The First Time I Kissed A Girl

For pride month, I am writing a series of nonfiction short pieces about my queerness in a way that I haven’t shown to the internet before. My bisexual/nonbinary identity is a part of me but is often overshadowed by my activism work. I think it’s possible for both of them to co-exist.

I have always loved mysteries. Solving a puzzle. Making things work when they didn’t work previously. You were a mystery that allowed me to unlock a part of myself. I invited you over to our dorm, I made you dinner, you brought me a succulent (it died.) A true queer experience.

You had piercings and hair that was even more eccentric than my bright blue. I wore a flannel and purple lipstick. I was in the middle of my queer exploration. We both loved twenty one pilots. You laughed at my jokes. We watched television.

You thanked me for making you dinner, because you were a picky eater. I told you I was up for the challenge. You ate what I served you. I washed dishes and we talked some more.

You made me nervous, in a way that I had never felt nervous before. I normally had my shit together. I normally was in control. But something about being in this place, this space, wanted to let the butterflies swallow me whole. I wanted to live in this forever, my hair only being illuminated by the light that was above the kitchen sink.

I remember you hugging me before you left, and asking if you could kiss me. I said yes. I’d never kissed a girl for real before. I’d only kissed friends at games of spin-the-bottle. I’d never kissed a boy for real either. I’d never kissed anyone for real. There were games of truth or dare, spin the bottle, seven minutes in heaven. But never with someone who I had a crush on. And I had such a huge fucking crush on you.

When you leaned in to kiss me, your green eyes illuminated by the damn orange light, I giggled. Softly at first, and then louder. I’d never been in this space of intimacy, and here you were holding that space for me. You kissed me, and I laughed. You thought something was wrong. I told you to keep going. You kissed me a few more times. I walked you out. You kissed me goodnight.

You were firmly planted in who you were and I was just starting to figure it out. My figuring it out would wear thin on you. My feeling too much would wear thin on you. Your patience with me would wear thin on you. You being a mystery would grow old as I began to figure it out. We would outgrow each other. The rest of our situationship was tainted, but this remains pure.