BY JAMES LLOYD DAVIS
If I were not a man; if I’d been born a woman instead, I would be a lesbian chanteuse, a performing artiste singing Leonard Cohen love songs in Quebec in a small, trendy, dimly lit lounge called “Villon’s Nightmare,” nightly. My hair would be long and spectacularly black.
I would not shave my legs.
I would have history about which some would whisper and would have slept with a famous actress, four heads of state, three poets, two designers, and a lovely young student named Renee.
I would not be famous, but quite satisfied with the murky edges of celebrity, and live like an indie movie starring Minnie Driver and Terence Stamp, rated R for violence, language, and strong sexual content.
I would be stunning in a black dress, have a cat named Augustine, a parrot named Justine, a very sad lover named Julie, a stalker named Bromstein, and a twelve string guitar named Neal. I would not own a ficus lyrata.
If I were not a man; if I had been born a woman instead, I would love myself incessantly and so would you.
James Lloyd Davis, a combat veteran and former electrician, shipfitter, pipefitter, boilermaker, ironworker and engineer, currently lives with his wife in Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio. He has returned to writing after a long absence and is currently working on a novel. He blogs occasionally and experiments with various forms and styles.
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