In my life as a gay/queer/whatever-you-want-to-call-me woman, I’ve spent a lot of time chasing straight chicks. I spent the longest time on H. That felt like a real relationship, even though we never labeled it. And then there have been all the straight women before and after and in between who I’ve spent hours and days and months fantasizing about.
I say I’ve spent my hope on the straight chicks I’ve chased, but I question the authenticity of my hope. Because what have I really wanted? I haven’t wanted them. I’ve wanted the great comfort of running in circles. I’ve wanted only the chase.
With some of them, I’ve lived entire lifetimes in my head. We’ve moved to France and San Francisco and maybe the Maldives. We’ve had the best lives. It’s been perfect, because that’s how things are when they’re not allowed to be real.
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