The Lesbian Case of Benjamin Button: Dating in Reverse

2 glasses of red wine on a table
Image by Jenny Ondioline / CC BY

“I have to go soon,” I tell Ro, glancing at the clock on her microwave.

She nods. “I had a feeling. We talked away our time again.”

It’s a repeat problem we have. Dinner and drinks and conversation monopolize our dates. Before we know it, I have to drive home. No time for sex.

“Apparently we’re dating in reverse,” I say. “Like Benjamin Button. We’re starting out as two old married lesbians. Bed death. Wine tasting. And moving backwards in time towards NRE.”

She laughs. “I don’t want you to think I don’t like you. Because I do.”

I nod. “Our chemistry is solid.”

“I’ve been in situations where I wasn’t really feeling it with someone. And this is so not that. I just get so excited about our conversations,” she says.

“It’s a good problem to have.”

“This is one of those times I’m glad we’ve known each other for a while,” Ro says.

“Oh?”

If this were a traditional new relationship, we’d both be leaving these sexless nights markedly more unsettled, she says. Doing mental calculus to read into the meaning of it all.

Because for all the talk advisingĀ direct communication in the relationship how-to (especially in polyamory), we go into real life situations relatively defenseless. The advice we read has armed only us, not the people we must interact with. We can be direct all day long, but we can’t force them to reciprocate and be direct in return. And there’s the not-so-small matter that we don’t always know exactly what’s going on inside of ourĀ own heads. If only we were machines with a display that could read out specifications. But no, our inner lives are nebulous, in flux, and often inscrutable.

I scoop up my purse, step into my heels.

“What we should do next time,” Ro says, “is just jump into bed right when you get here. Have sex first and then find a place that serves dinner late.”

I smile. “That I can do. Dinner at 10 pm. Like we’re Spaniards.” We’ve both been to Spain.

She smiles back. “Or any place where they live on more reasonable terms.”

And as I make the drive back to my place, I’m not picking apart what she said. Or wondering at hidden meanings. Instead, I’m thinking about her laugh. The way the wine tasted.

And looking forward to seeing her again.

*

My book is out!

Poly Land: My Brutally Honest Adventures in Polyamory

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