This weekend I had a first date with a girl I met online. We’d been talking for a bit, and I was excited to meet her, yet I was still horribly nervous.
I know that I’m a big bad sex and dating blogger and I should be able to go out into cafés around the world with confidence and ladies on my arms, but the reality is dating is a scary thing.
As I waited for my date to show up, the story of the Stone Butch Daddy (SBD), my very first, first dates, went reeling through my mind.
It wasn’t exactly a blind date, but it may as well have been. I was working the door at Miss Kitty’s Scratching Post, a monthly lesbian strip club in San Francisco, when we met.
I wore a camo corset, lacy bottoms, fishnets, platform shoes and a sticker that said “Ask Me for My Number.” That outfit got me two dates, one with the fabulous performer Alotta Boutté (who later became one of my best friends) and the other with SBD (who I avoid to this day).
On her way out of the club, SBD approached me and asked if I liked ice cream. I replied that I loved ice cream. She then asked if I liked motorcycles, and, like the good little SF femme I was, I replied of course. Then SBD asked if I wanted to go get ice cream with her on her Harley.
I creamed my pants and gave her my number.
The day of the date, SBD called me to say that the Harley wasn’t available after all. Turns out she didn’t actually own a Harley, she just worked in a Harley repair shop and thought she could borrow one for the night. Strike one.
Begrudgingly, I agreed to pick her up. If I wasn’t getting a Harley, at least I was getting some ice cream. Yet, it turned out ice cream was out of the question too. She was hungry, and insisted we go get some sushi instead. Strike two.
Strike three through ten happened while waiting for an hour and a half outside in the SF fog at the particular sushi joint she had to go to, even though the one down the street was great and had no wait.
Once inside, she refused to let me order for myself, told me she was my daddy and it was her job to make decisions for me, then said she thought I’d make perfect arm candy for her to take back to live on a farm with her in her home state.
At least she paid.
The complete disappointment that came from SBD led to my future fear of first dates. I thought I was getting ice cream on the back of a Harley, but instead got myself into what was a seriously horrible situation.
As I sat and waited for my most recent first date to arrive, the “what if” worm dug its way through my brain thinking of all the ways this date could top that first date in ridiculousness.
So what do I do when she arrives? I spew the whole story of SBD the minute she walks in.
Luckily for me, she’s super chill, sarcastic, and finds the story to be funny, referencing it a few times throughout both the afternoon tea date and the evening cabaret show date we went on that night.
Looks like this gal’s going to make a much better story.
Queerie Bradshaw loves shoes, social justice and sex. Born a farmer’s daughter, she believes everyone deserves a good roll in the hay, and feels empowered by her feminine sexuality. She frequently travels both domestically and abroad, exploring women and wine from all regions. Now a law student who dances burlesque on the side, she fights for international rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of good porn. You can follow her on Twitter (twitter.com/QueerieBradshaw) and become a fan of hers on Facebook.