“You held a hand out to show me; I pressed my palm against it, the tips of my fingers an inch above yours.
An intimate conversation, comfortable. Familiar, even, as if we were siblings. When I leaned over and put my head on your lap, did you know it wasn’t a premeditated move? My body simply went there of its own volition. I wanted something. Not sexual.
Rest, maybe. I wanted to be at rest with you.
I closed my eyes and felt your hand on my forehead.
We cannot allow this, you said. We will not allow it.
Of course not, I said.
And yet, to sit up, I had to push, hard, against, the downward force of your hand. ”
Fire Sermon, Jamie Quatro.