My experience with women is a rather strange one. I spent years trying to be straight, dating guys who also doubted my sexuality. Man, if they were confused, they should have been inside my head for a day. But if we fast forward to the present day, I’ve got a bunch of gay tales to tell, some awful, some funny, some so awkward you’ll probably want the ground to swallow you up on my behalf.
During these experiences I’ve come to realise something. Lesbians are a bit like a bad smell that just won’t go away. No matter how much Febreeze you use.
Maybe it’s the gay way of networking, or maybe lesbians just love adding friends to their Facebook, but either way, their ability to hang on for dear life is somewhat impressive and disconcerting.
I’ll give you an example. Some time ago I met this girl on Tinder called Annabelle* who had this slightly androgynous thing going on which I couldn’t quite decide if I found hot. So what did I do? I swiped right, obviously, to find she had done the same. We got chatting and she suggested we went for a drink. At this point, I didn’t realise I had agreed to go for a drink with a middle aged man*.
She said to meet her in town near a coffee shop, to which I find her half way up the street, stood between some benches reading a book. You know those awkward moments when you want someone to keep an eye on your stuff in Starbucks and you don’t want to interrupt? Yeah, a bit like that. Although in this case, I wasn’t even 100% sure it was her.
We head into a bar and sit down with a menu each. I suggest we get cocktails, to which she gives me a look as though I’ve just taken a shit in the corner. Although slightly put off by her anti-cocktail attitude, I ask for a Pina Colada and sit and wait for her to return. She comes back with a glass of whiskey, a water, and my cocktail. At this point she continues to lecture me on how I clearly “don’t like alcohol that tastes like alcohol” and her love of whiskey.
That’s great, well done you.
Now I’ve given you the context of this individual I’ll explain what I mean about the lesbian linger. This whole situation seems so long ago now that when she pops up out the blue I have to stare at my phone for so long to remember who she even is that I go a little crosseyed.
Keeping in mind the last time I heard from her was near six months ago now, just the other day she messaged me:
“Hey stranger. How have you been? How did the dissertation go?”
Sure, it could be perfectly innocent, she might be laying in bed bored with nobody else to text. Sure.
The time before that, we stopped talking in July, only for her to pop up with another “hey stranger” text in September. Yet again asking about my dissertation. Maybe she’s obsessed with education? Maybe she’s mistaking my work for something she wrote? Who fu**ing knows.
But she is just one of many who linger on in the background ready to pounce again when the time is right. Remember my ballet story? The same applies there, in a less snobby-whiskey-drinking-way. For two people I’ve met once, they sure like to maintain contact.
Not enough evidence?
Well, I’ve got another.
So one Halloween I’m on a night out and I bump into this girl. Within minutes we’re swapping numbers and texting for a few weeks after. She was someone who had a million things to say via text, but in person resembled a mute. It was thrilling stuff. If you like talking to yourself of course.
Nevertheless, months and months on, she pops up out of nowhere. Whether it’s a stalk of my recent Facebook photos – with an obvious ‘like’ of those that most definitely weren’t just showing in her newsfeed – or a “hey you” text. But why? That ship has not only long sailed, it has crashed, disintegrated and is now considered a lost cause.
*Not literally. This is not a catfish story, kids.
*Of course I’m going to change her name.