Sooner or later you end up making deals with women. It's an injustice, really.

How many more times would I have embraced him that night, how many more times would I have kissed him, if I had known the name of that stranger lover who was already in Montreal, who had already bought his stadium ticket from a scalper for the 5,000 tomorrow.
That implacable lover who was going to turn Billy's eyes away from me forever.

Mom asked me if I was okay. I shrugged and nodded. “Well, there you go”, she said. She said that sexual assault was a crime of perception. “If you don’t think you’re hurt, then you aren’t”, she said. “So many women make such a big deal out of these things. But you’re stronger then that”, she went back to her crossword puzzle.

At its best fashion is a game. But for women it's a compulsory game, like net ball, and you can't get out of it by faking your period. I know I have tried. And so for a woman every outfit is a hopeful spell, cast to influence the outcome of the day. An act of trying to predict your fate, like looking at your horoscope. No wonder there are so many fashion magazines. No wonder the fashion industry is worth an estimated 900 billion dollars a year. No wonder every woman's first thought is, for nearly every event in her life, be it work, snow or birth. The semi-despairing cry of "but what will I wear?" Because when a woman says I have nothing to wear, what she really means is there is nothing here for who I am supposed to be today.

As far as my own sexual orientation, I'm only seventeen years old and as of right now, I'm straight, but who knows what's to come?

But soon I loved her completely and wished to possess her, own her, absorb her, eat her. I wanted her in my arms and in my bed, I longed she would open her legs to me