April 26–May 3, 2001

slant

Lesbian Dating Game

by Terry Loncaric

It seems like there were many signals that I was gay. Okay, not signals, more like flashing red lights. Even though I slept with men, I was always quick to boot them out of bed. They got the job done. Period. There was no feeling of wanting to develop something deeper.

But when I kissed a woman, the earth really did shake. My heart was laid bare.

My emotions were on fire. It was fun. It was thrilling. It was scary.

Yet I had no frame of reference in dating. What if both of us want to lead on the dance floor, or worse yet, what if neither of us want to lead, and then we end up looking like a couple of dorky old dykes?

The parameters that used to exist in the heterosexual world had disappeared. I met women who could use power tools but who could also sweep me off my feet on the dance floor and in the bedroom. I discovered women who were feminine and sweet, but in the bedroom, they were total dominatrixes. I learned that toys are not just something you get for Christmas.

In this sexually androgynous world, I learned the truth about gay women. Not all lesbians are sweet and nurturing, and some women come with so much baggage, they don’t mind dumping it all out on the first date. I find women charming who wear their hearts on their sleeves, but do I really need to know on the first date that your brother raped you, you have multiple personalities and you are on an anti-depressant that diminishes your sexual appetite?

Maybe I have that radar that attracts seriously troubled women, but I have gone on some mighty strange dates. One woman told me she wanted to bring her mother along on the first date. I generally do well with moms. But when I’m gazing into some woman’s eyes — in that first flush of attraction — I really don’t want to be making small talk with Mom, unless Mom is cute, and then maybe I want to date her, instead.

Then there was the woman with 10 cats. I thought I could handle her eccentricities. Rule #1 in sexual attraction: Just because you’re madly attracted to a woman does not mean the presence of 10 cats leering at you while you are making love to their mommy will not feel creepy. When I told her she had nine cats too many, she looked wounded. "But you live in an efficiency apartment," I countered.

Through all the dating travails, however, I have developed some standards from which I am not about to budge.

• If she is culturally illiterate, forget it. Call me a snob, but I’m not going to have much to talk about with a woman who only reads Popular Mechanics and thinks a bookstore is only a place to drink coffee. I’m 46. I’m not in the mood to teach any woman who can’t teach me back. One of my first lovers made me appreciate Dave Brubeck, classical music and Joseph Campbell. Oh, yeah, and she had a great tush.

• If her voice is lower than Bea Arthur’s, she is plastered with tattoos and she walks like a hulking linebacker, that is way too butch for me. Don’t get me wrong — there is a grace and strength in butch women — but if she looks like my brother with breasts, I’m not going there!

• If she is living with her "ex," and her "ex" looks like she just got out of prison, it seems like it might be difficult to carry on some kind of courtship that does not require police protection.

As I get older, I have learned to appreciate low-maintenance women — you know the ones with no pets, no kids and dead parents. That way you will not have to deal with bratty kids or moms who will blame you for turning their daughter gay, and you will never have to dump kitty litter. Even if dogs do drool, at least they have the sense to do their business someplace far away from the clothes closet.

One night I shared some of my dating woes with a new friend, and she laughed so hard, it made me wonder — "Who am I — the Lucille Ball of the lesbian community?"

Then I realized, like every other single lesbian out there, I am learning as I go along how to settle into the comfort zone of gay life. I know my dream girl is out there — waiting to be loved but just as willing to love back.

But can I pick up the tab and hold the door for her without being called a gentleman butch? I’ll get back to you on that one.

Terry Loncaric has been an entertainment reporter and feature writer for 23 years. If you would like to respond to this Slant or have one of your own (650 words), contact Howard Altman, City Paper news editor, 123 Chestnut St., Phila., PA 19106 or e-mail altman@citypaper.net.