Sasha didn’t feel uncool staring at Chloë. She felt instead profoundly lesbian, seen-by-butch, seen-as-femme. Maybe a better word for it was dykette, containing both the butch’s gaze and the femme’s stare—because, of course, they’re looking at each other. It’s not a stare from below, the lesbian stare, but a pure wanting, a desire whose direction is always in flux.
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