fast.  This had been a bad day, maybe that was the problem.  If I hung in there, things would surely improve.  Sensing my hesitation, Lynn took matters into her own hands.  She led me to her bed and pulled me on top of her.  We resumed kissing, but something was still wrong.  I was having real trouble getting turned on.  We continued to kiss, but I felt no enthusiasm.  This had never happened before.  Considering my long dry spell, where was the passion?

I was very confused.  Ordinarily I would be throbbing with desire, but I did not have an erection.  Lynn still had her jeans on and so did I.  Feeling awkward, I was in no hurry to undress.  We had been at this for two minutes and I still had no appetite.  I had just decided to disengage when Lynn aggressively pulled my hand to her pelvic area.  She moaned as she rubbed herself using my hand.  To my alarm, I discovered a mysterious bulge down there.  What on earth?  A giant tumor?  No, don't be absurd.  I was so confused.  Don't laugh, but I briefly wondered if black women were built differently.  That made no sense.  What could it be?  Then it hit me.  In a blinding flash, the answer came like a ton of bricks.  Oh shit!  What have I gotten myself into? 

Withdrawing from Lynn's embrace, I swiftly sat up.  "Uh, Lynn, we need to talk."

Upset, Lynn grabbed a pillow and covered herself.  Or should I say 'himself'? 

"I know, Rick, I know.  Bad move.  Not cool.  I should not have forced things.  I could tell you weren't into this.  I was selfish and I took a chance.  Now I am incredibly sorry.  Will you forgive me?" 

Before I could answer, Lynn covered his face with a different pillow and began to cry softly.  I groaned.  If this doesn't take the cake, nothing will.  Unbelievable.  I had just been seduced by a drag queen.  How could I have been so blind?  It never once crossed my mind that Lynn was a man until I felt that bulge.  Not once!  In my defense, it was dark.  Furthermore Lynn was too damn good-looking.  I suppose I was so lonely I saw what I wanted to see.  Even when I noticed how strong Lynn was, it never crossed my mind what was going on.  Just then I let out a wry laugh.  The last thing I said to myself when I left my apartment was that nothing else could possibly go wrong.  Hmm.  Obviously the Universe had a perverse sense of humor.  Remind me to never say 'never' again. 

Lynn finally stopped crying and put down the pillow.  I took a close look trying to figure out how I could have been so fooled.  I shook my head.   No matter how hard I tried, I still saw a woman across from me, a very beautiful woman I might add.  What a shame.  For a moment there I thought I had snapped my losing streak.  Recalling how high my hopes had been, I was full of regret.  I don't know what I had ever done to deserve this endless string of disappointment.

Seeing me stare in bewilderment, Lynn lifted the pillow and resumed crying.  A flash of pity shot through me.  Of course I was upset at being deceived, but I was not particularly mad.  What Lynn had done was wrong, but I still liked her, uh, him.  In fact, I felt sorry for Lynn.  He... she... whatever... was crumpled up into a fetal ball.  Lynn was crying into one pillow and had another one wrapped around his body.  I sensed Lynn did not have an easy life, maybe even worse than mine.  Lynn was a gentle soul.  I actually felt an odd sort of kinship.  For the first time in a long time I realized I wasn't the only person struggling to fit into a heartless world.  Lynn finally calmed down.  I had some questions to ask, so I suggested we move to the kitchen table.  After we sat down, we each reached for our beer cans to steady our nerves.  Lynn was so apologetic that I could not be angry.  In fact, I found myself more curious than anything else.  Lynn was very candid about his strange lifestyle.  He admitted he was very lonely.  His loneliness made him take risky chances.  After hearing him out, our talk reached a pause.  It was time to confront my fears.

"Lynn, I was completely fooled.  I had no idea you were a guy and that worries me.  I need to know if you think I'm gay."

Lynn smiled wanly.  "Take my word for it, if you were gay, you would be naked and we would still be in bed.  Men go crazy over me.  Again and again, all night long.  I suppose you could be bi if you gave it a try, but I don't think that's your basic nature."

"What is 'bi'?"

"'Bi' is short for bisexual.  You know, AC-DC, swing both ways."

I nodded.  "Ah, now I get it.  How would I know if I am gay?"

"Do you ever fantasize about having sex with men?"

"No."

"Do you ever find yourself alone in a room with a handsome guy and feel a desire to kiss him?

"I have that problem with women, but not with men."

Lynn smiled.  "Then I wouldn't worry about it." 

"I have another question.  Am I the first guy to ever fall for your disguise?"

"Oh, heaven's no.  You would be shocked.  I have very good luck with men.  Men are so horny, I fool them all the time.  Some decide they like it and continue, others disengage like you.  But most of them stay with it.  I never know how they will react till the action starts.  But I did sense your reluctance during our first kiss.  I should not have taken it so far, but you were so cute, I couldn't help myself."

I smiled.  So Lynn thinks I'm cute.  Too bad I couldn't find a woman willing to reach the same conclusion.  Knowing I fit the profile of horny men who are easily fooled, I squirmed a little. 

"Tell me something.  How many of these guys know you are a man ahead of time?"

"Some do, but most don't.  Guys are clueless.  They see what they want to see."

I nodded.  That described me.  Tonight I saw what I wanted to see.  On the other hand, even armed with the knowledge that Lynn was a guy, I still couldn't see it.  He possessed exotic features that projected the illusion of a beautiful woman.

"Lynn, I had no idea you were a man.  I mean, how do you do it?  You look really good!"

When Lynn smiled broadly at my compliment, I laughed.  I had never seen a black person blush before.  He was obviously feeling better.  I wanted to understand how I fell for his trick, so I put a finger under Lynn's chin and lifted his face to the light.  As I took a good look, Lynn blushed again.  I was incredulous.  Even knowing what I knew, I could not see a man in front of me.  The makeup was too perfect.  The facial structure was soft, delicate.  The smile was alluring, the lips soft and inviting.  Lynn was as attractive as any woman I had ever looked at.  Furthermore, in his demure mannerisms, Lynn was so feminine he came across as a woman. 

"Lynn, you are too damn beautiful!  I mean that.  There are a lot of women out there who would kill to look as good as you do."

"Thank you, Rick.  You should see me when I have on all my make-up.  I am an expert at make-up.  You would never guess that I am not a woman."

I grinned at his confidence.  It was amusing to find that drag queens share the notorious vanity of women.  "I don't doubt it.  You are quite the knockout."

Serious

There are certain skills which on occasion might stimulate a girl to turn her head in your direction instead of the other guy who is competing for her.  Dancing is one of them.   Women need to see a man perform in a situation where he can stand out.  A dance floor happens to be a very convenient location to show off.   It is the same thing as a muscle-bound lifeguard on the beach, but with one great advantage.  On a dance floor, a man can put his arms around the woman immediately. 

Very few men have a clue about the power of dance.  Dinner, roses, chocolate, jewelry, flattery, cool pickup lines,  take your pick.  I agree those methods have their place.  However, in certain situations there is no easier way to meet a girl than to simply ask her to dance.  This is the fastest legal way to get a lady you don't know in your arms. 

However, if you intend to impress her, you cannot be average.  Stomping on her toes won't cut it.  You need to know what you are doing ahead of time.  Learn to dance and put some effort into it.  I won't say every man can be a great dancer, but if you put your mind to it, most men can become good dancers.   Given the stakes of the game and the effort involved as slight as it is, there is no reason why a man should not become a good or at least tolerable dancer.

-- Jim Deane, The Mistress Book

When my day began, I had faced a Fork in the Road with two ways to solve my loneliness and fear of a woman's rejection.  I had chosen what I assumed was the easy way out.  No such luck.  Thanks to Yolanda, my fear of a woman's rejection was worse than it had ever been.  That left only one door still open: Dance Lessons. 

I swallowed hard.  Personally, I would have never picked this route.  Past experience made it clear that dancing was not my cup of tea.  On the other hand, I had three Supernatural Events to suggest God was guiding me in this direction. 

Mistress Book:  Omen
Stalled Car:  Divine Intervention
Drag Queen:  Messenger

I asked myself if I had interpreted these signals correctly.  How was I supposed to know what these events meant?   Although my instinct suggested 'Divine Intervention', 'Omen', and 'Divine Messenger', this could very easily be my imagination gone haywire. 

Right or wrong, when all was said and done, I believed dance lessons were God's Will.  But what difference did it make if I was wrong?  Deep down I had always wanted to learn to dance.  I could very easily visualize how asking a girl to dance and having he accept would be a very pleasant experience.  Given my interest, even if my Supernatural hunch was off-base, it wouldn't hurt to try.  Who knows, maybe I was not as bad as I thought I was.  Besides, with Yolanda gone, I could not think of another option.  On Monday, I located a dance studio.  My first lesson was scheduled for next Saturday.