IN THE MOTEL BAR

It can be the same with women, I thought.
High heels and low light can make all the difference in the world.
The right coiffure.  Some makeup.
A tiny skirt and a shit load of jewelry to add a little flash and sparkle.
A certain feminine effect achieved...how?  
Crossing the legs at the knee?  
A coy tilt of the head?  
"A wiggle in the walk and a giggle in the talk," like the song says?
Of course, we call 'em like we see 'em.  
All decked out, he looked like a she, and I wasn't the only one treating him as such.  
I was the only one, however, who took him up on the offer he'd been broadcasting all evening -- who left my seat at the bar to slide into his booth.
To giggle and tease and fondle and flirt.
With a man in a skirt.
I'd reminded myself of that -- that the sexy little thing that had my endorphins buzzing was a man in women's clothes.
But either it didn't matter or it mattered more than I wanted to admit.
Three scotches straight up hadn't hurt, either.