Just as I was giving myself a once-over before the big date, I heard the soft buzz of my phone notification. I didn’t even have to open the message. I didn’t even have to look at the lock screen. I knew what it was going to say.
The briefest, obligatory glance later and I shouted out “Oh, fuck you!” to no one in particular. This dude, latest in a long line of fakes and flakes, was cancelling at the last minute.
I sighed heavily, took off the black dress, stockings, and bra, and got into my pajama pants and a baggy tee shirt. Face all made up and nowhere to go. I pulled my long, dirty blonde hair back into a ponytail, and took out my contacts, switching them out for my black-rimmed glasses. I always liked the way they framed my blue eyes, but of course I didn’t want to look cute-in-a-nerdy-way, I wanted to look sexy.
It seemed that tonight was yet another where foreplay would be making out with a spoonful of Ben & Jerry’s, and the grand finale would be an underwhelming orgasm, courtesy of my vibrator.
Resigned to another boring Friday night in, I poured myself a big glass of wine, and plopped down on the couch.
“Maybe I should just delete this fucking app” I said, sighing again, looking down at my phone, opening up an app for the millionth time since my boyfriend dumped me 6 months ago. I went into the app settings, intending to delete it, when I came across the gender preference tab, “Or maybe I should just try girls…” I joked to myself. I don’t know why, but that funny thought stopped me in my tracks. It was weird, because despite considering myself an LGBTQ+ ally, I’d never so much as thought about women sexually, let alone anything else!
I sat with this funny thought for a minute. “I don’t know…maybe it’s not the craziest idea?” I definitely didn’t want to date a woman. But maybe it would be good to check out the profiles of other women? Trying to see through the eyes of men, and creating a more desirable profile myself? I mean, despite being hard-up for a good fuck, I was definitely done with men for awhile (said for approximately the 6,348th time since the break up). This would at least keep me from swiping endlessly on guys. And bonus: I wouldn’t have to recreate my profile (again) after deleting it (again).
Besides, with the amount of fakes on this site, everyone from cheating husbands, to bots, to people lying about their job, age, height, etc, it’s not like I’ll really be causing any harm, right? I wouldn’t message anyone, and I certainly wouldn’t lead them on! Somehow, I did enough mental backflips to get comfortable enough to do what I did next.
I felt my heart skip a beat as I switched the settings from men to women. This is kind of exciting, I thought to myself, or at least different!
I loaded my matches, and I was immediately hit with an unexpected conundrum with the very first profile: a really cute 24-year-old graduate student, Anna. Do I swipe right? I mean, do I “go all in” and pretend that I’m really interested? After all, I am interested in seeing good profiles, and I know the app has an algorithm to track these things. Again, I didn’t want to be another fake. But I guess I was a fake, so…in for a penny, in for a pound. And hey, who doesn’t like to know that someone else thinks they’re hot? I wasn’t going to act on it or anything.
I quickly became absorbed with swiping right and left. This was actually a bit fun! Silently judging other women, not worried about the consequences. But there were two things I immediately noticed: 1) I was swiping right a lot more frequently than I had with men (it seemed like I had more competition than I realized in the looks department!), and 2) I was getting comparatively few matches. I guess women are just pickier than men?
Most of the women I liked were pretty feminine. Or rather, not ones I’d really associate with being lesbian or bi, but then I came to this woman Claire. At this point I’d been swiping for a while, so much so that I had nearly entered a trancelike state. She managed to snap me out of it. For one, she was gorgeous. But also, had a very unique look. She had dyed her hair platinum blonde/almost grey, with incredible pink, blue, and purple highlights. She had pale skin, with a few colorful tattoos, and a nose ring. Her green eyes sparkled. Her breasts were probably about a B cup, but they looked really good on her slim frame. Despite this alternative look, she was dressed hyper-femininely in many of the photos. Sometimes in some cool, retro dresses. Others in more modern, sleek ones. But she also had a couple of photos showing off her punk-rock cred, one chilling at a concert, a loose, ripped Clash shirt, red plaid pants, and Converse sneakers. Damn, this chick had the confidence to pull off any look.
Was I immediately taken by this cool, alternative girl? Had my little experiment taken an unexpected turn? I didn’t know. I just knew that I was definitely going to swipe right. And a moment later, when the app confirmed that we were a match, I felt a buzz of excitement. What would this rockstar want with a boring career woman like me?
I had to remind myself that this was all fake, even if it felt weirdly real right now. I reminded myself that I wasn’t going to lead anyone on, or hurt anyone. I was tempted to message her though. And say what? “Sorry, I’m not actually into girls?”
A moment later, she took that decision right out of my hands.
“So you finally gave up on men, huh?”
I let out an involuntary chuckle, and before I could stop myself I wrote back, “That obvious, huh?”
I immediately regretted it. Ghaa! I promised myself I wouldn’t mess with people’s hopes and emotions!
“Oh come on, you’re too beautiful to be into girls”
Oh great, now I’m blushing. Despite this unexpect electric charge I was getting from just these few interactions, I really wanted to be honest.
“Well, I’m blushing. Thank you. But I have to come clean: I’m really terribly, boringly straight. I just had a date cancel last minute, and I was bored, had a bit of wine, and had this bright idea to just check out girls’ profiles for a bit. I really don’t want to lead you on, even though you have this incredible style (and it seems like a good sense of humor too)!”
“Haha, well…thanks for the compliments and being honest! But hey, I know you’re straight and all, but you should come meet me out for a drink anyway. I promise it’ll be more fun than sitting at home in your PJs with a bottle of wine, a tub of Ben & Jerry’s, and your vibrator. Don’t worry, she’ll be waiting in your bedside table for you when you get home. Promise.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at that last joke. And oh my god, was like she was in my brain! And and, also also, wait, was she suggesting tonight?
“Wait, you mean…meet up tonight?”
“Yeah. 9 PM at Murphy’s Irish Pub. I’ll be the one with the crazy, neon hair.”
I thought about it for a minute. I mean, I told her I was straight. So, is this just as friends? Before I had a chance to respond, she followed up.
“Come on, it’ll be fun. No stress. I know you’re straight, but I’m also bored and it’s Friday night. Let’s have a couple of drinks and share dating horror stories.”
“Umm, OK” I wrote, following up with a smiley face, feeling awkward as hell.
Wow. No matter what tonight just got more interesting, I thought. I wondered if dating women was this easy? Or was there something about this woman in particular? She was so direct! No games, no bullshit. No messaging for weeks, or ignoring texts, or asking for nudes, or all of the above.
For the second time that night, I was getting dressed to go out. This time I wore something much more casual: jeans, a loose, comfy sweater, and a plain, black satin bra underneath. Not that she’d be getting that far! I kept my hair back in a ponytail, and kept my glasses on. I definitely wanted to send the signal that this was friendly and not a date.
As promised, she was there, waiting at the bar with the neon hair. She was also dressed casually, torn jeans and a Nirvana tee shirt, strategically held together with safety pins, and wow did she pull it off. I know it was a carefully constructed look, but she was so causal with it, that it looked effortless. She spotted me and waved me over, patting the bar stool next to her.
“Lucky girl, do you know how many men and women I’ve had to tell off to save this seat for you?”
“Well, I’m honored,” I say with a giggle, as I take a seat.
She ordered a whisky, then turned to me, “what will you have? my treat…”
We did the obligatory “oh you shouldn’t pay” dance, but she insisted. I ordered my wine, and she left the tab open. When our drinks arrived she raised her glass, “to new friendships!” Who could say no to that?
Of course I was nervous at first. I had doubts creeping in. How can we be friends? We’re so different! And is she really interested in something else? Am I still leading her on, despite trying my best not to?
But soon those worries were melting away. I laughed more at her dating horror stories than I had at anything in a long time. And we talked about real things! Life, work, dreams, ambitions! I joked that most boys just want to talk about the latest Marvel movie, or some other equally inane piece of pop culture bullshit. I know it’s a cliche that a lot of bisexuals talk about being attracted to a person, not a gender, but this was the first time I understood that on any sort of level. Not that I was even willing to admit it to myself at that point! Her personality was just magnetic, and after a couple of drinks, my face was literally sore from smiling.
Toward the end of the second glass of wine, buzzing from alcohol, but not by any means drunk, I told her, “I’m so glad that dude canceled, honestly this is the most fun I’ve had on a date in a long time!”
“Ohhh…it’s a date now is it?”
“N-nooo…come on you know what I mean-”
“Well, if it’s a date, we’ll need to have a good night kiss. Thems the rules.”
My face must have gone sheet white at that moment, but she burst out laughing, “I’m kidding” she said with a playful slap on the thigh, which immediately diffused the tension. Or at least it did for her. Because I found myself now focusing on her lips and the thought of kissing a girl. No, A woman. Not just any woman. This woman, who was clearly interested in me, who was sitting right in front of me. Her lips looked very soft. I wondered what it would be like to kiss a girl. After 25 years of presumed straightness, all it took was a cute-no-super fun, hilarious, exciting, and sexy woman, and two glasses of wine to make me start rethinking everything.
I was trapped in my head, in my own thoughts. Was it the alcohol? I wasn’t that drunk! Had she actually awoken something inside me? My mind was speeding up, trying to keep up with the suddenly complex mixture of thoughts, feelings, and hormones. I had images of kissing her racing through my mind, bumping into every fiber of my self identity. Were new desires being awoken? Or was I just overthinking everything? Did I really want to kiss her, or was this just the power of suggestion, making me rethink every lived sexual experience? I noticed I had gotten quiet. She noticed it too, and gave me a knowing smile.
“Excuse me” I said, breaking the uncomfortable silence, “I’ll be back in a minute,” I smiled and headed toward the back of the bar to go to the bathroom. I didn’t really need to go, but I was suddenly feeling very unsure and self conscious. I just needed a breath!
I sat on the toilet taking some deep breaths. I smiled and laughed to myself, shaking my head, reassuring myself that I just had a little freakout, and I wasn’t about to run off with this girl, get a bunch of piercings and tattoos, and be super into women. That’s not how sexuality works!
But when I got out of the stall, I almost had a heart attack! She was right there waiting for me.
“Hi” she said softly, walking up to me slowly, seductively.
“H-hi…” I said, turning and then backing into the tile wall of the bathroom. She was only a few inches taller than me, but suddenly I felt small. Helpless. Completely submissive. We both knew that something had changed, the ground had shifted under our feet. She put both of her hands, flat-palmed, unto the cold tile on either side of me, leaning in closely, so closely that she pressed her relatively small breasts into mine, keeping her eyes locked on me.
“I wasn’t really kidding about the kiss…” she said, her green eyes burning into mine.
I gasped. Literally gasped. It was so erotic, but I was so overwhelmed with everything that was happening. She sensed it, taking one of my hands into hers, the other hand caressing my neck and shoulders, “It’s OK,” she said softly, sweetly, “I know you’re nervous…” she kissed my cheek, her soft lips feeling so incredible on mine. Plus her body, so different than anything I’d experienced, pressed so intimately into me. Her hands, holding me. Guiding me. She traced a line around my neck, over my earlobe, down my jawline, and to my chin, softly but assertively turning my head to face hers, and then, finally, kissing me fully on the lips. My lips parted, almost as if they had a mind of their own, accepting her tongue into my mouth. I was a little stiff, a little hesitant at first, but soon I was kissing her back passionately.
After a minute, or maybe ten, I honestly don’t know, a moan escaped my lips. Claire pulled away, grinning ear to ear. “So, you liked that kiss, huh?”
I bit my lip, eyes wide, locked on hers, and simply nodded.
“Good,” she said, her tone returning to the platonic one I’d heard throughout the night, she took my hand, leading me out of the bathroom. “Now let’s get out of here…” my heart skipped a beat, yet again. And yet again, she defused the situation, “no, not like that…come on. I like you. I’m not going to scare you with all my lesbian gear. Not yet…” She laughed again. A laugh I was beginning to know well. A laugh that meant she wasn’t really joking. She walked me out to the front of the pub, and called me a taxi, “I want to make sure you get home safe,” she said, then leaning in, whispering in the same tone that she used during the kiss, “and back to your vibrator…I told you she’d be waiting. Think of me when you come tonight…”
It wasn’t so much of a request as a demand. She hugged me goodbye, sensing that I might not be ready for a public kiss. And she was right! And then she sent me home, without saying another word.
I felt a nervous energy coursing through my body for the entire cab ride home. It was too much to process my feelings-excitement, fear, confusion, arousal-my heart raced and I was short of breath.
When I got home, her last words echoed in my head. Go on, I thought, just get it out of your system. I knew how horny she’d left me, and how much I needed that release. In a daze I made my way through the apartment and back to my bedroom, pulling my sweater over my head and unclasping my bra, letting my breasts fall free. I unbuttoned my jeans, sliding them over my hips and down my legs. Sitting on my bed in just my panties, I opened my drawer, just looking at my vibrator for a second. What would this mean? If I masturbated…came…while thinking about a woman? I’m straight. Right? I picked the vibrator up, feeling its soft, latex surface, only thinking about how much I needed to turn it on, turn it up, and get off.
“Think of me when you come tonight…” those words bouncing around my head, once again locking me in a sort of trance. I thought of the hours of good conversation. How wonderfully effortless it was. I thought about her neon hair, soft green eyes, and even softer lips.
As I laid back in bed, turning the vibrator on low, teasing myself through my panties, I thought about those soft lips kissing me.
As I turned up the vibrator, I thought about how confident and assured she was. How she saw something in me I couldn’t even see in myself…something that I couldn’t even admit, even while I was here masturbating while thinking about her, following her orders.
I turned it up again, grinding harder and harder against it as I thought about her body. Her soft skin, and the feeling of her breasts pressed into mine. A moan escaped my lips, I was already so close. Close to coming for her.
I pushed my panties aside, exposing my trimmed pussy to my vibrator…and in a way, to her. Once again, I played the kiss back in my mind, thinking about how dominant she was, how she so easily and masterfully controlled-
And just like that, all the tension in my body let go. I screamed. I convulsed. I came. I came for her. Hard. Harder than I had in a great many months.
To my surprise, tears were running down my face as I finally pulled myself together. I was crying. Was it from sadness? Joy? The thousands of conflicting and contradictory thoughts that had been briefly pushed to the side came flooding back.
What would I do? What did I really want?
I tried rolling over and going to sleep, but my head kept on spinning. I spent most of the night tossing and turning, never fully conscious but yet never fully asleep. Yet I must have slept toward the end of the night, because the next thing I knew, the sun was up and it was nearly 11.
I might have slept longer, were it not for this strange vibration. My groggy mind went elsewhere, until I finally realized that it was my phone ringing. Without even looking, I reached over and answered it.
“H-hello?”
“Good morning, sleepyhead!” Despite my conflicted emotions, my heart leapt when I heard Claire’s voice, “Funny, I didn’t have you pegged for the type who slept until noon!”
I laughed nervously. For a moment, in my restlessness, it all was starting to feel like a dream. But no, this was a reality I’d have to face, and figure out, very soon.
“Yeah…I didn’t sleep so well…mmm…let me make some coffee and call you back…”
I wasn’t sure what I’d tell her when I called her back. But I knew one thing: I definitely would.