say, “Well done!” in unison.
Simon, Mia, and Jack come over,
so I introduce everyone. In heels
I can look Jack straight in the eye.
He asks, “Can we talk privately?”
“Sure,” I say. I sashay toward
the smoking area and he follows.
It’s not so private but at least
we can hear each other here.
“So, what’s up?” I ask casually.
“I’ve thought about you,” Jack says
in a hushed tone and steps closer,
“every day since that night together.
I need to tell you, I’m not straight
and you weren’t the first guy
I’ve slept with. It’s something I say—
I tell guys I’m not gay
to make them want me,
to become a trophy to be won,
it’s a character I play;
it’s my performance and I’m good at it.
Saying I’m straight suits me,
I wouldn’t know how to be gay,
not publicly, not proudly,
not like you.
I couldn’t do what you do,
I couldn’t be so brave, so out there,
not where I live, where I work,
not in my family.
My brother knows
