My identity isn’t something I’m ashamed about. Being bisexual is part of who I am. And I’ve been comfortable with who I am for quite a while now, despite all the messy feelings and questioning as I came to know myself.
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Lara Croft knew that she should have resisted her new lover, the taste of sweet berries, rose hips and honey drip. But she was just a girl who can’t say no.
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“Whether making themselves purposefully ugly or embracing their sexuality on their own terms, whether layering themselves in baggy clothing or wearing miniskirts and fishnets, whether blacking out their eyes with smudges of kohl eyeliner or putting paper bags over their heads, these women said my body is mine and I will present it however I choose.”
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“One of them had a shaved head and a silver stud in her nose, the other had cat’s-eye glasses and chipped red nail polish, and they were holding hands. I was so fucking happy—queer zines and records in my hands and a grrl-couple holding hands in public—that I smiled. The girls returned my smile, and my baby-queer heart went boom-boom-bam, a bass drum in my chest.”
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