Set The Record Straight: A Sapphic Holiday Novella

Not that I’m complaining. I just didn’t think sleeping next to my dream girl would mean waking up to her elbow in my rib each night.

“I actually thought there were only two kinds of love before. That it was just love like your family or romantic love. But I think there may be hundreds of kinds. Love like a new lease on life. Love like a place to exist freely. Love like being understood. Love like the contented quiet. Love like freshly baked cookies. Love like a thin veil between wishing it’d started earlier and loving the way it began.”

Sex before felt like having to perform in front of an audience and panel of judges. Sex with Evan feels like I’ve known all the steps all along, like a memory sketched into my bone marrow, for only us. Our sacred ritual. Our holy land.

I don’t know what I’m doing. I also don’t know how I’d identify myself at this point. But I do know that there isn’t a label, self-realisation, or epiphany that matters as much as how good this feels. If I had to pinpoint it—if I was asked at this exact moment—I’d say my sexuality is the corner of Evan’s lips. It’s the gasps she makes that acts as a wind storm in my chest. It’s the space between her fingers where I fit better than anywhere else. It’s all instinct here. Intuition. And I’ve been waiting my whole life for this rush. So, I’m not questioning it any more.

I want to know every thought you have, actually. I sort of hate that I can’t dial in there whenever I want

Like finding the perfect position in bed to fall asleep in and feeling yourself slowly drift away.

People who are demisexual, typically, only form a sexual attraction to a person once they have formed a close emotional bond with them

God, if you’re real like my mother insists you are, please don’t let them come in here. Lock the door. Start a fire. Strike me dead. Anything.

She’s not a closed-off person. More like a cavern that you can only explore on low tide.

No bullshit. No small talk. None of the shit that makes my brain feel jammed like a phone's busy signal.