Gregarious

Shannon sits across from me at a tiny table by the door. We’re talking about being pisces, and our experience with sex. Like me, she goes more for men. Like me, she leads first with her genitals. I’ve never done this before, and while I’ve not yet jumped in, I’m optimistically curious to the point of slight intrigue. I want her moves to be more direct but I’m also grateful she’s delicate.

When she calls me cute, I stall out, not knowing how to respond to a woman calling me that. I felt gayer before I started attaching myself to a sexuality. The word was supposed to ground me. The identifier was supposed to give me a name.

But if I don’t think about it so much, which is hard to do most times, I notice a capacity to love nagging at me. I know I’m opening. It could be with her, or with someone else, but the point is that it’s possible.

The easiest way to me is in me, and it’s also the easiest way out. It is the only way I have given anybody in a really long time. It is the only part of me that I’ve been historically comfortable with. The flaw here is that when you lead with your breasts, the heart gets hurt.

I cancel plans the night after to be alone. I’m almost miss how quiet the snow makes the city. Inside i hear the crackle of turkey cooking on the stove.

I wait for Gregarious to text me back so I can tell him that i’m done. I like it too much when we touch and that’s all he sees in me.

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