Last night, this dyke princess got domesticated. I've been seeing Ryan* for about a month. We're three dates deep, which in lesbian years is the appropriate amount of time to invite someone over for a lavish, home-cooked meal made entirely of aphrodisiacs.
We are complete opposites: She’s an even-keeled future lawyer who never drinks too much, takes the subway, and listens to podcasts. I’m a spoiled brat who writes about my vagina for a living, guzzles Champagne like it’s my last day on earth (if I’m not doing tequila shots), Ubers everywhere, and exclusively listens to music I imagine myself stripping to. But somehow we work.
See, on our second date, I had a realization. We were at this unbearably hip restaurant with dim lighting in Bushwick and I was practically soaking my chair; she has this masculine energy that drives me crazy. I wanted her to like me. I realized I felt like I could actually be myself around her — not just who I think people want me to be. So I decided to be honest with her. I gave her my usual "I'm a writer!" speech, explaining that she shouldn't take everything I write at face value and asking what her boundaries would be as a subject.
"I knew you were a writer before we went out," she replied. "I'm OK with it. I like it."
"So, I have to cook an aphrodisiac dinner for a story," I said. "You down?"
I went on and on about the delicious meal I would prepare for her, how my Italian upbringing means I'm an amazing cook, and how impressed and horny the dinner would make her. She was, indeed, down.
I make up plenty of unnecessary rules when it comes to dating. Originally, I forbid myself from sleeping with her on the second date. Spoiler alert — I did. So next, I decided I wouldn't see her again until the night of the aphrodisiac dinner. I promptly broke that rule upon running her into a bar the night before our meal; I went home with her. Old sluts can’t learn new tricks.
As we lied entangled in each other limbs, I turned to her. "Ryan?" I purred sweetly.
"What is it?"
It was time to come clean. "I don’t know how to cook."
Now that my secret was out, I was even more determined to impress her. Thanks to Google, I learned that watermelon, strawberries, and basil are aphrodisiacs. Some other super unsexy things are, too, like asparagus. I honestly don’t want anyone near my vagina after I eat asparagus.
I ordered a meal kit on Amazon Prime. (You think this b*tch is going to the supermarket?) My menu: watermelon, strawberry, and basil salad (triple threat aphrodisiacs) with agave nectar; ginger salmon (aphrodisiac), edamame and rice; Champagne (aphrodisiac); and for dessert, chocolate-covered pomegranates (more aphrodisiacs). I liked the idea of a meal kit because cooking from scratch seems harder than putting in a belly ring with acrylic nails.
As dinner time neared, my time-management skills began kicking my ass. We'd been f*cking until 4 a.m., I had slept until 3 p.m., and by 6:30 that night, I still hadn't combed out the insane knots in my 26-inch extensions or evened out my spray tan. That's when my roommate, who I lovingly call Girl Fieri, stepped in.
“Get in the shower, Dayna," she said. "I’ll finish this."
She’s a real-ass friend that paused her episode of Real Housewives Of New Jersey to rescue me from my crisis. While Girl Fieri took care of the rest of the cooking, I could focus on the most important part: what I was wearing. I settled on a red velvet lingerie set, a black mini-dress, a floral robe, and my heeled Western boots. Domestic, right?
When I was finished getting ready, the meals had been plated, and a candle was lit on the table. Like I said, real-ass friend. So I didn’t make the whole dinner myself — sue me.
As Ryan’s footsteps echoed in my apartment building hallway, the butterflies in my stomach intensified. I wanted to impress her. My anxiety started spiraling. What if I gave us both food poisoning?
She walked in and after a five-minute makeout, placed a bottle of wine on my table and raved about how beautiful the meal was. Then it was time to eat and it was delicious. Amazon meal kits are bomb AF and I highly recommend them.
"Can we take a break?" she asked, grabbing my face to kiss me.
So, did the aphrodisiacs work? I don't know if they were the sole cause of the spark between us, but let me tell you this: that night, I had 10 of the most intense orgasms of my life. Like, earth-shattering, blurred-vision, legs-don't-work orgasms.
When we slept together the night before, it was good. But I was a little too drunk, surprised her with my requests to be spit on and spanked, and we were still feeling each other out. This time around, sex was phenomenal. The combination of a responsible amount of Champagne, adult communication, practice, and aphrodisiacs led to an amazing night.
Tip: If your first night with someone isn't amazing, just try again after an open conversation about both of your desires and needs over a platter of watermelon. All set.
After we finished, something even more mind-blowing happened.... I wanted to cuddle with her. I wanted to kiss her and stroke her hair. All that cute sh*t that usually gives me anxiety suddenly made me feel a warm rush of emotions. My sex drive is usually out of control, so feeling like a maniac after eating aphrodisiacs didn't surprise me. But I was taken aback by the feelings I had after having sex with Ryan. She saw me and liked me for who I am. I even liked her enough to cook for her. But next time, we're going to a restaurant.
* Name has been changed.