For years I was allergic to cooking. I equated it with serving men. Then I realized, hey I’m a lesbian. If I’m doing any cooking, it won’t be for a man. About half-way through my twenties, I had a second epiphany; women love it when you cook for them. In my experience, it is a lesbrodisiac unlike any other. Seriously, ladies. If you want to impress your date, cook them a meal and select a nice bottle of red. If you don’t know wine or how to cook, learn. That’s what the internet is for. If you really want to hit a home run (I hate sports analogies, why did I do that?), wash the dishes and clean the kitchen afterward. You’ll be glad you did when you’re making breakfast for two the next morning.
What my young self didn’t realize, is that domesticity doesn’t mean femininity. I have never been a girly-girl. I’m not entirely butch either, I fall somewhere in the middle. I wasted years avoiding these things because I was concerned with labels and what society and the queer community would think of me; a totally ridiculous notion now. I am married to a magnificent woman and I cook for her all the time. It’s a wonderful way to express my love and show romance.
Let me back up a bit. I am in my mid-forties and I have to say that I have never been a part of the lesbian scene in my metropolitan city. Basically because the “lesbian scene” involved bars and in my young experience, lots of jealousy and drama. So I avoided it. I never felt like I was missing out on anything. I didn’t have a problem finding women to date.
I know I’m of an older generation but I don’t understand the casual sex culture that young people have today. My friends are both queer and straight and it is obvious to me that orientation doesn’t matter. Sex is readily available between consenting strangers, and it almost seems as common as a handshake. I’m in no way making any judgment of that lifestyle. In fact, it seems pretty convenient if you practice safe, consensual sex.
I can’t help but ask though, isn’t anyone interested in romance anymore? The buildup of anticipation when you are first going out and getting to know one another is intoxicating to me; the mystical sensation of the first kiss. Afterward, talking about it to your best friend and reliving it when you lie awake at night. Imagining how their body will feel in your arms when you eventually reach the point of passion. And for me personally, falling in love and singing Sinatra at the top of my lungs while I lose myself in a daydream about her.
Perhaps I’m too romantic. Maybe I’m old fashioned, or maybe I’m just old.
