Page 116 of The Black Flamingo

---

and I get to look at him,

really look at him; he’s so

classically attractive, it’s unreal,

like a statue of Perseus

or Michelangelo’sDavid,

somewhat cliché

and not once did I think,

He’d never be into me

and not once did I think,

He’s got to be straight.

He’s sleeping next to me;

we just had sex, he’s not straight.

I don’t think I turned him

gay or bi. I invited him to see

a possibility and he accepted.

In the morning, I put my hand on his solid

chest and my head on his shoulder.

We stay like this for just a few seconds

before he gets up and starts to get dressed.

“Are you okay?” I ask

and he says, “Yes.”

“Are you sure?” I ask

and he says, “Yes.”

“Please talk to me,” I say.

He says, “I’ll message you later.”

“When will I see you again?” I ask.

After he leaves, I want to tell

someone, anyone, that I am

no longer a virgin. I’m nineteen

and no one I know is a virgin

---