Next stops, cogitation and redefinition.
In her essay I Fucked a Girl, Ms. Manhattan (named, we believe, for the island rather than the cocktail or the chowder) shreds – and then folds, spindles and mutilates – the gay-straight-bisexual matrix, and probably the Kinsey scale too. While probably making people of any sexual preference hot. And tells a couple of stories that would be fascinating even if they didn’t cause the blood to heat up.
I love kissing girls. Because they’re soft like the word kiss. Soft like passion should be, and their hands brush your hair back from your face gently as you suck their lips. I kissed Devon’s neck, her shoulders, her ear: and when she removed her shirt, there was something dizzyingly androgynous for me about her boyish figure. I can’t explain what had made the transition, but I felt like I was finally looking with a woman’s eyes.
Marcelle Manhattan: Sexegesis.
An “exegesis” is a close reading of a text. And that’s what – in my opinion – she’s up to – a set of very thoughtful, close examinations of matters erotic, romantic, and sexual.
