Step One: Find a girl.
Two weeks ago I went on lady Tinder. Well, it was just regular tinder but last week I searched for women instead of men. In the past I went on Tinder to find guys to date but all I seemed to find was mediocrity in most conversations and in ALL of the sex. Looking for women was such a different approach; it suddenly wasn’t too thirsty for me to send the first message, and instead of the usual boring “hello” I was able to write, “Yassss! Makeup on fleek!”
I don’t know “my type” so initially I was just swiping right to women who looked like me, maybe in some type of conceited fantasy, I don’t know. But they were all tall, thin, black women.
The first match I got was Nessa, and we clicked right away. She was responsive and witty and didn’t waste my time. Within minutes of texting on the app we exchanged phone numbers and two days later we met up for drinks.
Step Two: Go on a date.
I showed up early and walked into the bar so unbelievably nervous. I would have been nervous at any bar, considering it was my first lesbian date, so it didn’t help that I was alone at Cubbyhole, the most popular lesbian bar in the city.
After I struggled to get a Blue Moon from the bartender in this tiny crowded place, I was looking for a spot to post up while I waited for Nessa. I asked a lady at the end of the bar if the two stools next to her were claimed, and she said yes while pointing to the women smoking outside. She then said, “Aww, now I feel bad telling you that you can’t sit down. I should buy you a drink.”
I said, “No, no…that’s okay,” and snaked my way to the opposite side of the room, avoiding eye contact.
I stood near the jukebox in the back by the bathrooms. I checked my phone and saw that Nessa texted about a train delay and that she was running about 25 minutes late. At this point people began to notice I was by myself.
“Hi there,” a pretty brunette came up to me. “Are you alone?” she asked.
“I’m waiting for someone.”
“Oh yea? Where is she?”
“I don’t know. Close I think.”
“You look lonely. Come. Do a shot with me and Annetta. I’m Vanja.”
“Faiven. With an ‘F’.”
“Okay, Faiven. Come.”
After our shots of Fireball Vanja told me all about where she’s from in Montenegro. She was impressed by my knowledge of the region and wondered why I knew random facts about Eastern Europe—I didn’t
tell her that it was because my ex-boyfriend is from Slovakia. I figured it’d be unseemly to bring up recent penis at a lesbian bar.
I continued the conversation about my worldliness when Nessa finally arrived.
Nessa was pretty like her pictures, but overall our conversation was dry, and so were my panties. “Ok, so I’m not a lesbian,” I thought.
Just then was when I saw Vanja sneaking glances at me from the bar where I left her. She was smiling, smirking, definitely flirting. And I liked it.
I finished my beer and was ready for a change of scenery. I assumed Nessa would suggest that we go back to her place, because that’s what all my male Tinder dates have done about 20 minutes in. Instead we went to another bar and I bought her a drink. I thought that maybe if we got a little tipsy, the lesbian stuff would start happening. Nope.
We both walked to West 4th Street, hugged goodbye when her train came, then I got on mine a few minutes later. Nessa texted me from the train and said she’d be down to hang again, but I didn’t want to.
Step Three: Be open to surprises.
After I washed up I laid in bed thinking about what just happened. I didn’t consider my date with Nessa to be much of a lesbian thing at all. It was just two girls drinking and talking without flirting, and no one tasted anyone’s cherry ChapStick.
New lesbian me was very disappointed with the encounter so even though Nessa hit me up to hang out again, I ghosted her and went back on Tinder to find someone new. THAT’S WHEN I SAW VANJA’S PROFILE. She had a different name on the app, but it was definitely her. I swiped right.
The next morning I checked my notifications and there was one from Tinder congratulating me on my new match. VANJA. A conversation ensued:
I wrote, “Haha, omg I can’t believe I found you!!”
She replied, “Yesss—how was the rest of your night?”
I wrote, “Eh, I don’t really consider it my first real lesbian date. Nothing happened.”
“Lol, yea I told you that at the bar. You don’t remember?”
“No way. Definitely didn’t catch that. Well, would you like to go on another lesbian date and I will make sure it counts as your first? :)”
“Hell yes! And also, I’m so glad we already met.”
Step Five: Date some more.
The five days leading up to my night out with Vanja felt more like a month. I was alone with my own thoughts way too often, and I played out so many possible scenarios of what could go down. The worst scenario to me would have been that the date was boring and uneventful like the one with Nessa. The best case would involve overwhelming chemistry, attraction, and sex like in the Sapphic films I’ve watched online.
The big Wednesday night finally came, and I met Vanja at Art Bar downtown. I showed up first, so I ordered a vodka martini for comfort then sat and scrolled Instagram while I waited.
When she arrived she saw me sitting at a booth in the front and immediately said, “We’ll go to the back. Much better atmosphere.” The atmosphere she was referring to included dim lighting and many large plush couches lined against the walls. REAL SUBTLE, GIRL.
Later, when Vanja was about half way through her second glass of wine and when my body made a decent indent in the cushions, the mood of the conversation changed. Suddenly I found myself looking at Vanja’s lips while she talked, and I looked down to see that my hand was actually caressing her thigh. I didn’t know if it was her accent, her hair, or the way she spoke so passionately about energies that had me so drawn in, but I was.
I looked around to assess the environment, checking to see if we were at all a spectacle—if I saw two girls that cozy on a public couch, I know I’d be looking. Then, when I finished my survey of the room I turned back to Vanja and that’s when she kissed me. To my own surprise, I wasn’t shocked, and it wasn’t weird.
I kissed back and before I knew it we were in the middle of a full-blown makeout session. Once we got this first major one out of the way, the others that followed were natural and frequent throughout the rest of our conversation on the couch.
I eventually became so turned on that the extreme PDA, which would normally bother me, didn’t matter to me at all. I pretended it did though, just so we could move the party.
“That guy you mentioned you live with…does he care if you bring people home?” I asked. “Nah, he’s cool. He actually encourages me to do whatever.”
“I think tonight you should definitely do whatever.”
After we closed our tab we layered up to brave the cold waiting for us outside. We walked to the corner and I kissed her for the first time standing up. It was nice.
I saw the entrance to the subway just a block and a half from where we were standing and I asked how she wanted us to go back to her apartment. “You’re uptown too, right? Cab or train?”
Vanja half laughed at me when she responded, “Now miss, this was so fun but I think you misunderstood what I said before. Mark has no problem with me having people over, but I do. On the first date, that is.”
“Whaaaaat. Nooooo. Really? Okay…Dang.”
“Sorry, babe. It’s just my thing.”
After I whined a little, Vanja kissed me again and left me soaking wet on the corner of 14th and 8th as she walked away. She yelled, “Text me when you get home!”
Step Six: Reflect.
Some girls get away with lesbian stuff by having a threesome with their boyfriends. They say, “I’m not gay, we’re just freaky.”
My response for the longest time was always something along the lines of, “Girl, if you were buried in snatch I’m pretty sure you’re gay. Or at least bi.”
But now I understand why people don’t like to be labeled. There are so many layers to sexuality and it’s confusing. I get it now.
But who knows. Maybe I shouldn’t go around telling all my friends that I’m a lesbian quite so early in my experiences—I told one of my gay friends and he texted me, “Faiven, your lesbian hasn’t even kicked in yet. You still got 60 days.” That shit was HILARIOUS. He has a point though. Maybe I’m experimenting. Maybe I’m finally fully acting on a latent desire I’ve always had. Maybe we are all pansexual and only a few of us have been lucky enough to have the opportunity to explore it.
All I know is that Vanja lives a few subway stops away from me and we just confirmed plans to meet up again this weekend. And I can’t wait.