“That does sound nice,” I say. Nice is an understatement. It’s the sort of arrangement I would probably find ideal for my own life if only I could swing it, if I ever felt a need for something resembling a social life. “Why can’t all groups be like that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why are the switches brushed off in so many other instances? Most of what I read assumes that a person must be one thing or another: dominant or submissive, sadistic or masochistic, no playing both sides of the fence or you’re not serious or you don’t know who you are. It’s like being bi, only worse, to everybody else – I’ve told you how lesbians won’t accept that I like men, and straight people don’t like that I want women, right? What am I, chopped liver?”
“You, dear one, are not chopped liver.” He turns my head arou
