There’s still something about queer women that arouses an aggressive sexual undercurrent from some heterosexual men


I meet Saskia for date two and it’s clear from the start, things are electric. Our hands brush as we walk into the bar and we both feel the aftershock. You know the kind, the little electric pulses that start just below your belly and keep going until they hit the sweet spot. We’ve got some potent sexual chemistry going on here, alright. The kind that blocks everything else out. The kind that makes you think about what underwear she may (or may not – Jesus Christ 😱) be wearing.

The kind that gets you into trouble…

Following the advice of my shoulder-angel*, we’ve gone for a drink rather than risk the proximity of soft furnishings at her place. The eye contact is insane. At one point she takes her jumper off revealing a tantalising low-cut top and I literally don’t know where to look. I mean, I do. I know exactly where to look. And I do. Look. Surreptitiously. Several times. And then several times again. Turns out we didn’t need soft furnishings for things to get heated.

She tells me how erotic it is watching my fingers enter a packet of mini cheddars and I almost choke on the damn things. Who knew cheese-based snacks could be a turn on? Thank God I didn’t order the Monster Munch. Her fingertips trace the inside of my wrist, she asks how long I normally wait before sex and I almost have a seizure. My shoulder-devil’s* banging the jungle drums so fucking hard all I can think about is fucking her right here, right now, never mind the people. Obviously, I don’t.

We’re in an incredibly straight bar and I haven’t finished my mini cheddars. Plus, the looks we get tell me the “straights” can’t handle the finger brushing let alone anything else. You know the type, ranging from, “two women together – I’ve heard of such things”, to the thirsty male gaze that you know could turn nasty. It has me feeling uncomfortable. Like we’re drawing too much attention and all we’re doing is brushing fingers. It reminds me things are not equal. That we’re still not seen as “normal”. That there’s still something about queer women that arouses an aggressive sexual undercurrent from some heterosexual men.

Even a couple of women put me on edge. They take a bit too much interest, like we’re sideshow entertainment. I brace myself for trouble, unable to fully relax and enjoy being with Saskia because I’m half expecting something to kick off. We can’t just lose ourselves in the date because we’re not alone on the date. Eyes search us out as if they’re invited. It’s a visceral probing that neither of us have asked for. A few men feel the need to insert themselves into our conversation. They’re not impolite, there’s no aggression. But I wonder if they’d keep interjecting with a straight couple.

Anyway, Saskia. I’m rapidly rethinking my new “don’t get intimate too soon” rule when she lays the lesbian landslide on me. It’s clear she feels this is going somewhere. AFTER TWO DATES. She’s talking like we’ll be spending a lot of time together over the coming weeks. AFTER TWO DATES. And I’m not vetoing that. BUT… we need to feel that out date to date, get to know each other. I don’t want to feel I’ve signed my name in blood when we’ve only just met. Plus, I have the nagging suspicion we’re not long-term compatible, but the intensity that’s raging off her like a small sun suggests she feels otherwise. I distract myself with the mini cheddars but the look she gives me as my fingers enter the packet has me wishing I was lactose intolerant…

*A cartoon angel and devil perch on the Cheeky Charmer’s shoulders fighting the eternal battle against bad decisions.

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