By Mary Ann Davis (Montreal, QC)

Going Out and Coming Out:

I had never actually dated a woman.  I mean, how many lesbians could there be in Thetford Mines, Quebec?  Not many, unless you counted the trucker women who hung out at the bus depot bar, but they were just scary. 

Then there was Nancy.  She was a couple of years older than me, and had the most beautiful fuchsia coloured mohawk.  Everyone thought she was a little weird, but at 17 I thought she was God's gift to this earth. 

One night with my fake ID in hand, three weeks allowance and my hairdo à la Tears for Fears, I made my way to the local bar.  My heart fluttered when I spotted Nancy; she was absolutely beautiful.  I immediately called over the waiter and asked him to bring her a drink.  I had imagined this moment so many times.  When she came over to thank me, I presumed this was the beginning of our date. 

I gawked attentively as she offered me two relentless hours of analysis of the economic health of European countries, and the influence Ronald Reagan's presidency had on world economy. 

Suddenly a woman dressed like Boy George sat down beside Nancy.  My existence forgotten and replaced by a gender bender.  How could I compete?  I grabbed my coat, and dragged the chains of rejection and humiliation all the way home.  The aftershocks of my first coming out experience would haunt me and my ego for many years to come.

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