It was lighthearted because sex was restricted to the marital bed — and those engaged to be married. The Sixties changed all that.
In the early Eighties, I was between serious relationships, and I had a whole lot of tickets to classical music concerts in the Los Angeles area. I teamed with a lesbian lady who was in a committed relationship with a another lesbian who taught at the same elementary school but who had no time for classical music. She and I shared a deep love of classical music -- and of women with long hair.
In those days the Los Angeles Philharmonic held their concerts at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion. I had just lost a lot of weight and was wearing my new three-piece suit. My lesbian concert partner was also dressed to the nines. The Pavilion had full length tinted mirrors on the stairways to the upper levels, and as she and I ascended the stairs, I was busy admiring my new look. (I can be shameless about that.)
Coming down the stairway was a woman who looked like a young red-headed Mia Farrow accompanied by a much older man. My eyes attempted to crash through my glasses, and my lesbian concert partner audibly moaned.
ME: We're too late. She found her sugar daddy.
SHE: You idiot, that her father! Don't you see the resemblance? Besides, she's gay!
ME: To you, everybody's gay.
SHE: No, I'm gay, she's gay, you're not gay.
ME: I bet you twenty dollars I can get her phone number before you can.
SHE: You're on! Race you to her!
We speed-walked back down the stairs to the bar where she and her older squire were sipping wine. In the next few minutes, my concert partner collected her phone number and my twenty dollars. I learned an expensive lesson. Her gaydar was to be trusted, not mine.
That’s true.
I was too young to pay attention to music in those days but enjoy it a lot nowadays. Nostalgia plays a large part, I guess. Life was simpler back then.