This is the second part of Riki's date with another chick. To read part one, click here.
While we chowed down on the rich, hot hunks of lobster and cuts of colorful vegetables, still looking over to menu to determine our next victim--do we go for the 8-ounce American Wagyu filet for $60 or the 15-ounces of boneless dry-aged ribeye for $52?--Sam and I next discussed how difficult it was to meet good mates.
"Do you search online for dates?" she asked, and I cringed at the thought. Perhaps I should've put on my mint-flavored boots before answering her question and totally putting my foot in my mouth. "I do know a few happy couples who met their mates online and they swear I just don't give it a enough of a chance," I admitted. "But I've done those dating sites maybe once or twice and what I've found is only a bunch of desperate people looking to keep themselves occupied on Friday nights."
"That's really one of the only ways I can meet someone," she replied, unfazed. "I'm not into the bar scene and there aren't that many lesbian bars around here to begin with. And those big gay events don't attract the kinds of girls I'm after."
I started to feel a bit guilty then. It was almost as if I was standing in the canned meat aisle at Publix with a starving orphan from Bosnia and complaining to her that the store doesn't carry an impressive selection of smoked oysters. Here I had a wealth of bachelors to choose from anywhere I went, in Computerland or reality. My pickiness is the only thing keeping me from getting hitched. This poor gal has to go on a virtual treasure hunt each time she logs on or goes out.
The Wagyu we ordered arrived and we devoured it with zest. I watched her eat and wondered, if I jumped the fence, would she be my type? She was cute, had a bubbly personality and great sense of humor, and we did have a few traits in common. Her petite stature didn't bother me like it would if I was with a significantly shorter guy, and I really didn't care how she dressed and whether she'd open the door for me or not. But I couldn't get over the thought of kissing lips that were smaller than mine or holding a hand that was softer.
Then she burst my thought bubble with a statement that got me to the core: "You know, probably the toughest thing about being lesbian in a heterosexual world is that there's little or no PDA (public displays of affection)."
I hadn't thought about that. I'm so used to being able to toy with my partner's fingers over the table, nuzzle on his ear between courses, and lovingly feed him dessert that I couldn't imagine it any other way. The outside world isn't as accepting of gay couples showing affection in public, she explained, and sometimes her partners had to hide any evidence of their sexual orientation in public for fear of being judged or losing clients.
Our dessert arrived and we generously (albeit maybe not entirely genuinely) insisted that the other gal enjoy the last remaining bits of it. It was a glorious pineapple upside down sour cream butter cake with layers of toffee candy and pineapple marinated in butter, sugar, rum and vanilla, served with macadamia nuts and coconut ice cream.
I looked around at the restaurant filled with couples and thought about how fortunate I really am to have so much selection at my disposal and freedom to be disgustingly affectionate in public, even at a classy joint like Bourbon Steak.
Then a surprise from the kitchen arrived--a Forelle pear poached in Chardonnay with sugar, cinnamon, anise, clove and lemon zest, served over a dollop of Greek yogurt drizzled with maple syrup and paired with toasted pound cake. It brought me the closest I've ever been to having an orgasm with another girl in the room.
The bill never materialized. Obviously the staff was tipped off that I was a journalist. I wondered if they knew I was researching for this column. I suspect Sam wanted to at least leave the tip, since that was her m.o. (even when a date wasn't going to put out), but this time I took the lead. We got our cars from the valets, gave each other a hug goodnight, and for the first time I didn't feel that is-this-stranger-gonna-go-in-for-the-kiss awkwardness. She and I connected on a different level than I ever experienced on a first date. And, though it didn't result in any plans for a stroll down the aisle or a lingerie-and-lip gloss-enhanced pillow fight (sorry, guys, for robbing you of that visual), I felt lucky to have had this gal's company for dinner.
Bourbon Steak/Girl Dating Rating
Hip Factor: 3/5
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