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That's not to say I was some misshapen misanthrope, but I could feel my own being reverberating against hers. Recently, I was shaking a tail feather at Q Bar a very, very fun gay club if you're ever in San Francisco and you like go-go boys and a steady beat. Josie lit a couple of candles and went into her closet, where we had laid down blankets. I pulled away and said, "Listen, you're really beautiful, but I'm not gay. She slid closer to me. It's as though she was somehow always there -- my entire existence in the backwoods of Chapel Hill, North Carolina feel forged by her flaxen hair flashing through the trees. She had lips like a puffer fish. And while I'm happy to report that I've had my fair share of toe-curling, light-filled moments since then, there is something that haunts me about the very first. I didn't want her to stop. We figured we could each take a turn in there, see what happened.

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Description: We ate dinner in record time -- I think I managed to eat two chicken cordon bleus in 13 minutes, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand and then my jeans. There was that first slippery awareness, darting in and out of my consciousness, white-hot and fleeting. I felt nervous and I didn't know why. I draw a sharp breath and she started laughing, moving her hand more quickly now, her hair falling against my face as she moved faster still. Each touch was a a revelation, her hands were incantatory, drawing my limbs into being. We'd rolled around before. I wasn't sure what the hubbub was all about either. I could feel my presence, my very boundaries begin to solidify -- my inner thoughts and desires taking shape beside her. No one in this town is actually gay. Recently, I was shaking a tail feather at Q Bar a very, very fun gay club if you're ever in San Francisco and you like go-go boys and a steady beat. We didn't know or didn't have any of its suggestions, so we had gathered a make-shift arsenal of things to experiment with, including a couple old feathers Josie kept on her desk, a Koosh ball, some pine needles and a ball of rainbowed wool from her mother's loom. But suddenly, I felt like a liar. I can't really remember meeting Josie for the first time, although she was to become my closest friend. It was moving -- sort of flexing and releasing. It could happen with the water from your shower-head, from your fingers, from a vibrator, a zucchini, all sorts of things.

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