The kind of place where men are strictly off-limits, where girl-meets-girl, to dance together, cheek-to-cheek, snuggled tightly to each other’s bosom, hardly moving their feet to the sensuous music, completely oblivious to anything or anyone around them, on dance floors so small a fair-sized automobile would hardly find room, and so dark it would barely be seen if it did. These are the hush-hush lesbian dives, where waiters are deep-voiced girls, with short-cropped hair, dressed in natty tuxedos. Where girls from the local bohemian set and from uptown cafe society mingle together to enjoy the intimacy of their own set. (Ginny has often been quoted as saying she prefers “offbeat” people to “normal” ones.) Girls from the Social Register are found here, too, their foreign runabouts parked in gleaming splendor under the street lamps. Young daughters of doting dowagers whose blue blood would turn sickly green if they knew where their little Brendas and Leonoras were spending their evenings — and the gender of the creeps with whom they were passing their nights. Many of the girls who make these bizarre bistros their home-sweet-homos actually hate men, or simply dislike them to the point of loathing. Others are afraid of anything in pants that isn’t a girl. All the true habitues have one thing in common: Where sex is concerned, they prefer their own. Which makes us wonder what a girl of Virginia McManus’s “conviction” finds so fascinating about these twilight zones.

Men were off limits, strictly off-limits as Hillary opened the back door and entered the place, where girl-meets-girl as the door closed behind her.  Hillary knew the routine, some drinking and smoking and then her ordered girl would just show up beside her.  Everything paid for, private rooms, even bedrooms and lounge chairs all behind exclusive closed doors. They dance together in the private rooms, cheek to cheek, snuggled tightly to each other's bosom, Hillary hardly moving to the sensuous music, completely oblivious to the secret camera recording her every move and softly spoken words.  Hillary didn't know that the KGB loves to follow the hush-hush lesbian's where government waiters and deep-voiced girls, with short cropped hair, dressed in natty tuxedos.  Hillary knows all about the bohemian set from her old days at uptown cafe's and mingle parties that Bill and Hillary enjoyed, intimacy on their own.  Where sex was concerned Hillary prefered the little girls, almost child like which she found so fascinating as she entered her twilight zone.