I kissed her. This was not so strange. Kissing girls, as I knew too well, was something I liked to do. But I had always thought it was for fun, that they tasted good but would be too hard to live with. I was sure I needed a man. To calm my soul and make me feel small and protected against the big bad world. But, man, did she taste good. Like lavender and rubies and the hard-candy lies you roll around on your tongue to cut class. She made me laugh. One summer night, lying in bed with her, she said out of the blue, “I respect your sexuality,” referring to the fact that I should be classified as
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Ts pmo bc of the way it’s written. Bisexual. Bi.
