A prequel to “I Kissed a Girl (and I Liked It)”
So, it happened. This weekend I went on a beautiful date with a beautiful woman. One wine bar, two restaurants, a trip back to my apartment for an impromptu wine tasting, and 4 perfect kisses…my head is still spinning.
I’ve been on a few dates since putting up a profile on New Year’s Eve. They’ve been OK. Genuinely nice women – women I want to be friends with, but I didn’t feel much chemistry for, and judging my the interaction, they didn’t either. That sort of thing is always awkward, and I suck at follow-up. So yeah.
Let’s call her Liana. I can’t really describe how gorgeous or amazing or smart or funny she is without dissolving into a puddle of sap, and since I want to keep my readers, I’ll refrain: but she is all of those things and more. To be honest, I feel like she is completely out of my league. It’s a miracle she responded to my message in the first place, let alone thinks I’m any kind of special.
We texted for two weeks before meeting. She appreciates wine and beer in the same way people who go to art museums appreciate art. Incidentally, she also appreciates art and has a thing for artists. I confess that I considered leaving a little paint on my hands before the date. (I didn’t.)
I started a painting Saturday morning because of her. It wasn’t presumptuous: even if we didn’t end up going back to my apartment, I would take a picture of it and show her what she inspired. Is that presumptuous? Perhaps it is. When I ended up showing it to her in person, she looked at it adoringly, and it was all worth the effort.
I wore a black button-up shirt, skinny jeans and short beige boots. And unfortunately, since it was twenty degrees outside, an enormous black puffy coat that screamed snowman wearing a garbage bag rather than baller. The cold turned out to be more badass than my leather jacket.
Where was I? Oh yeah. Entering the wine bar, shielding the bouquet of “No Pressure But I Think You’re Beautiful” mini roses that I’d cradled like a baby for 8 blocks. I was early. I felt a little ridiculous entering an empty bar at 7 pm by myself, accompanied by roses, but the bartender glanced at me with a knowing “Aha, I see you’re waiting for a hot date” wink, and poured me a glass of wine.
When Liana walked in, my heart stopped. I won’t get sappy here, I promise – but please imagine the most gorgeous Asian girl ever, with eyes like diamonds and hair like a velvet curtain, and that’s pretty much her.
It seems to be a tradition to start and end a lesbian date with a hug, regardless of if there’s any kissing or other physical activity involved. (Look at me, I’m an expert after exactly 4 dates.) So we hugged, and when I gave her the flowers, she was speechless, and blushing, and adorable – she thanked me for them at least 5 times and I was very pleased with 3-Hours-Ago-Jenny for deciding what the hell, let’s buy the flowers.
“Is this the first time you’ve pulled the flowers-on-the-first-date move on a girl?” she asked.
I blushed. “Um, yes.”
No worries. She was thoroughly impressed – and perhaps a bit charmed that she was the first girl I’d done this for.
I’d been worried she would think my bar of choice was lame, because I knew before going that we would be the only 2 people in there at such an early hour – but she said she loved it and that it was the perfect no-pressure zone to get to know each other before heading to a more noisy venue. My thoughts were,
Nailed it on the flowers.
Nailed it on the bar.
Way to go, Jenny.
On my other dates, I’ve been nervous like nobody’s business. So nervous I could barely talk, or find anything to talk about. With Liana, even though she was the girl I’ve liked the most, I felt comfortable enough to let my personality through. We talked naturally. We never ran out of topics. In my humble opinion, we’re a good match.
(Side note: if you’re nervous on a date, try pretending she’s a hot coworker that you’re trying to impress at happy hour. You don’t know if she’s gay, so you’re just trying to be cool. This usually works for me.)
After a glass of wine – not quite a glass, for me, since I didn’t want to get drunk on the first date with this goddess – we hit up a little Mexican restaurant on the corner of my street. Dinner was wonderful. I’m pretty sure the waiter was trying to figure out what our deal was. LMAO.
After this, we decided we had just enough room for a small dessert – so went next door to a little bakery, where we shared a cupcake. (Romantic, right?) I was so entranced by Liana that I forgot to check the closing time on the bakery, and after 10 minutes a tired-looking employee started sweeping around our table with a broom and glaring at us.
“Oh my god,” I gasped, “They’re closing.”
We scrambled to finish the cupcake and get out. We found ourselves sitting in Liana’s car and wondering what to do next.
“Well,” I began awkwardly, aware that I only had one chance to not fuck this up, “I have a bottle of Rioja back at my apartment, which is right around the corner…”
I could tell she was nervous, because her voice trembled a little when she said, “Sure, yeah. That sounds good.”
I’m really glad she grabbed the remote to my TV and made herself at home. To have not had the guise of Netflix and chill would have made the whole thing 100x more weird…so there we were, watching Friends, sipping wine (she loved it, by the way) and making small talk while pointedly sitting at opposite ends of the couch.
And then she did it: asked if she could kiss me.
There were fireworks. It was like no kiss I’ve ever had with a guy. Oh damn, I thought, I’m super gay.
Her texts are measured now. Careful. Hyper-aware. I think it means I’ve captivated her somehow (though I’m still not convinced that this is possible), and that she wants to do things right, take things slow, not fuck things up. I’m trying not to come on too strong. Trying to let her text me first (at the same time as she is trying to let me text first, which does not work, LOL).
I haven’t felt this way about someone in a long time. I’m flinging my heart open to the heavens with wide abandon, hoping for love and not rejection. Cheers to that.