Hit'n Those Notes Ch. 08

My makeup probably wasn't on point, but I really didn't give a shite... 'Don't believe me, just watch...' I sang while raising my hands above my head, shaking my ass, and moving my feet in no particular direction. Nothing should matter right now; I was enjoying myself, so stay the fuck away from me if your intentions were to bring me down!

Thursday, March 29th, 2:33 AM

We danced to a second song I really didn't know and half-way through it, Wyatt took my hand and we headed back towards our table. Our drinks were there, and I took a quick sip. It was mostly rum with a splash of Coke for color. My stomach protested, but not too much; I really should have ordered something to eat.

Wyatt had some kind of mixed drink also and two shot glasses; he slid one in front of me, yelling something like, "It'll remove hair from unwanted areas...," or something to that effect, I think.

How do you not crack up after hearing that? I did and hoped I was laughing at something funny; he was laughing. Of course I was the only one laughing with him, because there was no way anyone else could have heard that sitting around the table with the music booming. I looked at him and mouthed, 'What is this?'

He yelled, "To-kill-ya."

Tequila... Yikes! I'd had a few bad experiences with 'To-kill-ya', but feeling the way I did about how this day had gone, I picked up the shot glass, raised it - he raised his, we clinked shots together, and downed them, pounding the shot glasses on the table when done. That got us a couple looks and a few claps from those gathered at the table. The liquid didn't burn going down, so he must have ordered some kind of top-shelf brand; it was certainly smooth. I could feel it warming my insides going down. I just hope I could keep it down.

Our cocktail waitress walked by, and Wyatt held up two fingers while pointing to the two empty shot glasses. She got the message and looked around the table for any other orders. Michelle pointed to her glass of wine, while both Janet and Lisa nodded "No'.

The song 'Sucker', the club mix by the Jonas Brothers, began playing, and Wyatt was on his feet, pointing to Michelle, Janet, and Lisa. They weren't interested, but I stood, took his hand, and pulled him towards the dance floor. I wanted to get lost in dance and lose any thoughts of that fuck-tard, Tyler.

Deep into the song, Wyatt must have thought it was time to bust out his best dance moves, spinning twice like he'd had some dance training in the past and moving his hips with purpose. He was on fire and thoroughly enjoying himself. How fucking fun! I had a 'perma' grin on my face just watching him and did my best to keep up, though I didn't have much in the moves department that could compete.

At one point, he had his hands on my hips, and he was grinding on me from behind pretty seductively. It was no different than any number of the other couples dancing around us, and I'm sure it looked pretty sexual. I certainly wasn't holding back, and neither was he. We didn't care, and it certainly showed.

Not thirty seconds later, I was cracking up after a failed attempt to spin me had us nearly bonking our heads together. What saved that from happening was me pulling myself to his left, which resulted in me nearly knocking us both over. What a klutz I was! We got a few looks from those dancing around us, but they still didn't care.

I think Wyatt yelled, "She's drunk!" at one couple. I shook my head no at them and shouted, "He's drunk!" We ended up laughing and continuing to dance, moving away from those sticks-in-the-mud couples to continue getting jiggy wit it.

When the song ended and the next one began, another song I wasn't familiar with, he put his hands on my shoulder, leaned in, and pretty much yelled, "You good for another one?"

I leaned in close and said, "I need something to drink."

We returned to the table, and waiting for us were two shots. I didn't like my mixed drink - the harsh well rum with a splash of Coke just didn't taste good. When Wyatt slid the shot glass towards me, I smiled, and we repeated our previous routine, slamming the shot glasses on the table when done. We got the same applause from those around the table.

The music in this place was thumping, but the inability to hold even the slightest conversation with anyone was kind of annoying. Everyone did a lot of looking around, shrugging, and smiling, because unless you were speaking into someone's ear, there was no way they could hear you.

Case in point: the cocktail waitress. I asked for water three times before she understood. And I felt like I was yelling. I hated that and hoped I didn't come off as bitchy. Wyatt ordered a couple more shots, and I gave him a look. I wasn't going to get stinking loopy on tequila. I had next to nothing in my stomach, and with just the two shots in me, I wasn't feeling any pain. The next shot would be the last alcohol of the night for me.

'Sweet but Psycho' by Ava Max began playing, and this time I was up, pointing at those gathered to come out to the dance floor. No one moved. Thank God for Wyatt and him not letting me hang there! He guided me to the dance floor while holding my hips, and we began dancing like we didn't have a care in the world. We did some more grinding, he spun me a few times without throwing me off balance, and we laughed and laughed. It was crazy fun!

When the next song began to play, I recognized it, but the mix was way too techno. I slowed my dancing and looked at Wyatt, who had no clue what this song was. I was well into feeling the effects of those shots now and was feeling more relaxed than expected.

I leaned in close to him and said, "I don't like the mix of this song."

He looked at me confused; I shrugged, and before I could shake my head and say 'No', he pulled me to him and kissed me. It was a full-on lips, tongue probing and hungry for more kind of kiss...

I pulled away after a couple seconds, shocked, looking at him with a questioning look.

I looked around, and no one was really paying any attention to us. What the heck?! He looked flustered, then embarrassed, and said something I couldn't hear, but I did pick up the word 'Sorry' in reading his lips. The look on his face was the same from backstage before he kissed me - had he considered kissing me then?

My heart sank. I liked Wyatt, but not like that, like this... I had had enough guy problems to last well past the rest of this trip, and I instantly wondered if I had given him the wrong message.

When he didn't move, I took his hands and led him towards the back of the club. I could see where the bathrooms were and hoped it would be quieter there so we could talk. We walked into the hall leading to the bathrooms, and outside of the woman's bathroom door, I tried to soften my rejection of his advance a few moments ago.

"Wyatt, I really like you, but not...," I paused as two women went in the restroom, giving us a look as they did, "Just not in that way. I'm really, really sorry... I hope I didn't give you the wrong signals or something. You are absolutely wonderful, and any girl would be lucky to have you. I'm just... I'm a fucking mess right now and wouldn't wish my shit on anyone."

I know I was speaking loudly still, but with the volume of the music in the background, I still had to nearly shout every word.

Wyatt took a second before replying, "I'm sorry, Brea, I just... I thought there was something going on between us. Totally on me, and I apologize."

I took his hands and smiled, "No, no. No apologizes. Please... Can we not make this awkward or anything? Like we were before..."

"I can try, but it would be a lie to say you haven't hooked me a bit," he replied, smiling.

"Oh Wyatt... Throw me back; I'm not a keeper right now. I promise you that."

"Yeah, I doubt that Brea..."

I had plenty of Instagram and Tumblr friends who were Trans and had basically switched genders with their significant others. All were happy, healthy, and totally committed. I wanted to be happy, healthy, and committed, but I had never really thought about getting into a relationship with someone who wasn't a CIS male.

It wasn't that Wyatt wasn't male enough, but I hadn't really thought about being with someone who had also transitioned. AUGH! Did it matter that he was Trans? Of course not! What did matter was that I just wasn't attracted to him. Leza Howell's question about being attracted to women, whether Trans or CIS, came to mind. Again, not something I had given a lot of thought to either. I was firmly in the she/her pronoun camp and very much attracted to CIS men. God, why did you have to kiss me, Wyatt?!

We hugged briefly, not uncomfortably or anything super awkward, so that was good! He took my hands and kissed them, then turned to lead us back to our table. When we approached, we both put on smiles, while the others were either yelling to be heard in their conversations or just smiling back at us. There were two shot glasses at Wyatt's seat, and without hesitation he picked them both up, handed me one, and we repeated our earlier clinking of shot glasses and the slam of them back to the table when empty. We hugged, and this time it was nearly as nice as our pre-kiss hug. Would he feel differently later today? Would I? God, I need to get out of here.

We sat and watched the others around the table for maybe five minutes. When Wyatt put a hand on my leg, I took that as my cue to wrap up this evening. I thanked him for the shots and tried to pull out some money, but he told me to put it away. Of course, all of that was really both of us yelling at each other so we could be heard.

I waved to everyone around the table, saying 'Good night', which those good at reading lips caught. And that was it; I'm out of here, I thought, and I headed for the exit. I sure hoped Wyatt and I were cool; he really was a nice guy.

Maybe I should reconsider following in my Trans sister's footsteps and give him a chance? Then I thought about him being from Nashville, and that pretty much sealed it: don't start something you can't finish.

Thursday, March 29th, 3:03 AM

As soon as I exited the club, I huffed a heavy sigh of relief. My ears were ringing, and the silence outside of the club was maddening. As I turned towards the lobby, I felt a tap on my shoulder. When I turned to see who'd followed me out, thinking I hope it wasn't Wyatt. I also hoped it wasn't Tyler, because as loose as I was feeling, a confrontation with me wouldn't end well for him.

"Mr. Schultz..." I said, smiling.

"Miss Calloway..." he replied.

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Rachel M. Moore