Almost all my fellow 'new wavers' were queer or fag hags since I thought it would be some kind of rebellious blow to the narrow Cheney world, I decided I was bisexual.
I cut my hair, dyed it coppery red, and started dressing hip (by the standards of my time and place). Finally, in my senior year, I went 'punk,' or as punk as you could go in Cheney, WA, in 1984. I looked like a stoner but didn't even drink, leaving me with no social group to call my own. Mind you, I hadn't done much more with girls my high-school years were a wasteland of hapless chastity, brought about by a mixture of self-loathing and long, unkempt hair.
He leaned over again: 'Well, I 'll bed you.'Īt the time I was openly bisexual but had yet to do anything about it beyond a few boy-boy kisses. It took me a moment to realize what he was talking about. He leaned over and whispered loudly in my ear, 'Are you going to bed her?' Jack, another freshman, sat on the other side of me. I had a deep, agonizing, unreciprocated crush. As the party wound down and the mescaline drained from my system-a piddling dose that induced nothing but a wobbly halo around lights and a general sense of having wasted my evening-I sat next to Kay, who was exciting to me as only a college junior can be to a freshman (not so Olympian as the seniors, but still worldly) a sophisticate with a barking laugh and loose morals.
