California Reaming - A Woman's Adventures In Polyamory

In February 2001, Dave was working in Knoxville, Tennessee, building the HGTV channel. His company flew me in for a long weekend, and after puttering around Knoxville for a bit (lots of good eats, at least), we got it into our heads to take the rental car and drive east into the Smoky Mountains and visit the town of Asheville.

Asheville has a certain reputation as being a great place for dykes to hang. And dykes hang here, that's for sure. They are falling out of the trees, in fact. Dykes are so plentiful here that, according to one older male on Craigslist who answered me inquiry about what the life was like there, if you are not female and not a lesbian and not paired up with anyone, you will make few - if any - inroads in this neck of the woods.

This man was a writer, and he said it was a good thing he travelled a lot because he despaired of ever meeting compatible women in Asheville. The ones who aren't partnered up are pretty gay.

So Dave and I figured we would check out a town devoted to dykes. We were not disappointed. The girls were out in force on the Saturday we drove into town. Asheville is a small place, we parked near the center and just walked around. Everything is pretty much right there.

Lots of little quaint coffee shops and eateries, bookstores, curio stores for the tourists. One area of downtown, in front of the Wachovia Bank, seems modelled after Wall Street, in New York City. Complete with a tiny bull and the names of the streets that border on Wall Street.

The big tourist attraction here is the Biltmore, the Vanderbilt estate, a fabulously well-appointed mansion apparently where the Vanderbilts of New York would retire when things got hot in the city. My mother was quite annoyed that Dave and I chose not to visit the Vanderbilt pad. Hell, I've seen San Simeon Castle, in California, I've seen lots of great pads. One more I can live without. Especially since I don't get to live in it. My mom is a closeted monarchist. She likes those places and always wants to hear all about them.

The attractions Dave and I like are more about counting the roaches lying on the sidewalk outside a popular club in Asheville (signs of pot and those who like it). Or large crowds of biker boys flying through town (where the bikers are, you know there are more illegal substances). Or noticing a large rehab facility on the edge of town. Where there's rehab, there is also hope.

But we were there to meet dykes. And they seemed to want to meet me. One rather attractive, short-haired blonde walked by us on the sidewalk, gives me a big smile and a warm and throaty "hello," completely ignoring the fact I am with a guy.

I love being fresh meat, don't you?

Like I said, friendly girls here. Apparently from other postings I read on Craigslist about the life here, lesbian life in Asheville mostly goes on behind closed doors. What else is new? Lesbians living flamboyantly like some of the gay guys do is never really going to happen. Unfortunately.

So in Asheville, you probably have to work your way into the mix around town. Get to know who has the good parties. And hopefully, indulge in a fantasy or two that not every woman is already tied down. Or tied up, if you will. Surely, hopefully, there are a few single ones.

The town has a wannabe flavor of Berkeley, or Boulder, or Santa Cruz, minus the beach of course. Dave says, "Gee, you should have worn your Berkeley T-shirt, they'd be falling all over you." Berkeley is still THE SHIT according to some people still. I dunno about that, for my money the town is dirty, crime-ridden, long past its heyday and basically awash in a sea of political correctness and organic vegetables. Every once in a while I get the urge to visit it again, but not much. I think I might like to go see my old English professor, who taught my great Chaucer class. She has now clawed her way into the Dean's Chair of the English Department and I always thought I would drop by and say 'hi.'

As we roamed about Asheville that Saturday, checking things out, Dave and I asked ourselves if we could live here. It seemed a little too rural for us urban urbanites. Besides, they do get some winter here, and with the elevation there might be bouts of snow. In summer, the area is awash in recreational types, looking to hike, mountain bike, canoe, fish, whatnot.

But what would we do here? A more appropriate question might be, what happens if you fall out with lovers and want to move on? Is there somewhere in Assville to move onto? Or do you just have to find greener pastures altogether? Because from witnessing shenanigans that go on in a place like Santa Cruz, also somewhat small still, I can say that all small towns generally come together on that score. Make sure you can be happy with the smallness, and get ready to have everybody, quite literally, get familiar with your laundry, dirty or otherwise.

Besides, my dear friend E spent several years in North Carolina, and it is pretty redneck she says. And if you are not living in someplace nice and cultivated, like an Asheville, then the rest of the state you'll hate, according to her.

Sounds like just one big hog farm. Maybe Dave and I will squeeze a few more years out of California. Anonymity can be nice too.

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