How I Know I’m Bisexual

via Mary (Flickr)

Everyone’s experience is different, but I knew I was bisexual from an early age. I just didn’t have the vocabulary to explain the identity.

I was kind of a boy-chasing little kid. I ran after them on the playground, I got in trouble for kissing them, and crushed hard. People would ask me which boys I liked and I always had a running list. It was different with girls, though.

No one ever asked me which girls I liked. It probably never even crossed their minds. With girls, I was more shy. These crushes manifested as close friendships. I didn’t really know how to explain my feelings. The people I knew were in m/f marriages or relationships. I didn’t know there was any other way.

In middle school, I started to realize there was something different about me. On the bus, I couldn’t help but stare at certain girls as they moved past me. I knew what a lesbian was but I also knew that didn’t quite fit me. That didn’t stop other kids from calling me Lesbo or twisting my nickname (Liz, which they made sound like “Les”). They knew I was different, too, and they punished me for it.

It wasn’t until high school that I found my people and my identity. Two friends of mine came out. They announced that they were bisexual and dating, and it kicked off a whole LGBT+ movement in my school. Suddenly there was a word to describe a part of who I was, and I had a safe place where it was okay to be me.

I’ve been bi my whole life. I’ll always be bi. Whether I’m in a relationship with another woman, single, or married to a guy with a lot of facial hair… I’ll still be bisexual.

I’m proud of all of the parts that make up who I am. It hasn’t been easy, being queer—or me in general, to be honest—but I now have a pride that no one can take from me.


Speaking of pride, my #OwnVoices f/f romance Any Other Love comes out August 21st, 2017! Pre-order your copy now for only $0.99, or read the first chapter.

Pre-Order Your Copy of Any Other Love for Only $0.99

Cover Reveal: August 14th

Surprise! You can now pre-order Any Other Love for only 99 pennies. My goal is to launch Any Other Love in the top 100 in the lesfic category on Amazon, so if you pre-order now you’re saving money and doing me a solid.

Pre-ordering with the other retailers helps, too, so if you’re a non-Kindle user like me, you’re also helping.

Pre-order now. Click here!

Blurb

From the outside, Amarie has it all: a promising teaching career, a big group of friends, and a gorgeous boyfriend. On the inside, though, her immune system is attacking her own body and slowly taking away everything she loves. The specialists she’s seen are baffled by her condition, so Amarie takes matters into her own hands and makes an appointment with a renowned rheumatologist in NYC. She could finally get the diagnosis and treatment she needs to live her life—if only she can get there.

Charlotte may dye her hair bold colors, but she’s never been brave enough to chase her lifelong dream of owning her own restaurant. When she finds out about a restauranteur convention in NYC, she’s way too chicken to go for it—until her best friend signs her up. With no excuses left, Char heads out to the city, taking the girl of her dreams with her.

Five nights under the city lights could give Amarie and Char the happily-ever-after they’ve always wanted, but a devastating diagnosis and once-in-a-lifetime opportunity could send it all crashing down.

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#FridayReads: “Knit One, Girl Two,” by Shira Glassman

Shira Glassman is one of those cool people I’ve been following on Twitter for a while but hadn’t read any of their work because I’m a bad colleague. So when she released “Knit One, Girl Two” this week, I one-clicked that bad girl because I can always use more f/f romance in my life and I really want to support my fellow indies.

“Knit One, Girl Two” is a short story. It’s 68 pages long according to Amazon’s Kindle page count thing, so you can definitely read it in one sitting. Me? I savored it over a couple days.

The best word to describe Glassman’s writing is “real.” Her dialogue, especially, is delicious. Each and every exchange felt familiar, like I was hanging out with good friends. The banter between characters often had me laughing out loud, but aside from being funny, it flowed well. This is a story you’ll want to curl up with, a hot cup of tea at your side. Just settle in because it’s warm and inviting—just two queer girls being together and living their lives.

Both of them are artists, too, which makes my heart sing. Clara is a small-batch yarn dyer, and Danielle is a painter. When they cross paths to collaborate on a project, their worlds become so much more vivid. And speaking of worlds, this is set in south Florida, which is one of my favorite places. (Shout out to my real one true love, Deerfield Beach!)

I’m dying for more of Clara and Danielle, and hope to see them in more adventures or even in cameos in other Glassman stories.

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Any Other Love: Chapter 1

The following is a raw, unedited excerpt from Any Other Love (available August 21st, 2017). Click here to pre-order!


Packing was the hardest stage of any trip. It signified the last chance to turn back. It also served as a depressing reminder of just how many pills, salves, and electronic devices Amarie relied on.

She eyed the array of items spread across her bed. Rolling her hand over them, the steroid pills that her primary care doctor had reluctantly prescribed rattled in their bottle.

They were tiny. How such a small, foul-tasting white pill could make her feel better so quickly mystified her. It stumped her doctor, too. Even worse, it would stop working just as quickly when she finished the prescription.

Amarie closed her eyes, pushing the negative thoughts away. She should be excited. After all, it wasn’t often that her entire group of friends got together anymore. Not since they’d graduated high school and all gone their separate ways, to colleges scattered across the country.

She was almost done with her own degree. After that, she had no idea what was next. For all she knew, the last-minute camping trip could be the last time she’d see her friends for a while.

Glancing over at her neatly written checklist, she ran through it again. Pillbox, check. TENS machine, check. Thank goodness it was the size of a TV remote, unlike the giant units in physical therapy that they had to roll around on carts. Prescriptions in their bottles, in case anyone questioned her—check.

Bathing suit.

She moved aside hoodies and tiny travel bottles of shampoo. She’d forgotten that—and sunscreen. Even though she’d been blessed with a rich, tawny skin that could tan to a deep bronze in the summer, her mami had never let her forget that even the darkest of Dominicans could burn, too.

As if summoned, Paloma knocked on the open door and stuck her head in. “Did you pack your sunscreen?”

“Ay, Mami.” Though Amarie rolled her eyes, a smile touched her lips. If ever the day came that her mother stopped, well, mothering her, she would be struck dead with disbelief. Not to mention a smidge of concern.

Paloma held out a plastic grocery bag. “Your bathing suit was hanging in the shower.”

Taking the proffered bag, Amarie peered inside. Nestled among the strings of her bikini was a neatly folded giant beach towel—and two different bottles of sun lotion.

“One’s for tanning, the other for protection. So you can alternate,” her mother explained. “Use the 30 SPF on your face, mi amor. You don’t want that leathery look.”

“You mean wrinkles,” Amarie corrected.

“No.” Paloma shook her head. “I mean leather skin.” She made a face. “Like your bad cousin Jaime. All those tattoos, now ruined by wrinkles and rough skin. Speaking of, make sure you use the 30 on your tattoo.”

Amarie stifled a laugh. “Mami, we’ve been through this. I don’t have any tattoos.”

“That’s right. You don’t. My good girl doesn’t even dye her hair.” Paloma beamed.

“You know, dying my hair or getting a tattoo wouldn’t make me bad,” she said, thinking of all the times she’d snuck out to get drunk with Lucas and their friends.

“No, but it would set a bad example for your students.”

“My future students, Mami.” Amarie arranged her face into what she hoped was a pleasant expression. Behind that face, swirls of doubt shadowed her mind. The fall semester was going to be her last, and then she’d be a teacher—just like her mother, and Paloma’s mother before her. Except Amarie wouldn’t be an elementary school teacher.

Paloma’s face softened. “You’re going to be a wonderful pre-school teacher,” she said.

Amarie nodded. She didn’t say that she hoped so, that it’d be a miracle if she got through her last semester and found a position that didn’t mind her missing time for doctor’s appointments.

“How long are you staying, again?” Paloma asked.

“Just the one night.” Amarie surveyed her bed again. To anyone else, it might look like an awful lot of things to pack for just one night of camping.

“And you’ll be okay sleeping on the ground?” Paloma pressed the pads of her fingers to her face, fretting. “Do you want your Papi’s old air mattress? It still holds air. You just have to refill it now and then.”

Amarie smiled. “No, Mami. I’ll be okay.” She hoped. More than likely, she’d be too busy making out with Lucas to notice. Besides, the guys were bringing plenty of booze, and her best friend Neve always had a blunt tucked away, ready to go. She’d be fine.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” Her mom smiled, then turned, her footsteps down the hall as light as a fairy floating through the woods.

Taking a deep breath, Amarie removed the bottles of shampoo and conditioner from her bed. It was only one night. She didn’t need them. Everything else, though, she’d have to fit into one bag. Lucas would kill her if she made him schlep all of their gear and three bags of her own.

She put aside the heating pad, too. It’d be too hot, and besides, there wouldn’t be anywhere she could plug it in. She’d have to hope that her joints behaved for the one night. If all else failed, she could just go home. It wasn’t as if they were even going out of town. Black Rock State Park was less than five miles away from her parents’ house.

She was going to try to enjoy herself, though. She rarely got to see Neve anymore, and Lucas wouldn’t be happy with her if she took off early.

Subtracting her extra pillows, instant ice packs, and a few other things from her bed, Amarie shoved the remaining items into her tote.

“Thank goodness for obnoxiously large Victoria’s Secret totes,” she murmured.

She was going to have fun, she told herself. Everything would be just like normal: the guys cracking open cheap cans of beer and shotgunning them; Neve braiding her hair while they tanned on the small lake beach; silly ghost stories around the fire as they passed the blunt back and forth.

Still, even as she added one more pillow to her tote—just in case—Amarie wished that, for once, things could be a little different.

* * *

Because their campsite was so small, the group decided to bring as little vehicles as possible. Amarie hated the idea of leaving behind her little blue Hyundai Accent. If she needed to leave, she’d have to talk someone sober into bringing her home. Or, she surmised with a grimace, she’d have to call her parents like a stranded teenager. She propped an elbow on her big ass tote and rested her head on her hand.

Lucas was late—as usual. She’d been sitting outside for fifteen minutes, not that she minded. The sun was warm on her skin and, despite the humidity, there was a regular breeze that made the air bearable. What was bugging her was her empty iMessages.

He hadn’t even texted to give her a heads up.

A pristine white SUV pulled into her driveway. Her best friend leaned out of the open driver’s side window. “Need a ride, little girl?”

“Aren’t creepers supposed to drive white vans?” Amarie grinned and stood, hefting her ginormous tote with both arms. Her elbows ached in protest.

Neve pressed a button and the door to the trunk lifted open, its air compression mechanism hissing softly. “True,” she agreed, “but beggars can’t be choosers.” She patted the dashboard.

Amarie fit her tote into a nook between a packed tent and several folded camping chairs. Then she joined Neve inside, the cold air conditioning a relief. “I can’t believe your parents let you drive this thing.”

“Me either.” Neve flipped on the rear camera and began backing out of the driveway.

“Then again,” Amarie said, “I guess it’s harder to total a vehicle when you have cameras helping you.”

“In my defense, someone T-boned me while I was parked.” Neve eased the SUV—which reminded Amarie more of a spaceship than a car—onto the road.

“Excuses, excuses,” she teased. “So, while I’m super happy to see your face in person, I’m a little confused. I thought Lucas was picking me up.”

“I know you were looking forward to making out with your boyfriend,” Neve said, slipping on sunglasses against the glare, “but you’re stuck with me.” She puckered her lips, and Amarie laughed.

“You’re too straight for me,” she said. “Seriously, though. Where’s Lucas?”

“The guys couldn’t fit all of their gear in one car, so they asked me to be the transporter. Matt is coming later in his truck with the rest of it.” Neve jerked her head toward the back seat, her delicate but tightly coiled curls bouncing with the motion. Though her skin was a few shades lighter than Amarie’s, she had her beat in the hair department.

“Oh.” Amarie eyed Neve’s hair, mentally comparing it to her own spirals for probably the millionth time. While her curls would weigh heavily against her neck during the hottest part of the day, Neve’s floated in a cloud around her face.

“I know what you’re doing,” Neve said. “Not all of us can be this blessed.” She patted her hair.

“Rub it right in,” Amarie said with a smile. She scrolled through her texts again. “I just . . . I’m sorry for obsessing, but he didn’t even text me.”

“You’re like a conversational ping pong ball.” Neve glanced at her over her sunglasses. “Boys, hair envy, and then boys again. If I promise to braid your hair and feed you wine coolers, will you relax?”

She sighed. “I’ll try. It’s just, I thought he was coming.”

“You’ll see your man soon enough,” Neve said. “God, you guys are so gross. You’re like the power couple of the group. He looks like a model, and you ain’t so bad yourself.”

Amarie pictured Lucas’s full, sensuous lips and sensitive brown eyes. He was gorgeous, and she did really like him, but being Lucas’s girlfriend felt more like the right thing to do rather than the thing her heart desperately needed. He was her best friend’s boyfriend’s friend—not to mention studying to be a special needs teacher—and it’d just made sense. When they both started working at the same Dunkin Donuts together, it sealed the deal.

“All right, girl, quit spacing out and pouting, and help me sing this embarrassingly catchy ESX song.” Neve turned the volume to the XM radio station up. She definitely had the comfortable lifestyle of a doctor down. By the time she graduated Stanford, finished her residency, and started practicing, Amarie mused, Neve’s life wouldn’t be much different.

She wondered, in ten years’ time, where she and all of her friends would be. Despite how easily the group had fallen into place, they were all going in completely different directions. Even she and Lucas couldn’t possibly withstand the test of time. Especially not with her deteriorating mystery illness.

She was going to be lucky if she made it long enough to gain tenure as a teacher.

“Okay, you asked for it.” Neve turned the volume higher and practically screeched the annoying but catchy boy band song.

Rolling her eyes, Amarie obliged her friend. She was supposed to be having fun on this trip, after all.

* * *

Amarie snuggled into her cozy sweats, enjoying the way the combed cotton caressed her body. The sun had dipped below the tree line a while ago, and even though it wouldn’t set until around 8:30 p.m., the pines overhead made their campsite chilly.

“We’re almost out of wine coolers,” Neve lamented. She closed the cooler and joined Amarie, settling into her camping chair. She handed Amarie a bottle.

“You two are a pair of lushes,” Jason said from his position by the fire pit. He squatted next to it, stacking kindling around balled up pages of newspaper and a few candle stubs. For a guy with such a cherubic face, he was far handier than Lucas.

Amarie supposed that, out of the trio, Matt and Jason were more the outdoorsmen than her guy.

Jason swore in Portuguese. Amarie looked over just in time to catch him sucking on a finger.

“Maybe we should wait for Matt,” she said.

He shot her a dirty look. “I can build a fire.”

“Clearly,” Neve said, arching an eyebrow at him.

Despite the ribbing, Jason looked at her tenderly. He returned to his task, striking another match and holding it to the newspaper.

Amarie wished that she and Lucas had the same connection that Neve and Jason seemed to have. Even as he scooped her out of her chair, settling her into his lap, she didn’t feel the butterflies in her tummy that she should have felt—though things much lower heated and clenched.

With Lucas, things were purely sexual. Her heart just wasn’t in it, no matter how hard she tried. She snuggled into his arms, willing herself to feel it. His arms wound around her, holding her close, but the only warmth she felt was body heat and lust.

She wanted that great love, the kind that would knock her off her feet, sending her life careening off track. Even Matt had found it—the only one of them that rarely dated, dedicating most of his time to his mother and little brother. If he could, surely so could Amarie. So far, though, the longer she waited to fall in love with Lucas, the more she realized that their relationship was seriously lacking.

The sound of tires rolling over the dirt road snagged her attention. Matt’s truck backed into the campsite. The party would really be starting soon.

She craned her neck, trying to get a glimpse of Matt’s new girl. Her name was something uncommon, something that started with an R. Rosalie or Rhiannon or something like that. Her eyebrows scrunched together as she fought through the brain fog to remember.

The girl who hopped out of the truck first wasn’t anything like she’d expected, though. Her heart hitched, catching mid-beat. Wild, teal hair framed her face, contrasting lush red lips. Bright, round blue eyes surveyed the campsite.

She looked nothing like Amarie had pictured. She certainly didn’t look like Matt’s type. When her gaze lighted on Amarie and she smiled, Amarie felt her heart actually flutter.

“Guys,” Matt said, drawing her attention. “This is Rowan.” He gestured to another girl standing shyly next to him. A pretty girl, but Amarie’s gaze immediately flickered back to the other woman. “And her friend Charlotte.”

Charlotte, she mouthed, tasting the name on her lips.

From across the site, Charlotte’s eyes met hers. She held her gaze. Fireflies drifted through the purple-streaked twilight, their lights flashing gently as they called to each other: Be mine, be mine, be mine. Amarie’s hands trembled on the arms of her chair. The soft breeze that had caressed her skin all day stroked Charlotte’s hair, moving it away from her face.

Those cherry lips parted, and the campsite around them disappeared.

“Hi,” Charlotte said, wiggling her fingers. “Nice to meet you.” Those eyes never wavered, trained solely on Amarie.

“You too,” Amarie whispered. She drank in those eyes, mind flipping through all of the colors she knew, trying to remember the name of the exact shade of Charlotte’s eyes. They were somewhere between cyan and gray, a blue bright and pale, like the spot where sky met ocean on the horizon.

“Call me Char,” Charlotte said, and it was as if she was speaking directly to Amarie. Every time her lips moved, Amarie strained to memorize them. They were so red and plump, made specifically for kissing. She had to restrain herself from imagining exactly how swollen she could make them if she had the chance to kiss Char.

“Welcome to our humble gathering,” Lucas rumbled from underneath Amarie. The vibration of his voice through her body snapped her out of the trance that Char had put her under.

She yanked her eyes toward the flames licking the newspaper, igniting the sticks. Jason stacked skinny logs in an upside down V around the flames.

Matt laughed. “Dude, are you drunk? You’re supposed to set up the teepee shape before you light the kindling.” He shook his head. “Let me get our tents pitched, and then I’ll take over fire duty.”

Amarie straightened, wondering where Char was going to sleep. Since Matt and Rowan were together, that made Char the seventh wheel. Surely Rowan wouldn’t leave her friend to sleep alone in the woods. She opened her mouth, ready to make rearrangements so that she, Neve, and Char shared a tent, leaving Lucas and Jason in the third tent.

But Rowan pulled a tent of her own out of the bed of Matt’s pickup. To Matt’s dismay, she and Char began pitching it.

Amarie pressed her lips together, feeling a bit sorry for Matt—and herself. She had a boyfriend, though, she reminded herself. She snuggled into Lucas, closing her eyes. Besides, even if she was single, it wasn’t as if Char would actually be into her. Their “connection” had simply been a product of all of the booze floating through her veins. Nothing more.

Still, all throughout the night and the rest of their camping trip, she couldn’t get Char out of her head. If she took a leap and broke up with Lucas, would she find herself in that love that swept her away? Or would she be living yet another fantasy?


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