A recent study comes out called “The Evolution Of Female Same-Sex Attraction: the Male Choice Hypothesis.”
 
In this work, I am watching a scientist tell me the only reason I like girls is because it makes men hot. He postulates that because he asked men and they found woman-on-woman action sexy that bisexual women only experience same-sex attraction because it makes straight men more likely to find them attractive.
  
When I kiss her at a party I feel eyes on us like arrows through my skin. I don’t hold hands with her when we walk in public. Once, she kisses me as we stand on a mostly-empty street. Out of nowhere, a beer bottle comes flying. When later she will be wiping the blood out of my eyes, I will have one thing on my mind: how wonderful it would be to be invisible. 
  
We drop our eyes on trains, we sit a little further apart, we don’t hold each other in public. We put space between us like a caught breath we release only in private. A man tells me he loves gay women because they have the best pornography. In the videos he sees, women with sharp nails moan into cameras and leave their boyfriends for a weekend of fun. The first time I touched a girl I couldn’t stop shaking. I can’t enjoy half of the women kissing in movies. Something about the way the camera watches makes me uncomfy. In real life whenever I see a girl I like, I try to be polite. Even with her, the moon of my life. I don’t want her to feel like how I feel every time we kiss outside; that knowledge of being watched, that sickness that spreads over skin, that feeling of being hunted.
   
Come here, doctor. Let me teach you about how her eyes change color in the sun. How her hands move when she’s nervous, how when she laughs she lights up. How she’ll listen to your story even though you know it’s boring. Let me show you the music that lives in her. How she carved out a space inside of me where it only grows trees. How I fell in love so quickly. Tell me then I’m only doing it because my ancestors selected for it when people like me can’t walk safely in the street. Tell me then.
 
Tell me somehow that the quiet yearning between women is still somehow about men.