girlmeetsgirl

88. Putting the kids to bed

I like dating older people. Back when I dated men, my boyfriends were often older than me by 4, 5, 6, sometimes 7 years. It’s not that they were better, more that they knew themselves better. They had experience. They knew what they liked and what they didn’t and sometimes they could see things I couldn’t – a mental or intellectual spark hovering between us like a firefly. They also didn’t mess about. They were frank about their feelings: I like you, I love you, let’s live together. There was rarely any drama or bullshit or games with older men because mostly they had no time for it. Being with an older man was like stepping off a merry-go-round and feeling the world slowly right itself.

87. Watch out for the stingers!

by girlmeetsgirlblog

Two days after our third date I text the Francophile asking when she’s free. I’m planning to take her to the darkest, booziest, filthiest bar I know, where the seats are so tiny she’ll practically have to sit in my lap. It’s always rammed full of couples with hard liquor and hard ons. If we don’t kiss there we’re not kissing anywhere. Sadly, I never get the chance. After my text I wait an excruciating day and a half for her to reply that she doesn’t “know how [I] feel” but if we meet again it would only be “as friends.” “Again, I don’t know how you’re feeling but I thought I’d be upfront.” How am I feeling? Angry, frustrated, hurt, fed up, fucked off and furious. It’s not that she’s not interested. After all, there are lots of reasons why someone might change their mind. Maybe she’s dating someone else and it got serious. Maybe she’s not over her ex. Maybe she doesn’t know how I feel and so she’s mounting a pre-emptive...

86. I’ll see you – and raise you a kiss

by girlmeetsgirlblog

It’s funny how much scarier it feels to like someone when you’re older. When you’re young, liking someone is so easy. It’s a walk in the park or a sigh through the cherry blossoms. It’s not just keeping your heart open, ready and willing but actively thrusting it at people with glee – shoving it through letterboxes or chucking it at heads across a classroom. It’s scribbling someone’s name all over your textbook and dreams, not caring if you’ve accidentally grabbed the permanent marker. You’ve never been hurt, after all – what’s to say this isn’t permanent? But as you grow up you grow wary. You start scribbling names in washable ink, then pencil, then you stop writing them down all together. You weather so many cuts and bruises the chip on your shoulder gets bigger and bigger until your arm’s dangling from the socket on a couple of shaky tendons. You think twice about falling for someone in case you belly flop and make a fool of yourself.

dating, lesbian