The part of your brain that remembers how to form coherent sentences just bails.
I used to think that your “first love” was always the first person you’ve ever dated. If that makes any sense.
It is a depressing realization to come to: The fact that, despite my best efforts, I am straight and will remain in this heterosexual quagmire, needing, lusting, wanting men for the rest of my life.
He’s the boy that you kissed that one night because your friend dared you.
She chuckled, then told me to drop the drinks off to my friend and meet her.
Before I was dating nice guys whom I trusted fully, and it’s only now that I’m realizing how lucky I’d been.
It’s not rocket science, and it doesn’t take memorizing any cheesy pickup lines.
Learning how to kiss someone new, and finding out how your body meshes with theirs in hugs and cuddle sessions. Sure, there might be a few knocked teeth and rogue elbows here and there, but eventually, you figure it out.
Sometimes I see him touching buttons on his phone, so he might not be as single as he said he was yesterday.
The crush struggle unites us all.