I once dated a person with terrifying friends. They were loud and confrontational and—in my eyes—terrifying. Still, I was in love, so I made the effort to get to know them. They all hung out in one of those big, run-down share houses where anything goes. They threw massive parties fueled with drugs and sexual tension. Modesty was a sin and shock a virtue.
“Do you like girls as well?” A big, tough-looking blonde asked me at one such party.
I hesitated, unsure how to answer. I didn’t like girls or boys necessarily. I liked people, and a very select few of them at that. My partner, who was masc-identifying at the time, cut in.
“Nah, she’s the token straight girl,” they said. And that was that.
