It’s the night of my date with the Blond. She’s booked us a table in an acclaimed steak restaurant, which automatically puts me on the back foot because it feels like a ‘proper’ date and not just a ‘let’s go anywhere where they will serve us a lot of alcohol and not mind if we pet each other lightly in a corner’.
I’ve been a bit dithery about bringing up the whole ‘let’s just have fun’ thing: our mains have come and gone and it’s only as the night yawns on and we’re talking coffees that I realise I need to hurry up and get on with it. I take a deep breath, a sip of wine, and the plunge:
“Can I ask you a slightly awkward question? What exactly are you…erm…looking for?” I ask.
She looks up, a little startled, but then replies slowly:
“I’ve been dating women for about a year now, I guess? But yeah I haven’t actually, you know…” she blushes furiously “…and I would like to, I guess, yeah, have a relationship.”
The penny hovers; then drops: she’s a lady virgin! This is perfect. I can show her the ropes (ish) and then set her free – like some kind of sexy, selfless, lesbian Jesus. There’ll be no pressure on her to settle down with me; she can just explore her sexuality in a safe environment with a woman who likes and respects her.
I crack on:
“Basically, the reason I’m asking is because I got out of a not great relationship a month ago and I’m not ready for anything serious but I, um…”
MASSIVE GULP OF WINE
“…am definitely up for some…err…fun…if that’s what you wanted.”
She gives me an appalled look and I realise straight away that I have completely misjudged this. Here’s this lovely woman looking to make a real connection with someone and I’m fucking dangling my bits in front of her like a chew toy. I should stop now, quit whilst I’m behind, but like a dog with a horrible, rancid, awkward bone, I keep gnawing:
“I mean, I’m very open about these things. I have needs!” I chuckle, whilst simultaneously wishing I was dead. “But, you know, if you want your first time to be special then you should absolutely have that.”
She looks around desperately for – oh, I don’t know, a man hole to throw herself into? – whilst I briefly consider whether it’s possible to drown yourself in two inches of red wine.
“Erm, shit, this is really awkward. It’s only our third date!” she says. “I think maybe we should go.”
“Of course,” I murmur, quietly rising from the table and looking around for a candle with which to set myself alight.
I’m fully expecting to never hear from her again, so I’m incredibly surprised when she texts later that night with an apology and a suggestion to see how things go. I’m not sure what that means exactly but, for now, I’m keeping an open mind. At the end of the day, I’ve been honest about what I want. Now the ball’s firmly in her court – game on.