Due to lockdown, becky lesbo turns straight.

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Maybe Corona isn't so bad after all.
 

Wakai

Aiming to become the greatest farmer alive
He showed up with a bottle of wine and a smile. We sunk down on opposite ends of the couch, offloading our anxieties about the pandemic. Why had I never noticed his mop of curly hair? His almond-shaped eyes? After a bottle of wine, our feet accidentally touched. I yanked them back. We drank another bottle. I could feel his eyes on me, but I couldn’t return his gaze. He reached for my hand and asked in a hushed tone if he could kiss me.

For a sliver of a second, I wondered if he’d hurt me if I said no. But that worry was eclipsed by my desire—my ache for touch and spontaneity during a time when the chances for both were rapidly diminishing. Once we kissed, I couldn’t stop. I didn’t feel the dread I felt before with men. I didn’t feel the pressure to feign pleasure. I wanted him. For real.


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He showed up with a bottle of wine and a smile. We sunk down on opposite ends of the couch, offloading our anxieties about the pandemic. Why had I never noticed his mop of curly hair? His almond-shaped eyes? After a bottle of wine, our feet accidentally touched. I yanked them back. We drank another bottle. I could feel his eyes on me, but I couldn’t return his gaze. He reached for my hand and asked in a hushed tone if he could kiss me.

For a sliver of a second, I wondered if he’d hurt me if I said no. But that worry was eclipsed by my desire—my ache for touch and spontaneity during a time when the chances for both were rapidly diminishing. Once we kissed, I couldn’t stop. I didn’t feel the dread I felt before with men. I didn’t feel the pressure to feign pleasure. I wanted him. For real.


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