It meant that I don’t own this body. Even though I live here, and no-one else does, I am leasing my life from other people, required to keep it up to their standards, like a renter who is forbidden to paint the walls a more congenial color. It meant that I had crossed a line, by trying to live in this body, trying to fuck with this body, trying to give this body what it was not meant to have — happiness; pleasure — and that if my life was over, it was my own fault, for opening my legs, for trying to feel good for 15 minutes that had not even felt good because that guy didn’t care if I was happy either.
Jude Ellison S. Doyle
