I bear no offense with a sitting fence, yet you prop yourself on my side, the gay bride, preaching that your heart is bound to mine. A night becomes a week. A week becomes legitimacy! Yet, I still feel illegitimate. By all means… try, taste, live. Lust is not an experiment it’s a feeling. Investigate away! Just keep in sight that I am trial one, a test at best, that will result in me proving the hypothesis of “curious.” Play without promise. Dabble without tying my dreams to yours. Taste without seeking applause from the friends that send you into to the field of gay.
I think by now you must understand…I’m skeptical. The jock loving, cock shoving, beauty leaves her field to play my game. Bi is true, but is that you?
The worst is, if I question your sexuality, I become that which I hate. If I deem you a “try for the night” a “clit for a bit” a “cunt for a month” then I become my parents. I become my town. I turn into the closet, I am still running from.