The first time a woman kissed me, I was dancing with a man. It was the day before Thanksgiving. The woman, cute and surrounded by her cute girl friends, reached out for my hands and cupped them in hers. She said, “You’re cold. Is it okay for him to be dancing with you like that?” I said it was okay because I stole his jacket. She asked if she could kiss me and we kissed, unnoticed by everyone because no one else mattered. It was just a kiss and then she ran off in a gay panic. C’est la vie.
I don’t care about being ‘politically correct’ because there is no ‘politically correct’ when politics in our country are clearly so confused. I wish for a world where people can be comfortable in both their gender and sexuality, freely. But getting to that comfort, even now, means exploring. I didn’t date until I left the dry desert that is North Carolina, but at least I was comfortable with myself by then. It was an exponential learning curve. One that concluded with: sex is only fun with someone you have a spiritual connection with. The rest is for the dogs.
But spirituality comes with maturity and experience. If that means waiting it out or going through the experiences, good and bad, then just go through them at least having learned something. Wear protection. Get tested if you don’t. But wear fucking protection until you know you’re ready for what might happen if you don’t.
When you’re comfortable with who you are, people who didn’t put in work to be comfortable with themselves will be jealous. They’ll look at you and go, “Damn bitch, that should be me.” To be honest, I just don’t care. I’ll sit myself on a kitchen counter at a house party and eat all the cookies before I throw myself at someone out of lust.
It’s tiring being around people who are confused; who don’t want to take out their own trash; who ask you to buy the toilet paper for them. But at least when they look at you and want what you worked so hard to have… the bitter pill is for them to swallow. Not you.
A STOR¥ BY ? 