Fiction is true. It doesn’t have to factual to be true.

Because it’s never really sex until someone squirts.

I was bi and my heart was off-limits to no one, at least not for any reason like what they had between their legs or whether their chests were flat or round. And maybe because of that I never really could believe or understand that Griff, or anyone else, could be deterred from falling in love by such a trivial thing as gender.

The place that haunts us and fuels us even as we wonder whether it truly exists.

Practically every guy is the perfect guy the first night, so why ever bother with a second?