The hopeful lovers on the Critic Blind Date are provided with a meal and a bar tab, thanks to Mamacita. If you’re looking for love and want to give the Blind Date a go, email email@example.com
It all started two weeks ago when Critic posted that they were looking for girls who like girls and, after some good old peer pressure from the fam, my bisexual ass decided it was time to nut up or shut up.
The evening started with the downing of a bottle of pinot with the gals, while they poked and prodded in an attempt to make me look slightly more fuckable than usual. After arriving fashionably late and mildly steamed I was shown to an empty table where I sat and began absolutely bricking it. Luckily, I didn’t need to be nervous, wow(!), my date was definitely my type on paper! I was genuinely impressed with what Critic had pulled out of the dregs of Dunners, the only downside was her being a vegan.
After some seriously spicy banter and many prompts from the wait staff we finally ordered. Maybe I had come in just a little hot because after another drink I accidentally smashed my margarita glass, then had to convince the wait staff I was just drunk in love and not 10 standards deep.
As the restaurant was closing we decided the evening was far from done and headed up to Carousel for a few more drinks. Plenty of dark corners for doing dark deeds, if you know what I mean. Two girls, one date. Who the fuck makes the first move you ask? I don’t know if it was the soft glow of the candle light, but bitch, I did!
What happened next is something I’ll have to leave to your imaginations (or a future moaningful confession?) but on my stride of pride home the next morning I was one happy gal.
Cheers Critic for a great night.
Tummy twisting with nerves, I knew there was a high chance I’d shit myself if I downed my pinot gris. Rather than risk it, I set off completely sober and arrived at my date in desperate need of social lubrication.
Walking in and preparing for the worst, I was blown away to find my date was a gorgeous blonde in a cropped cheetah print top. Her small tits and tiny waist had me already undressing her with my eyes. It didn’t take long for the conversation to flow, we chatted about the tragic lesbian dating pool in Dunedin and bonded over our hatred of men.
A smashed margarita glass later, we were given our mains and an extra bottle of fuck-off water for the table. So naturally we had two mouthfuls and gapped, in search of somewhere to set the tone. Where better than Carousel to spend money that I don’t have on overpriced cocktails. Nevertheless, the dimly lit side room was the perfect setting to get the tension rising as we sipped our strawberry toppers and gave each other the fuck me eyes. She made the first move and went in for the kiss, before I knew it, she was biting my lower lip and my hand was moving up the inside of her thigh. As we made our way to leave, the bar woman shot us a look over her glasses, knowing all too well where we were headed.
I’m sure we looked pretty cute walking home holding hands but what happened in the bedroom was anything but. A lady never tells … but let’s just say her long legs made excellent leverage for climactic scissoring action. Yes, scissoring is a thing and no we didn’t use a strap-on. God gave us five fingers on each hand for a reason – am I right?
Cheers Critic and Mamacita!