Lesbian Feminist Choral Concert: Boundaries.

The other week when I was at that lesbian feminist choral concert, I was standing in line and got my ticket, and then I noticed an adjoining table full of the most recent issue of this one lesbian magazine that I had never seen or heard of before, which was clearly from this year and also clearly had a naked dancing goddess in front of swirling green waters or something like that on the cover.

So, I picked it up and flipped through it, and it was full of events and wanted ads and articles, and I was just floored, since it seemed to be a continuation of 60s and 70s underground print culture in the present day, where lesbians could gather away from men's eyes and talk to each other and just be, as lesbians.

It was like seven bucks if you could afford it, or less or even free if you couldn't, so I pulled out my wallet and got seven bucks and turned back to the ticket-takers to give them the money.

"IT'S FOR LESBIANS ONLY," the one (older) (white) lesbian told me.

"I'm sorry," I was like.

Then, since she might think I was some pervert there to get wholesome lesbian literature to take home and jack off to, I was like, "You know, I have my doctorate and I've actually taught social science classes on different sexual subcultures, including lesbian separatism, and I was hoping to buy this for my collection of primary sources."

And, the other ticket-taker, also a(n older) (white) lesbian, leaned over and whispered to her friend, "Let him have it."

"Sorry," the first (older) (white) lesbian was like, "BUT IT'S FOR LESBIANS ONLY."

"I'm sorry," I was like, and since I didn't see anything like that on the cover, I pause and asked, "Is there anyone I could talk to from here?".

"Yes," she was like, "YOU CAN GO WRITE THEM."

So, I apologized again, introduced myself to them as the friend of one of the singers and dropped her name to show that I wasn't just some random pervert coming to a lesbian concert, and then I left, flummoxed.

After I found a seat and sat down, I thought to myself that I had missed some sign on the table or something, because I vaguely remembered this green piece of paper on the table in front of the magazines, and that maybe some lesbians are on edge because they're trying to keep their publications and spaces away from men, including the trans* women who are actually men but call themselves lesbians and invade lesbian spaces and try to get them to like their ladydick.

I also thought to myself that I'd have to tell my one friend to apologize to the ticket-takers for me, because I'd approached the table from the side and missed the sign at the front of the magazine display.

During intermission, then, I kind of passed by that same table on my way to get some more refreshments - like almonds and peanut butter-filled Trader Joes pretzels and popcorn and stuff - and I made sure to glance out of the corner of my eye at the sign on the table.

It said, "MAGAZINES - $7."

After intermission, it became clear that this (older) (white) (gay) couple who had been sitting near me had left for good and left a bunch of crap on the table, so at the end of the concert, I went to go clean it up.

Under their programs was the latest copy of the city's gay newspaper, and then underneath that was a copy of the lesbian magazine with the dancing goddess in front of green swirling waters.

I thought for a second of picking it up and taking it with me, but then I thought someone might see me, and then I thought that it might be okay because the one ticket-taker was cool with it, but then I thought of the other ticket-taker and I thought that I should err on the side of respecting women's clearly articulated boundaries, even if she seemed to be maybe a kind of a crank.

So, I left it.

But, I still wonder what kind of secret lesbian knowledge, that magazine contained.