Free Ain't Gonna Be the Same Fool Twice by April Sinclair

degree.”
    She extended her hand. “I’m Traci.”
    I gave Traci the black handshake, just to let her know that I was cool. I liked the feel of her firm grip.
    â€œI’m Stevie.”
    â€œSo, Miss Stevie, what’s the women’s scene like back in Chicago?” Traci asked, popping her fingers.
    I liked the way Traci’s voice sounded. It was smooth like molasses. I’d always been into nice voices.
    â€œI’ve been away at school for four years.”
    â€œDidn’t you check it out on weekends and holidays?”
    â€œNot really. I’m sort of new to all of this.”
    â€œWell, welcome to ‘the Life.’”
    â€œHey, like I said, I’m just visiting. I’m not ready to sign on the dotted line or anything.”
    â€œSo, do you call yourself experimenting or what?”
    I shrugged my shoulders. “Do you have a problem with experimenters?”
    â€œNo, hey, my lab is open.”
    I didn’t know what to say, so I gulped the last of my wine and glanced around the room. It was full of women dancing up a storm.
    â€œYou look like you’re in culture shock. Or was it something I said?”
    â€œI’m more shocked that a church would allow lesbians to hold a dance in their building. I don’t care if they are Unitarians. This would never happen in Chicago, even on the North Side, and certainly not downstate. Although the women here do remind me of farmhands.”
    â€œWe’re feminists, you know how we are.”
    â€œI didn’t mean any offense. I’m used to hippies from my college days. But hippies are about played out, where I’m from.” I looked down at my powder-blue-and-white-striped top with see-through sleeves. “I guess people look at me and think I’m dressed weird.”
    Traci flashed her white teeth. I could feel the warmth of her smile. “I didn’t think you were from around here. San Franciscans tend to wear dark colors. And we wouldn’t be caught dead in white shoes.”
    I glanced at my pants and sandals.
    â€œNot even in the summertime?”
    Traci shook her head. “We don’t have a traditional summer.”
    â€œYeah, I’ve noticed. I like to have frozen out at Fisherman’s Wharf Thursday.”
    â€œHey, we laugh at the fools shivering in their shorts, waiting for the cable cars.”
    â€œWell, tonight I wore long pants and a sweater.”
    â€œI heard that. You say you might’ve been a fool a couple days back. But you ain’t gonna be the same fool twice.”
    â€œYou got it.”
    â€œLet me throw that away for you.” Traci tossed my cup and pulled me onto the dance floor toward a soulful beat. For some reason, I felt comfortable with her.
    I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t having fun dancing to the Motown oldies with Traci. And I’d be lying if I said she wasn’t cute. I’d danced with girlfriends before, when we were learning a new dance, but this felt different. Different from dancing with a man, different from anything that I’d ever experienced.
    A wild dancer accidently bumped into me. She apologized while I held my breath to block out her sour odor.
    â€œThere are some real stompers in here, huh,” I commented to Traci.
    â€œYou know they tend to overdo it when it comes to dancing.”
    â€œThey’re not so big on deodorant, though, huh?”
    â€œStevie, we’re into being natural. We’d rather smell funk than perfume.”
    â€œDifferent strokes for different folks.” I shrugged. I know they say when in Rome, do as the Romans do. But that’s easier said than done, I thought. ’Cause I can’t get into funk. I take a bath or shower every day and yes, I do wish everybody did.
    â€œStevie, let’s say we blow this pop stand. I’ll give you a ride back to the City, OK? You are staying in the city, aren’t you?”
    Wait just a