When I was 12, I secretly thought I might fancy girls and it petrified me. There was a rumour about someone in our class who got drunk and tried to kiss another girl. Everyone laughed in derision and horror.
I definitely didn’t want to be gay; I wanted, desperately, a boyfriend, and then I wanted a husband and children. Being gay was not for me. But, over the years, I often had a best friend and sometimes my love for her, while never sexual, felt… romantic. I fell slightly in love, made her the centre of my world.
I only ever admitted
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