She shakes her head as if to say ‘yes, you are the worst kind of control freak, a passive one, a controlling passive lesbian bombshell’

She continues gazing at the television screen as she slowly savours her gooey, runny, melted vanilla ice cream. She likes her ice cream a certain way, two scoops topped with yellow and green m&ms, only ever yellow and green. She then sticks the ice cream in the microwave for approximately twenty seconds, to avoid the initial struggle of digging into the hard texture.

She likes it soft and creamy.

I feel my face heat up as I reminisce about the day she showed me her ice cream routine first hand and just how enjoyable it could be to eat soft ice cream both from the bowl and her. It was that day she began to call me her soft and creamy too. Two simple words transformed into the most exquisite adjectives coming from her lips. Who cares if melted ice cream defeats the purpose of eating ice cream, I was her soft and creamy.

“Can I have some?” I ask, recalling a film I once watched where the female support said something along the lines of ‘you know its love when you pass up the last chicken wing for them’. Without hesitating Bette scoops up the last spoonful of ice cream and offers it to me. It doesn’t matter that her eyes have once more shifted to the screen or that the ice cream is dripping on the couch, what matters is the implied love in the gesture. Ice cream trumps chicken wings all the time, every time. I am her soft and creamy.

The sweet gesture and memories almost have me forgetting the other prominent word she had used to describe me. Apparently I’m now her soft and creamy passive girlfriend. “Passive how?” I ask, loathing that I couldn’t let this go.

She shrugs, still fixated on the show. “Your approach” she murmurs. 

I’d like to tell her that her approach to this conservation is passive, it’d be the juvenile thing to say however, so I decide to examine her claim instead. Was my approach to our Valentine’s Day plans passive? A control freak would have diligently researched, made the arrangements after cross checking work schedules, she would then have gone out and purchased toiletries, packed and stood by the door demanding her woman hop in the car and buckle up. It pains me to admit but Bette is right, I am passive. I barely made it past the second step.

Bette mutes the television and twists on the couch so that we are now facing each other. “What’s wrong?" she asks, reaching for my hand. “You’re looking extremely vexed”

I stare down at our entwined fingers and smile. I adore her hands, her slender fingers, the neatly trimmed nails and their natural hue. Her touch emits volcanic heat, it never fails to overwhelm me. “I adore you fingers” I exclaim, feeling a sudden need to verbalise my affection.

Teasingly wiggling her fingers in mine, she smiles. I’ve always liked the way her smile slowly creeps onto her face, it’s a journey and I feel blessed to share it. “And they adore you. So lets talk V-day?”

I drag in a big breath and look at the television. The mega mall was coming along very nicely. “Aren’t you going to finish watching this?”

“Why waste time on frivolous pursuits when you clearly want to talk about this weekend”

“I want us to take a romantic trip together” I say, anxiously.

“A trip to the grocery store can be romantic if you’re with the right person” she pulls my hands up and lightly brushes her lips against them. I can feel the imprint of her smile and it’s both pleasing and frustrating.

“Don’t be cheesy Bette, I mean someplace –”

“Inherently romantic?” she interrupts.

“Ideally, yes”

“Like a candy store”

“Bette!” the glint of amusement in her eyes is very revealing, she’s deriding me.

“I’m sorry” she whispers and I suddenly feel very exhausted wanting nothing more than to take the passive approach. “You look like you could do with a bit of sleep T”

“What about ..”

“You know I’d gladly go where you lead right?” She pulls me off the couch and into her, squeezing me tight in a warm welcoming hug. “Let’s go to bed”

I comply passively.

———————————————– End