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First times are for wimps. Look for your second time.

Gem Exhibit of Carnegie Museum of Natural History, Pittsburgh. 

Human nature convinced me that I was supposed to like something. I had to find a chance to interpret that. Going through the loops of memories, when did I ever discover being bisexual? Was it from that pretty girl in fifth grade that always smiled at me? Maybe she was just really pretty and I was overthinking again.

It was junior year of college. I had men when I needed them. I rested comfortably in my bed. There was a girl who wanted to be a close friend. At first, it was nice to know we had the same mentors. I saw her at my job and we always talked when we could. We playfully took selfies in the office. I never absorbed what this closeness between us ever meant.

She came to my house and said she needed to talk. I thought maybe this was a chance for us to be close friends. Who would have thought being this close was to create a relationship?

We laid in my bed. The scent of her coconut oil seduced my nose. I tried my best to keep my hands to my side. This was the first time a girl who was my friend ended up in my bed. I kept to myself, but I think she found a way to get me moving.

Tickling was the culprit. She touched me there and I squirmed in my bedsheets, screeching in laughter. From all the excitement, her lips touched mine and we began kissing.

OMG. OMG. What do I do? What do I do? Do I touch back? Do I become awkward? What to do! What to do! Thoughts raced through my head. Once she let go, I left my mouth agape. I was still thinking and maybe she knew I was thinking.

Trying to find an open blank in my mind, I just left my hands where they were. I dreamt about touching a girl. Maybe if I had put the face of the pretty girl from fifth grade on my friend, this would make a difference. By that point, I could’ve been involved in more action within my bedsheets. However, I was still in shock.

I spent three years knowing who this girl was. There’s no need in thinking about this moment of tickling and passion. I knew I was bisexual from the moment I had to scream I LIKE YOU! inside of myself when that pretty girl from school smiled at me. She waved at me every day. I remembered my sister was different from me. She had girls that she hung around with all the time. She played with them and tickled them just like my friend was doing to me. Was this love or just a blank imagination going nowhere?

We kissed behind a blind passion. Soon our shirts were over our heads. Bare breasts touched each other, and harder kisses clouded any further conversation.

Her lips moved to my neck. A fire engulfed my skin. Was my body burning for the first girl that handled me? I circled back to my first time ever kissing anyone.

I forgot what soft lips were like. I moved in the flow of the passion. I thought back to my first time and realized I didn’t remember feeling soft lips. Just wetness moving between my lips and a guy’s lip. This was all different. Everything was becoming different now. I questioned it.

Her kisses traced my body. My hands traced her scalp. She shined me up like a piece of sapphire. A brand-new gem, still wiping that painful dust away. 

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