Hot Stuff Day Five Pt 3

I could hear her smile as she responded equally playfully in a Canadian accent. We gently sparred verbally for a minute or two.

One of my friends must have heard my voice and split the crowd to search me out. When she found me unashamedly flirting with Hot Stuff she beamed with delight and announced “Congratulations Zy, I see you have managed to meet HS. HS, this is Zy.” She guessed correctly that we had not yet introduced ourselves. But the spark must have been evident, because next my buddy produced an almighty lantern that she shone obnoxiously on me. “So HS, do you like what you see?”

I felt the burning of a thousand sets of eyes as HS looked me up and down openly. The assembly seemed to be doing the same as the Zy Show drew interest from those nearest. The growing interest was evidence that HS had collected an annual lobby of suitors also queueing for her attention, which furthered my discomfort greatly.

No matter. HS gave the spectators a nod of approval and for the rest of the night we were inseparable, the attraction insurmountable. A force existed that felt dangerous and impossible. She stared at me as though I was something unpolluted and fragile. We shared a couple of dances and then she apologised because she had to leave. I observed as her silhouette dissolved into the misty darkness and wondered if it was all just an illusion.

To Be Continued...

Hot Stuff Day Five Pt 2

There was a faint hint of rain in the air subtle enough for most to ignore. Bodies heaved and swung to the masterful tunes of the dj who was working the floor toward a mass unleashing of sexual relief. I surveyed the confinement and was plagued by the natural expression this moment inspired. Something began to crack deep inside me. So far from the comfort and routine of my normal life, I could do nothing but be completely consumed by the alluring tone set before me. Fighting it was futile. Right then it felt true to be vulnerable to the charms of this magically sexual space.

The first break of thunder erupted un-opposed. But the second brought a gush of water that only the tornado season can wield. Howls of delight and shock filled the stage as everyone scrambled from the construct to find cover. Most found refuge under the great elm, the rest of us clustered untidily under an undersized marquee. The clouds were heavy and dark and as the sun had just set there was not much light.

I found myself up close and personal to a bunch of women I couldn’t recognise. Being the last to arrive I attempted poorly to huddle up to the group. My hairdo was soaked to my face and my linen shirt was leaving very little to the imagination (a very interesting predicament for my former prudish self).

Suddenly I became very aware. An individual was standing next to me who appeared to be equally out of place. Without even really looking I heard myself flirt “Are you soggy too?” As I finished the sentence I sort of looked up and there she was, Hot Stuff.  I could only just distinguish her in the dark, or maybe it was some other sagacity? But it was her. HER. I absolutely could not comprehend the probability of such an opportunity occurring.  

Feeling Lonely in a lesbian Marriage.. http://ow.ly/3sgTi 

Hot Stuff Day Five Pt 1

A momentum was building during that first week leading to the Saturday night dance. There was a frenzy of dates being secured, outfits being picked, parties being organised for pre and post, dance cards being filled, stages being built. It was like nothing else I had experienced. Even the queen of last minute threads, yours truly, was feeling frazzled to impress. I picked out what I called ‘the good girl’ uniform. Basically a white linen shirt that flowed seductively around my figure and something tight-fitting for the rest of me. The white made me feel pure and relaxed, which served to shield me against the sensual feelings the land stirred within.

Arriving at one of the pre-festivities, my appearance was met with confused anxiety. The kitchen crew boxed me as a sporty/butch so to acknowledge me wearing something feminine was awfully confronting. I charmed them back with my best gay man impersonation and it wasn’t long before the brewskis enabled everyone to settle into their party characters.

The dance stage was something else. A comprehensive female production team called ‘carps’ laboured all week to ensure the stage was boogie ready for party night. By the time our mob descended the floor was pretty full. Picture an outdoor timber stage on the edge of an open field and a low sun carving dusty shards of final light in the background. An enormous elm tree just to the side unveiled itself as a vast canopy for romance later, its branches hung tenderly near the stage invoking a feeling of natural connection.

To Be Continued..

Hot Stuff Day Two Cont...

I was incensed that such a creature had managed to exist in this world without my prior knowledge. That feeling was quickly extinguished by the reality that I was at MichFest. Perfect conditions for seduction. How would I get her attention without tripping on a miniature twig, or chat her up without destroying a reasonable sentence? I can be very very smooth you know, but in this instance I felt like a mouse in tomato soup. And I hate tomato soup.

I then set myself the task of pretending there were more important things to do, like marinating bean curd and counting peas. I was desperate not to become an ineffective staff member. I took to sweeping the grass outside the kitchen, fluffing lettuce leaves like pillow ruffles in the cooler and writing kitchen procedures on how to write kitchen procedures. It was all enormously important stuff that (I thought) would make me indispensible. Comments like “Wow Zy, you are a machine” made me feel extremely useful but, more significantly, the bout of activity saw me through to the end of the week without falling in love or eating my young. I did not think about Hot Stuff..

Saturday night finally came. This was the opening of the social program for the volunteers and staff, around 250 hungry-for-lovin’ lesbians. It was the first real opportunity to make an impression on the girls you were keen on. Plural. Nobody at Michigan likes just one person. Oh, except me..

To Be Continued..

Hot Stuff Day Two

By day 2 I could no longer resist from noticing a particular female human. The initial spotting of Hot Stuff was during my shift in the dish pit. The dish pit was an elevated trough where, during the course of the festival, thousands of lentil-caked apparatus were individually soaked, scrubbed, sanitised and swabbed. It was noteworthy that the dish pit was tactically positioned along the outdoor showers trail. Us poor dish pigs were regularly exposed to the never-ending meanderings of naked women as they made their way to and from the open-air bathing district. It was just implausible.

Working a double shift ensured I was given a daily dose of breasts, which was soothing in a remedial way.

On this particular second morning in the dish pit, I became quite lucid. Just as I was finishing off the final buff on a rather outsized soup ladle, a mortal of a most pleasing divinity happened to saunter down the path toward the breakfast pavilion. I tried to smother a Ren and Stimpy goggle-eyed tongue plunge, as I was concerned that my drooling might carve a new unnecessary watercourse. But it was useless. She was goddess-like. And I was ruined for eternity. The most suitable cliché would be that I was ‘struck by lightning’. And from that moment on every cell in my body was on a constant ‘high-alert’ in case she was nearby.

To Be Continued..

Hilarious dating story http://ow.ly/3oC2k

Hot Stuff Day One

Way way way back when Pink Sofa was shiny and new, I met an interesting woman through one of my Sofa connections. Every year this woman would go to the Michigan Womyn’s Music Festival in the USA and every year she would try to convince one of her friendship circle to go with her and every year all of her friends would decline the invitation. That was until she met me.

I had heard rumours of this festival. That it was brimming with naked, non-monogamist, crunchy-granola eating, Birkenstock-wearing, herbivorous LESBIANS. I heard that around 5,000 women descended upon 650 acres of forest and some lived there for up to 6 weeks in tents! I thought that such bliss only existed in my imaginings.

I also heard magical things happened on the land. That there was a romantic force no one could resist. It was common for women to meet, fall in love and move states, countries and sometimes planets, only to return the next year to ‘repeat cycle’ [insert new love here]. How does one plan for such enchantment? Back then moving countries for ‘the one’ sounded delightful, so I arranged my references and testimonials meticulously in preparation for an anticipated rendezvous.

I wish I could have documented my wide-eyed enthusiasm from day one. Naked women really were successively running around exchanging sensual glances at each other and provoking a frenzy of undeniable longing. And I was not immune to the intoxication of this particularly foreign surrounding. Besieged with choices, I decided to channel my urges into other physical activities like ‘work’. We were rostered to do 6 x 8 hour shifts every week, so I doubled that to ensure no free time for dalliances. I absolutely did not know where to put all of my sexual energy but slicing tofu, liquidising garlic and baking pie seemed appropriate. We fed 400 women with enormous sexual appetites. Some women ate, some women worked, but 99% of them f----d.

To Be Continued..

Google Eyes Pt 4

OK, so now that you know one of my secret strategic coping methods for being dumped, I feel I can carry on with the Google saga (for those who missed it, it’s drink tea).

...

Google looked me up on the Pink Sofa username ‘search’ and sent me a quirky message about fig trees and Pride Fairs. Still can’t ascertain the connection but I appreciated the creativity.

Within 7 days she had managed to acquire part-time work at the cafe I was working in. And within 14 days of that she had acquired the spare room in my house. I am most definitely a sucker for idiosyncratic strays. I hadn’t been life stalked since my first domestic relationship 14 years prior. I managed a fabulous impersonation of a river pebble as she arranged her life to synch in with mine.

All went well for a few days, until she tried to remove my cat from the bed one night. Any bona fide crazy cat lady will warn you this is an unspeakable faux pas. I love my cat, damn I was pissed. I know that isn’t particularly sexy but sex usually isn’t on my mind when the cat is in. (Upon reflection, I am amazed that the kitty removal attempt disturbed me more than her moving herself in or working at my cafe).

So anyway. From then on the cat treated her with ruthless apathy. If Google was in the room, kitty would politely offer her his backside or deliberately heavy-step over her on his course to a more important lap, his tail ensuring to dust her nose along the way. Cats are clever like that, passive-aggressive and sluggish to forgive.

And to this day I am not sure if it was me or the cat that broke her (she refused to fill in my exit survey) because, shortly after, Google packed her bags and returned to her hometown.

Double Dumped

I feel there has been an imbalance. Most of my tales so far paint me as a tactical escapist, but believe me, I have a Post Grad in How to Get Dumped.

Once it occurred twice in 24 hours, from 2 women I met originally on Pink Sofa.

How can this be? When you dangle your toes in the dominion of open relationships it is easily achievable.

I was seeing a girl who lived overseas. It had been nearly 2 years of ‘long distance’ monkeyshines worthy of campfire horror tales. An affair that started in a 3 week frenzy driven by time constraint (she only had 3 weeks in the country) and lust. There were several trips within those 2 years and this last jaunt was a doozy. I learned about extraordinary new altitudes of lesbian relationship preservation, whilst attempting to extricate myself from being her doormat.

I was seeing another girl in my home country who suitably labelled herself as my pseudo girlfriend. I am always very open about my situation, and she was aware of the enigma who lived overseas. The truth was neither were my girlfriend, (no ring, no commitments, no puppy to share) just plenty of emotional diversion because evidently my vocation required no brain cells.

Anyway OS not girlfriend was supposed to stay with me for 3 months over summer. It was crunch time for us, make or break if you will, we needed to breakup or marry – seriously. But from the moment her plane touched down it was drama. First of all because I had to wait 2 hours for her to get through customs on account of the dust in her underwear, and then when she did barge through the double doors the first thing that caught my eye was the gargantuan suction mark on the side of her neck.

Fortunately I can now look back on that time without rolling in my own mouth foam (a recent development). What ensued over that 2 months was not unlike:

1. bungee jumping with faulty elastic cord fastened to my toes,
1. over a pit of rotted shrimp guts,
1.  cord giving way,
1.   landing in shrimp pulp, 
1.  then having to walk 100 miles for a shower with a supportive cloud of small insects.

(Perhaps more enjoyable).

And I think it was worse for her.

She dumped me on hour 22 of a 24 hour roadtrip at month 2, “You know I used to think you were the one for me” which was miraculously crushing.

Later I rang pseudo girlfriend for pseudo support. She told me “I met someone else.” I remember looking at my feet and thinking wow, this is how being double dumped feels, I need a cup of tea..

Google Eyes Pt 3

Taking a brief break from this wonderful adventure with Google..

Pink Sofa Member Testimonials

This really showcases what Pink Sofa is all about - great movie girls!

Google Eyes Pt 2

I rocked up to the ‘leslie’ event (‘leslie’ is my preferred term for a lesbian because it sounds less formal and the word ‘lesbian’ conjures up images of hairy arms and lizards, don’t ask me why). Google strolled in shortly after. Her height, broad shoulders and confident athleticism drew glances. Being an out of town girl she didn’t know anyone, which tended to stress me (I was officially unsuccessful at baby-sitting during adolescence). Caring for fully grown lesbians presented a far more complicated problem. Most women arrive in organised gaggles but not Google, she came to see me and the weight of that was crushing my toes.

Nonetheless she purchased our beers and we engaged in courteous prattle.

After an hour I tested her vertebral column by pointing out rather formally “Whilst it’s been great chatting, I need to get back to ‘my people’, can you arrange someone else to talk to?” Right on the words ‘talk’ and ‘to’, I strategically raised my eyebrows to emphasise the fact that I was important and popular and no doubt being noticeably missed elsewhere. Her face changed from relaxed self-possession to shear fright. Clearly she wasn’t familiar with being knee capped by a commoner. Of course I was delighted to be the first.

I found her intriguing enough to hand over my Pink Sofa username before she left, this was almost certainly because I was ready to be stalked again.

To Be Continued..

Google Eyes

About 3 years back I experienced a whirlwind affair with a woman several years my junior. This is unusual as I find youth an unattractive colour on me most days. Bit like getting a new pup, the excitement wears off after they shit on your rug. I think ‘younger people’ are great, just as long as I don’t have to engage with them. I am the world’s youngest curmudgeon, also known to terrorise stray children from my front lawn with a cane.

Google was about 5 years younger, which is almost a generation in my encyclopaedia.

We met at one of those Pride inspired fair days. I was volunteering as a ‘promo’ girl for Pink Sofa when she approached. Her ‘friend’ had put her name down to assist with promotions so we were introduced, something like '..and this is Google Eyes, she is temporarily staying with me, she’s from Sydney’ (nods and points at Google forcefully). Ok, so that wasn’t really her name, but protecting the innocent I am.

Google stared down at me (tall, she was, and athletic). I introduced myself back and felt her eyes burning into me, the way religious folk stare at you that moment before they think converting your soul is imminent.

Being quite flattered by her obvious attraction, I started to smile, a broad toothy trademark Zy grin (this is a typical nervous reaction usually serving to deepen the mess I am already in. For example when someone is yelling at me, or confronting me, an uncontrollable teasing smirk can erupt, frequently disarming my oppressor). We sparred a bit verbally before she was dragged away by the ‘friend’. Then, just before I finished promoting for the Sofa, Google returned, this time equipped with questions.

The interesting component in all of this was that I was trialling celibacy at the time. I had even hidden my profile from the Pink Sofa search feature for 7 days, that’s how serious I was about it.

I refused to give her my phone number, so she quizzed me for my Pink Sofa username. I told her I would be at the girlie dance event held after the fair, where she would be welcome to purchase my drinks. Also that I was not ‘available’ for anything else now that I was no longer sexually active amongst the lesbians. She agreed this was reasonable on the basis that lesbians can be very distracting.

To Be Continued..

The Vegan

What do you call a group of vegans? Are they an ‘announcement’, an ‘excitement’, an ‘assortment’ or an ‘irritation’? I think the latter. An irritation of vegans.

Recently I went on a date with a vegan. She suggested we go to what is known as a Vegan Festival. Usually the very mention of the words ‘vegan’ or ‘festival’ send me into spasms of aggravation. The fact that she popped those two words into a sentence that required my application is almost unfathomable. But since we had been messaging each other on Pink Sofa for 3 months, and she had finally plucked up the courage to ask me out, I couldn’t say no. At the very least this expedition could be an item to tick off my bucket list. There always has to be something in it for me.

Who knew vegans could be scorching hot? Murdering me she was, with her thick eyelashes and dark eyed good looks, the kind of girl who can say “Would you like to come to a Vegan Festival” and you hear “Would you like to lick this molten chocolate from my navel?”

During the stroll to the park where the plant eaters were tenderly rallying around cashew tea, my vegan date attempted to hold my hand. Not cool. Wasn’t it enough that I was going to subject myself to an abundance of clap-happy vegans for the afternoon? My credibility was already at risk (and I don’t care how hot you are, just don’t try and hold my hand at a vegan festival).

As we approached the hub of herbivorous activity, the vegan began to get excited. I followed at a safe distance in case she poked my eye out with a spare flapping elbow (don’t ask, it’s obviously a vegan thing). We passed by tents and displays of vegan wares and delicious sounding edible concoctions without incident. I was intrigued however by her ability to absorb vast quantities of foodstuffs (given her elfin composition).

Anyway. It turned out to be one of those dates where you start filing excuses to get out of there from the moment you arrive. Was it the dancing hippies, or the whiney children (who probably just wanted meat), or the inflatable carrot that was bulldozing my libido? I will never know, because that was the first and last vegan festival for this lesbian.

Thought Gasp

I was in chat with a long term friend on Pink Sofa the other night, and our discussion evolved into my latest mantra. You have probably heard the expression 'If you love something, set it free; if it comes back it's yours, if it doesn't, it never was'.  I always liked that saying, but nowadays it seems way too limiting for the Zymeister.

How about just living in a constant state of freedom? Allowing your human relationships to flourish and grow continually by offering them complete freedom as part of a continuum.

"You are free to be with me now, as I am free to be with you. You know that if I stay it is because I want to be here. Because you are allowing me to make this decision continuously, you don't need to question my motives for being here."

This is my kind of world. No cheating. No insecurity. No games.

I would then add 2 more side dishes to complete my meal:

1. Treat others as you would have them treat you.

2. Always be true to yourself

So what do you think, achievable?

Also, you may be less familiar with the alternative quote - "If you love something, set it free; if it comes back it's yours, if it doesn't, hunt it down and kill it" I think a lesbian coined that one.

34 Minutes Pt 2

I don’t use an iPhone for games, am way too sophisticated for that. I use my iPhone to checkout distances between locations. You know like how many k’s to the next pub, how many k’s to my last ex's place from ‘current location’, how many k’s between my last ex and my next ex. That kind of thing.  Really pertinent stuff.

After 34 minutes of iPhone and vodka tricks, one can become quite flappable. Luckily my date finally sauntered in with some sexy black evening gown and heels. I felt way underdressed in my jeans and country-girl shirt (a recent style I was trialling with large success).

I ordered Ms ‘34 Minutes’ a drink and watched her settle into a bar stool awkwardly, anxiously fumble with her purse and drop it. I tried to calm her by offering a playful jest like “You were 19 minutes late”. Her cross-eyed stare back conveyed pretty plainly we didn’t have a similar sense of humour. So my next strategy was to get her to talk (fortunately much easier). All I had to do was release inquisitive directives in her periphery at timely intervals and employ my sincerest listening face.

3 hours later she took a breath and declared “wow you are really interesting” which I found extraordinary. I let her know I was weary by setting free a wide yawn and simultaneously scraping my chair heavily.

After that she stalked me with a few private messages on PinkSofa.com, which I politely responded to (website etiquette), but when she started repeating herself it became easier to file her interruptions into a new file labelled “Be Wary – Date Shows Signs Of Dementia”.

34 Minutes Pt 1

I am going to rest the Lightning Lilly saga because I am semi-traumatised from having to relive it through this key pad for the past few entries. There is really only one more moment worth capturing anyway, the one explaining her name. Saving it for later, so build a clichéd miniature bridge and get over it.

This is a tale about a very recent date I had.

Special Note 5: You can expect my current dating experiences to demonstrate a more sensible approach in so far as candidate suitability, alcohol requirements and distance travelled.

We commenced chatting on Pink Sofa only because she was hugely impressed by my insightfully scripted bio (after 10 years on the site you reckon I would know a thing or two about how to reel the ladies in and I don’t mind saying that I do when I want to). She was quirky enough to entertain me, which seems to be enough these days (now that I have stretched my lesbian dating gamut).

As already stated, I am much more judicious in the bout of seeking love these days. A reduction of travel (for me) intended for a first date from 15, 000 miles (it only took 5 years of experimentation to realise it wasn’t terribly economical) to under a mile. So now I expect her to come to me. If I had invested in properties with the same tenacity that I have invested into dating, I would have at least 4 investment chattels, a house on the lake and a mountain cabin. 

I made her drive from the ‘hills’ to my coastal dwelling after she finished work for the day. To me that shows commitment.

Eww, did I really say that word? ‘Commitment’.  It even tastes wrong.

Some things about my dating repertoire never change, no matter how wise I get. I still arrive at least 15 minutes earlier than the arranged time. It really sucks when your date then arrives 19 minutes late. Which she did. Let me tell you I can drink quite a few vodkas in 30 minutes, especially when the only distraction is a downy muffin top bar chap. That’s right, a guy with man hips. And whilst that was fascinating so far from a circus, it is unbecoming to stare.

So I got drunk and played on my iPhone instead.

To Be Continued..

Personal Reminder

I want to be around a girl who isn't uncomfortable about who she is, because of who I am.

Lightning Lilly Pt 4

Her monologue continued for 48 minutes whilst I rehearsed my breakup speech to jazz tunes. Finally she gaped for air and I started in “I really have to go and do my washing/shopping/mopping so how about we talk later.” Not certain which of my personalities was speaking at that point, it just fell out of my mouth that way.

Next thing I knew she had her hand in my back pocket, was calling me ‘babe’ and pushing me up and down aisles like her trolley. 

The only possible solution during such a crisis was the mobile phone emergency plan. Pretending to conduct a price check on gourmet cucumbers I desperately clasped the gadget to my ear and made bold statements like “WHAT? Really. So you need me to come right over?” I gestured to my shopping date that something pretty big and pretty important was going down, and I would have to raincheck on the Moroccan lentil salad on tender.

This was met with a pouty expression. I wanted to vomit, she was already at ‘baby phase’ in Lesbian 101. Luckily she hadn’t figured out I was making the whole thing up to flee (she might have slapped me out with her beaded sandal).

Special note: When baby phase is reached, the relationship/coupling/arrangement is over. And don’t ever use a baby voice around me, not even when you talk to a baby.

To Be Continued..

Lightning Lilly Pt 3

Backing away from Lightning, I observed her close her eyes and let out a sigh (and I am seriously not making that up).  She seemed to draw something religious from the moment. She was digging me, which brought on rampant sweat secretion. I was supposed to be in love with someone else AND she knew about that. This was just a ‘thing’.

My phone had received 5 text messages during the 8 minute drive home. Yikes. Nothing turns me off faster than someone who needs to express themselves repetitively without encouragement.

The next morning the text barrage continued again from 7am (reminders and requests for coffee, how great last night was etc).  After bike training, I arranged a safe and public meeting point for coffee and debrief. ‘Debrief’ specifically meant I was going to have to end it. Lightning Lilly had already leapt way too far into a future I was never going to attend.

My plan to meet after a ride was intended to put her off.  Looking haggard and unattractive normally puts folks off right?  Not Lightning. I rocked up, secured a pose, sheltered my coffee and waited. Lightning bounced in like an omniscient prophet, sprouting enthusiastic clichés that linked like daisies on a chain. I couldn’t follow any of it, so instead settled back and listened to the elevator music playing in my head (gets switched on in certain people’s company).

To Be Continued...

Lightning Lilly Pt 2

A venue was quickly established for us to ‘meet for a drink’ and discuss further details of her charity ride. But we had to wait a few days as she was ‘germy’ (thought it considerate she didn’t want me to catch lesbian).

It was a humid night, a storm was brewing. I did my usual 15 minute early arrival thing and arranged camp behind a leafy plant near the entry (just in case she was still a snot monster). Once a vantage point was secured, I waited.

 Luckily it was karaoke night, so my entertainment was not limited to lesbian small talk. When Lightning sauntered through the doors I was pleased to see her in good health. Our babble commenced at 7pm, and what couldn’t be expressed with beer, was articulated instead through song, publicly.

Right before the bar chick finished banging stools, we observed it was time to vacate. Lightning Lilly ordered me into a cab destined for her abode, to which I obliged a little too easily. She was desperate to get my opinion on one of her drawings, and I was buzzed enough to think that was the world’s greatest idea.

From the moment I walked into her house I was preparing to leave. The place was filled to the ceiling with old lady trinkets allegedly belonging to her older flatmate.

Out came the drawings and one by one she talked me through her infinite pencil tinkering (which fascinated me about as much as folding washing). But I persevered because I have manners. When she finally took a breath I said “Well I better get a cab, got to work early.” I was granted a phone call on the stipulation that we catch up again for coffee soon. Phew.

Finally when I heard the cab roll up I leaned over and kissed her, very sensually. Not because I am smart, but because clearly at that time I needed someone to stalk me.

To Be Continued...

Lightning Lilly Pt 1

I bumped into Lightning Lilly during a past life as a hospitality manager. It was during a bizarre time for me because I was also in an ‘open relationship’ as my flav-del-la-flav of the time lived overseas. The deal was we were free to date others, but never discuss it. I could write volumes on why this doesn’t work for lesbians, but maybe another day.

Anyway, I was prepping food for the night whilst tolerating the interruptions of steady stock deliveries. The last delivery person came bustling through the concertina doors, piled high was her trolley with awkwardly arranged bags of flour. 

Our eyes met and we froze. (It was that squirmy moment lesbians experience when they bump into each other in public. Gaydar sirens bleat, hot flushes occur, bulky objects are sought to hide under. And in the rare event that you are also attracted to each other, (which we both so very obviously were), this phenomenon is vividly exaggerated).

I exploded into activity: taking over the heavy lifting (which I NEVER do), whilst providing encouragement, support and gentle direction, (chortling internally at my blatant charm and the effect it was having on this gorgeous creature).

The moment she blushed I knew I had her, all I had to do was close the deal without appearing very interested. But first I had to establish common ground AND check out if she was a single lesbian. (There is really only one way to do this without blowing your own cover when probing a potential date in a non-official environment). After all the paper signing and checking off tinned pineapple, I said “Hey, you on Pink Sofa?”  She replied “no but I am thinking about it”.

Interpreted that means: yes I am lesbian or bi (because straight people don’t know about Pink Sofa), and yes I am single, or planning to be now I have met you. Then she mentioned something about going on a ‘charity ride’ which instantly got my attention, because that represented an opportunity to engage. I showed great interest in her novel pursuit, which earned me her email address. (One may be tempted to insert a nerdy smiley face, but fortunately they weren’t invented back then).

I left it 4 days then sent her an email. She responded in 30 minutes – she was eager.

Drill Sergeant Pt 2

Arrival time was 1pm, this of course was so we could spend all day together before dinner.

Not what she had in mind. I opened her gate and spotted Drill Sergeant in some sort of backyard commando kit hovering impatiently around an enormous pile of pavers. Perhaps she had arranged a small herd of lesbians to help?

I spent the next 9 hours digging, raking, scraping, measuring, stomping, banging (not that kind), swearing under my breath, perspiring, bleeding and sobbing (quietly). Finally at 10pm Drill Sergeant exclaimed it was time for food – that I must be hungry by now. I was simply too tired to recommend where she could thrust the hamburger on offer.

She asked if I wouldn’t mind driving us to the burger joint and I was too stupefied to object (not that she would have noticed).

This next bit won’t surprise you, as by now I am sure you have acknowledged my position as the bathmat. Upon arriving at the window in the drive through, she permitted me then to pay.

Back at Drill Sergeant’s house we fell into her lounge together.  Drill flicked on the television and took a bite into the burger that I PAID FOR. She didn’t seem to recognize the channel was on ABC’s Question Time in Parliament. Perhaps under different circumstances I might find members of the parliament asking questions of Government Ministers extremely riveting, however under no circumstances is it sexy. Nor was the aroma of her empty shoes, the sound of her snoring, or the sight of the burger that I PAID FOR resting on her bib.

I managed to extricate myself safely from the thundering ogre, but not without being completely traumatized from the entire incident.

I learned that if someone invites me over for dinner at 1pm, be suspicious of her motives.

Drill Sergeant Pt 1

I had an imitation date with a girl once. I call it 'imitation' because I was super keen on her, but I am not convinced the feeling was mutual.

The way to determine my scale of ‘keenness’ is to observe what lengths I will go to get asked out, and furthermore, what limits of torture I will suck up before I crack, once out.

Special note 3: No names or actual venues will ever be disclosed, in order to protect the identities of the places and people I may unknowingly discredit.

For the purpose of this post, let’s call my date ‘Drill Sergeant’.

I tried everything known to lesbiankind to attract her. You know things like doing the lesbian mating sound when she was in earshot, billboard advertising with my name and number in subliminal text, syringing love potion into her lemonade when her head was turned, that kind of thing.

Drill Sergeant was renovating her home around about the time that we met via mutual friends on Pink Sofa.  being such a great listener and observer, it didn’t take long for me to cotton on to the fact she needed help with some of her weekend reno jobs. Finally she asked me over for dinner, on the proviso that I would help her with the ‘paving under the patio’.

My mind immediately conjured images of our sweaty bodies unable to resist each other after a few moments in the sun laying bricks (or each other).

To Be Continued...

Special Notes

I am relieved we are past my first date story since I joined the Sofa over 10 years ago. It was by far the least complex of situations/affairs/pseudo relationships/one night stands etc., probably ever, in the history of lesbiankind, and I am certain a percentage of you can relate to a similar predicament..? Where you find yourself rolling a date into an intensely short relationship.

Special note 1: There will constantly be ‘special notes’ that sit on their own. These are to assist the reader and may sometimes be used as disclaimers.

Special note 2: Do not expect dates to appear in any chronological order. I may report on a date that occurred last night, or one that happened 10 years ago. It just depends on my mood.

First Date Final - Learnings Included

Small talk followed. Something about her flatmate’s ability to vacuum cobwebs, and she really wanted to ‘get into surfing’. Then something whacky happened. She managed to negotiate her way back to my apartment. But it wasn’t until she sat back on my lounge and rested her chin on her knees (way too comfortably), that I began to sweat. She was in for the long haul. I started inventing reasons in my mind for why she needed to leave. I tried out one after the other but nothing deterred her. Even when I picked up my keys and opened the door, telling her I had to go back to Poland. She just thought I was being 'funny'.

I must have had amnesia for the next 3 weeks, because I can't remember what happened.

But. One thing about me, I never burn my hand twice in exactly the same way.

First Date Pt 3

I arrived at the local pub with more than a pocket full of pre-first-date nerves. (This was not because internet dating was entirely new, but perhaps because I had elevated expectations of my surfer girl. There were several previous affairs - one with an American police officer whom I had met on the internet and flew 15, 000 miles (according to Google) to meet  – but more about her and my infatuation with females in uniform some other time). My usual routine is to arrive at least 15 minutes early, this is to guage the mood, acquaint myself with exits and find something to read/do/or break. I refuse to arrive second, mostly because I am certain to slip on a banana peel or step on a dwarf during my grande entry.

I picked her immediately. She looked as rehearsed as my latest pickup line. My excitement slumped as the reality that she was SO not a surfer girl consumed me. She looked like an artist. Nothing against artsy types, I just don’t dig that, and I was too young and too shallow to give her an opportunity to be interesting. Engrossed was I, in disappointment.

She didn’t even have a shell necklace on...

First Date Pt 2

In the early years of Pink Sofa serial dating, I used to plan night dates that were local and convenient for me. Venues needed to adhere to my stringent ambient suitability requirements, complete with clear exits, mobile phone coverage, lots of shiny things, and alcohol.

I was born to date, even as a 3 year old I used to hand flowers to strangers. This was going to be a cinch.

First Date

Back in 2000, when Pink Sofa.com first started, I was a quirky 20 something with a history of breaking hearts. When I heard about the whole online dating thing, I was a tad intrigued because it represented risk and awkwardness.

I pitched my profile to attract vibrant sporty types, and it only took 24 hours to attract a potential mate, probably because at that time there were only 10 or so other profiles in my region. Her name had the word 'surfer' in it, which automatically meant she was a surfer.

It is very important to note that at this time, I believed in concepts like 'true love' and 'the one'. So the fact that we were exchanging messages meant something. It was special. My special surfer chick. We arranged to meet fairly quickly because as every impatient lesbian knows, these things can not wait.

To Be Continued..