Page 13 of From LA to London, With Love

SOPHIE

“JUST SO I have this clear, you’ve been hanging out with CHRIS TRENT, and you’re only telling me now? And you nearly gave me a frigging heart attack on Monday because CHRIS TRENT was giving you a personal tour of his house?” Josh exclaimed as we walked to the LGBTQ+ youth center in Kilburn for our first volunteering session. Josh’s curly reddish-brown hair took on a life of its own when he was worked up, bouncing in every direction. It was currently out of control.

We’d reached West Hampstead and were strolling down the main street, which was bustling with people taking advantage of the warm summer evening.

“Is something going on between you two? OMG, is he as well-endowed in real life as those photos suggest? You know what, you should invite him to karaoke on Saturday so we can all meet him!”

I already regretted telling Josh about Chris. I knew he’d be interested, but I didn’t expect him to be quite so intense. His usually pale white face was flushed pink with excitement.

“Calm down! And don’t yell his name like that. He’s trying to keep a low profile.” I looked around, but no one was paying us any attention. “Nothing is going on between us. There’s no way he’d be interested in me. And anyway, I know he’s hot, but I’m just not attracted to him like that.” I’d been telling myself that was true, that I was an exhausted single mother and sex was the last thing on my mind, but…I’d been thinking about him a lot since we’d first met. When pushing Elliot in the pram, a slow-motion video of Chris lifting it up the stairs to the Castle, his biceps bulging, would appear uninvited in my mind. Or I’d get into the shower, and suddenly, an image of Chris in the shower at the Castle, soaping his washboard abs down, would materialize. I was ashamed to admit I’d even thought for a second about looking at those leaked photos, a thought I’d quickly dismissed.

“I don’t know how that’s humanly possible. He’s literally the sexiest man alive, Soph, at least according to People magazine…and me.” Josh winked.

I winced. Josh was still speaking way too loudly for comfort.

“I know. I Googled him when I got home yesterday. And no, I didn't look at those photos. I want to respect his privacy.” I glared at Josh, who clearly hadn’t shared my qualms. “I’m not sure if it’s because of the hormones and sleep deprivation, or if all those bad dating experiences have turned me off men for good, but I'm just not into him like that.”

While I might not have been telling Josh the complete truth about my feelings for Chris, I wasn’t lying about the bad dating experiences and the effect they’d had on me. A few years ago, when I was ready to dip my feet back into the dating pool after an emotional breakup, I’d naively filled out my online dating profile honestly. Bisexual—yes. Mixed race—yes. Serious relationship—yes. And then been bombarded with messages from men which ranged from mildly to downright offensive.

My face flushed as the memories came flooding back. There were those standard gross messages that, unfortunately, most women receive. Unsolicited dick pics, requests for photos of my boobs, general lewd comments. And then there were messages that were clearly prompted by my appearance or the words “bisexual” and “mixed race”. Despite the fact I’d said I only wanted a serious relationship, men saw those three words and assumed they’d hit the jackpot—obviously, I must be promiscuous and up for threesomes and casual sex. I received countless comments about my skin color, comparing me to honey, caramel, or milk chocolate—effectively reducing me to a delicious treat—as well as an onslaught of sleazy invitations for threesomes or one-night stands.

Unfortunately, a number of the dating candidates who passed the first, admittedly low, bar—not sending sleazy and/or racist messages or propositioning me for threesomes—fell down at the second—the first date. On multiple occasions, I’d turned up to a first date under the impression I was meeting a single man, to discover he’d brought along his significant other in the hope all three of us would hit it off. Or, more commonly, it quickly became clear my date was after one thing, and it wasn’t a serious relationship. Thankfully, I’d never felt physically in danger, but I had felt extremely uncomfortable.

Eventually, I gave up, blocked men, changed my sexuality on the apps to “queer,” and my dating life improved markedly—usually queer women actually read my profile and didn’t send me gross messages. Unfortunately, not markedly enough that I found the love of my life before my biological clock got so close to midnight that I decided to go down the IVF route by myself.

While I’d turned many of the failed dates into funny stories to entertain my friends, they’d had a long-lasting impact on how I felt about dating men.

“Well, I’d bang him in a heartbeat. It’s a shame he’s not gay.” Josh’s words pulled me out of my thoughts.

I smiled. “You never know. He could be bi. You shouldn’t make assumptions!” People assuming someone’s sexuality based solely on their dating history was a pet peeve of mine.

“I can only hope.” Josh clasped his hands together dramatically, as if he was praying.

“To be honest, I’ve been really surprised how well we’re getting along. At first glance, this guy is everything I don’t usually like, but we have a lot in common. I’d much rather hang out with him than anyone in the mothers’ group. Anyway, that’s enough about him for now. We’re here.”

We stood out in front of a red-bricked, slightly dilapidated two-story building, which must have been well over a hundred years old. Over the doorway, “Pride House” was written in rainbow letters, with Pride flags flying on either side. We walked through the open front door and into a large room filled with people, mostly teenagers, chatting animatedly. Some were standing, others sitting on bean bags or around tables. The colorful posters on the walls didn’t conceal all of the cracks in the plaster, and the carpet was worn. Despite being slightly shabby, the room was warm and inviting.

A person wearing an outfit almost identical to mine—black jeans and a gray T-shirt, but sporting a cool mullet which I definitely could not pull off—approached, wearing a label that said “Alex, They/Them.”

“Hello, I’m Alex. Are you our new mentors?” Alex grinned at us welcomingly.

“Yes. I’m Sophie, and this is Josh,” I said, gesturing at Josh, who smiled.

“Awesome! Great to meet you both. So, hopefully you had a chance to read the induction materials I sent through this morning and do the online training course, but in a nutshell, every Wednesday evening, we have a social mentoring night, where young LGBTQ+ people spend time with LGBTQ+ mentors in a social setting. We have activities—card and board games, sometimes a drag queen comes in to host bingo, and we do movie nights too. Your role is to spend time with the young people and try to make sure no one is left out. Just be yourself—play games, chat—whatever you feel like.” Alex handed us some white sticky labels. “Here, write your names and pronouns on these labels, and then I’ll show you around and introduce you to everyone.”

The room was full of the teenagers and volunteers chatting, laughing, and playing games. Both the young people and the volunteers were a diverse mix of ages, genders, and races. I sighed happily. I loved queer spaces like this, where people could be themselves without fear of judgement.

I spent the next hour playing board games with three girls in their mid-teens who, despite their constant bickering, seemed to be best friends. I glanced over at Josh a few times, deep in an animated discussion with two boys of a similar age.

I let out a deep breath. I was really glad I’d signed up to do this. Tonight was the first time I’d been out in the evening since Elliot was born, and it felt good to not be sitting at home, quietly reading or watching TV with my parents. The evening went quickly, and I was disappointed when Alex said it was time to finish up.

“Will you come back next week, Sophie?” one of the teenagers, Erin, who had brown hair, a smattering of freckles covering her white skin, and a big friendly grin, asked as we packed away the board game.

I thought I detected a hopeful note in her voice, and warmth filled my chest.

“Definitely! I need to reclaim my dignity after all my losses tonight!”

Erin walked with me to the shelves where the games were stored and cleared her throat. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”