Page 52 of The Woman in 3B
My question was generic and full of assumptions. Maybe she didn’t identify in any particular way. Maybe she simply enjoyed having sex with whomever was a convenient body.
“I told them when I was in high school,” she confirmed
“Were they okay with it?” I asked.
I was probably asking too personal of questions, but I felt safer about it considering we’d had sex in multiple rooms in her house.
“Not at first, no. My parents are pretty traditional, but not as bad as if they’d grown up in Lebanon. They thought I was too young to be having sex, period, let alone know that I was exclusively attracted to girls.”
Well—that answered my next intrusive question.
“What about you?” she asked.
“I was a late bloomer. I didn’t realize I was gay until I got to college.” I chuckled at the realization. “I guess accumulating all of that student debt wasn’t for nothing.”
She propped herself up and leaned her weight on one elbow. “You really think you wouldn’t have figured it out without having gone to college?”
I shrugged beneath the weight of her blankets. “I grew up in a pretty small, conservative town. No one told me that being gay was an option. College made me realize there was a world beyond my little hometown.”
She squinted as she looked at me. “You’re telling me you never had a crush on one of your girl friends in high school or pined over some Hollywood starlet from the safety of a dark movie theater?”
“Looking back, it should have been obvious,” I agreed. “But hindsight is twenty-twenty and all that. I thought every girl had those kinds of thoughts.”
“You thought every girl wanted to go down on Kate Winslet inTitanic?” Anissa laughed, but not unkindly.
I could feel myself blush at the suggestion. “I didn’t have those kinds of thoughts. I was raised super religious. Good Catholic girls weren’t supposed to think about sex until after they got married.”
“Bullshit. You thought about sex.”
“I swear I didn’t!” My voice raised an octave as I tried to defend myself. “Iadmiredother girls, but I didn’t think about havingsexwith them.”
“Geez, you’re like a nun.”
“Whatever. You were the one calling out to God last night, not me,” I shot back.
“I was only teasing, Alice.” Her generous mouth flipped into a frown. “I’m sorry if I offended you.”
I didn’t want to be so thin-skinned, but my naivety could be embarrassing. I envied people who had been able to give a name to their sexuality earlier in life.
“When we were stranded in Philadelphia, did you know I was gay?” I asked.
“I had my suspicions,” she confirmed. “You were very chivalrous. And not just the pajama thing. Queer girls tend to hold doors.”
“You didn’t chalk it up to good customer service?”
“You went a little above and beyond—kind of like you bringing my iPad all the way out here.”
“Dearborn’s not so far away,” I grumbled, turning away.
Anissa refused to let me retreat. She captured the end of my chin between her thumb and forefinger and turned my face toward her own.
“I think you’re very sweet, Alice.” She lightly pressed her lips against my stubborn mouth. “And genuine.” Her mouth traveled across the sweep of my cheek. “And kind.” She pressed another kiss at the apex of my cheekbone. “And very sexy.” Her warm breath ruffled the hair near my temple.
“Sexy?”
I’d heard words like pretty or cute to describe me, but never sexy. Pleasant. Pleasing. Could fit into small spaces.
I tried to protest the descriptor. “I’m-I’m not the one. Y-y-you.”
