In my early 30s I’d decided I didn’t want to swipe right on another man holding a fish on dating apps and I was taking tentative steps into the world of dating women in my home base of Brisbane.
Things hadn’t got off to a great start and as I tried to refine my approach, a friend posed a question that I’d foolishly never really considered: what did I actually want in a partner?
My list wasn’t long: principled, kind, smart. On the apps I’d previously sought out funny people, quirky people, hot people, but by 2024 I was looking for one thing: kind eyes.
Jessie worked in a bookshop and her profile was brief but well written. As soon as I saw it, I sensed she was a decent person. I reached out and told her I thought she was beautiful, not just physically attractive, but that she exuded a depth of character. I felt like a dickhead, but it was true and I figured the right person would take it the right way.
She was gracious in her reply, but didn’t jump right into chatting and I feared I might have overegged it. Her profile made it clear she was a naturally shy person who liked to take things slow, so I messaged her my phone number and hoped for the best. Eventually we started chatting, and while it was tough for me to stay chill, I let her cool, calm approach guide us.
The first time we met was in a dark park after work – something we joked you could never do with a bloke. She showed up with a homemade tofu stir-fry to share, wearing this knee-length gingham dress with a baby T underneath. Beyond how beautiful she looked, her energy was so calming. But she was funny too – so sharp and sweet at the same time. At the end of the date, both new to the Sapphic rules of engagement, we argued about who would walk who to their car.
This set the scene for what would become a delightfully old-fashioned courtship. Between voice notes and photos as I travelled for work, we started sending each other flowers, postcards and poems; both agreeing romance is wasted on men. All the small gestures between us landed just right and I finally felt as if I was with someone who spoke my language.
As Halloween approached, Jessie was excited about dressing up for work. She and her colleague decided to go as Meg and Mog because they thought the kids would love it. When I popped into the bookshop on the 31st and saw how much she was enjoying herself in her perfect little witch’s hat and how delighted the children were by her, I knew I was a goner. She has this magical way of making the smallest things feel so fun and meaningful.
That night I got home and started another list: reasons I loved her. Every day, I’d write a secret letter to her in my diary, outlining something I’d noticed about her. As the reasons mounted I continued to use the letters as a way to avoid freaking her out by actually saying those three little words. But a few weeks later as we lay cuddled up together, they just popped out.
I was mortified and sure she would be overwhelmed, but she surprised me. Cool and considered as ever, she said she felt the same.
I continued keeping my private ledger of the things that made me swoon: the speed-dating event we attended to up our lesbian game where Jessie purposefully matched with someone who’d opened up about struggling to find friends, so she could later send a text explaining that, while she was seeing someone, she thought this woman was lovely and would be glad to be her friend. I mean, what a sweetheart!
If we’d share a dish she’d leave me the last bite, even going so far as to pretend she didn’t like it so I’d feel comfortable about hoeing in. All these things she does are so understated, she will never boast or ask for recognition. But I see her committing these quiet acts of generosity all the time. And they don’t even have to be directed at me to make me love her more. That level of decency is so sexy.
By Christmas, I had compiled an extensive dossier that detailed every little thing she’d done in the previous three months that made me realise she was the girl for me, and gave it to her as a gift. She bloody loved it, and bawled her eyes out. Which, of course, is all you ever want.
Nearly 18 months later, Jessie continues to make me feel as safe in love as I ever have. And while we’ve had all the “big” conversations, it’s still the little things she does that mean the most.
