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I’m fourteen years old. At the park, after curfew. Mom might shit her pants over it if she were even home to notice.

I’ve got a fat three-paper joint hanging out of my mouth and I lazily puff on it as I lay back on the monkey bars. Chad’s head is next to mine, his body sprawled out down the opposite side of the cool metal.

Chad’s my next-door neighbor. His parents are filthy rich real estate agents, traveling North America putting on presentations and shit. The housekeepers don’t really care whether or not he’s in the house.

We’re free.

“I can’t believe you kissed Adam.” I say for the hundredth time, my voice slow and heady from the weed.

“Well, when you play spin the bottle, who says you have to kiss someone of the opposite sex?” Chad laughs. “Is it in the rules? Are there even rules?”

“Even if there were, since when do we care about rules?” I giggle.

“Exactly.” He takes a deep breath, and I feel a rant coming on. “Like, who says anyone has to be straight, or gay, or bi? I kissed Adam. Does that automatically make me gay? I don’t know. What if I liked it? Which I did. But I like kissing you, too, so does that make me bi?”

“Does it matter?” It doesn’t, but we’re going to talk about it anyway.

“What if, like, someone put a gun to your head and told you to pick a gender. Said you have to be gay or straight or die, what would you do?”

I pause and think about this for a moment. “I think I’d take the bullet.”

“Me, too.” He agrees, and we both crack up. We laugh until our sides hurt and I almost drop the joint into the sand below. He snatches it from me and sticks it in his mouth, still breathing heavy from our antics. “I guess that makes us the most bisexual people on the planet.”

“I can live with that title.” I say dreamily. I’m not one for labels, but that’s a pretty good claim to fame. I see a newspaper article, front page. EXTRA, EXTRA, PERSEPHONE AND CHAD, NAMED MOST BISEXUAL PEOPLE IN THE HISTORY OF MANKIND!

Not like I ever want to be famous. Its fucked up Mom pretty bad. I’d rather sit here, a nobody, smoking pot with my best bud.

“What about if you had to choose between a really butch girl or a really femme guy?” Chad asks me.

“Definitely the butch girl.” I easily answer. “She’d know her way around my junk better.”

“Yeah, but that’s not the point, right? I mean then automatically I’d be picking th femme guy, because I have a dick. But like, it’s not about who has what genitals, right?” He asks, and I know it’s rhetorical at this juncture. “It’s about, like, who would turn you on more. Forget about what the sex would be like, just who’s more attractive?”

“I dunno, bro,” I say with a low chuckle at my accidental rhyme. “They both have their strong suits. Butch girl would sweep me off my feet with her powerful charm, toss me around a little bit, you know? But a femme guy… ugh they’re so pretty!”

“Bullet?” Chad asks, and I can hear the grin in his voice.

“Bullet,” I agree, and we burst into another intense fit of giggles.

We stare up at the stars for a time, passing the joint back and forth. Finally Chad breaks the silence. “So, you want to suck my cock?”

“Mmm…” I think about it for a few seconds, and then roll over. “Yeah, sure.”

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