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244 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 24, 2017
“God, you’re such a vagina.” He laughs,
... but I have the upper hand, and he’s a pussy.
Jeremy’s kind of a girly-man.

... signs that implies Jeremy is a closet case. Other than the manicure and the highlights, I can’t think of a single thing. He plays football. He fucks bitches. He cusses and spits.

Jeremy scoffs. “You’re the fucking fairy with your highlighted hair.”
“You’re the fucking queen, J, not me. Look at how your nails shine.”
“Nope. I bet you wear woman’s underwear too, huh? You’re a total homo.”
Toeing off my shoes, I leave my socks on. If we’re about to do what I think we’re about to do, toes are too personal. I’m not ready to play footsie with J. Socks are good. Socks are less gay.
A part of me, just for shits and giggles, wants to brush a stand of his hair behind his ear, ease the tension, but I refuse to be the girl.
I can smell him: vodka, cigarettes, and warmth. Did I just say warmth? How gay of me.

This is all wrong. It even feels wrong, but fuck, it feels good.


A big part of me is still fighting this and everything about it feels wrong. It feels wrong because I've grown up learning that it's wrong...not bad, just not right.

I've been in love with Christopher Rush since we were nine-years-old.

And I think this is what it's about, two people who care about each other, making each other feel nice in a way that only caring people can.


"Twat.
Twitch.
Not gay
"Toeing off my shoes, I leave my socks on. If we’re about to do what I think we’re about to do, toes are too personal."
Twat ... twat ... come on, dick, twitch!
Twat ... twat ... twat...
Nothing.
Shit.
"And I think, this is what it's about, two people who care about each other, making each other feel nice in a way only caring people can.
