Chapter 8What a Difference a Day Makes
Quinton Mann was my lover.
My lover. Sometimes I wondered how the f**k that had happened.
Oh, not that I had gone to bed with a man. I’d done that before, whenever I’d wanted a change of diet. I scratched whichever itch itched the most.
I didn’t believe in heterosexuality, homosexuality, or bisexuality. Letting yourself get labeled was for wusses.
I never had an affair that lasted longer than a night, and I didn’t do relationships. But I’d let Quinn f**k me.
Up until that point, I could count the number of men I’d let do that to me on one hand, and still have four fingers left over.
I used the opportunity of having to travel to Massachusetts for a funeral to end it.
He came after me.
No one had ever given enough of a f**k to do that, and so I
