What she asks from me is that I take over her. Entirely.

I am the woman who loves women and who loves men who love men.

(I am a lesbian.) I wake up. My body recognizes hers. She touches me and I have the sweet sensation of belonging to her. Of giving her all I have. The woman of my life invades me each morning.

(I am a fag hag.) He arrives at noon. He is always on time for our get-togethers. He looks at me and I know I am beautiful. I sense that he would like to hug me (me too). He touches me with sensuality and I respond to all of his caresses. He tells me about his new lover and their sex stories. He sees that I am listening, that I desire him, that his stories disturb me. I show him all that because I know he needs it. I also do. And because it will make us happy.

(I am a woman.) She fucks me. I love knowing that it is her that does that to me. She fucks me harder because I asked her too.

(I am a mother.) When we see each other in the evening, we begin to discuss whatever we were less discussing before being interrupted. Always re-inventing the world. Talking about the love he searches for and doesn’t find. And the love that he shares with each guy. That drives him content and desperate. I protect him, I give him advice, he doesn’t listen because he lives exactly what he wants to live (all he wants to do is talk). I appease him nonetheless, because that is what he expects from me.

(I am a man.) What she asks from me is that I take over her. Entirely. That I grab what she offers me with brutality. She wants to feel my power, and I adore thinking she is absolute.

(I am a faggot.) I make up a character for myself. I want to believe I can please everyone. That if I shake my butt well while walking, everybody will want it.

(I am a child.) Because I want to believe there is nothing I cannot do. That nothing is prohibited. That the world will fold and bend according to my demands, that I can make myself into all of its shapes, that it exists for my own pleasure. And when they tell me it isn’t so, I cry.

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