My relationship with my sexuality was already a precarious thing. Having grown up in the isolation of the Appalachian foothills, queerness only existed either as a scandalous piece of gossip or the punchline of a rude joke told in locker rooms or cafeterias.

Plus, I had a bad habit of falling in love with straight girls.

I was 17 the first time I asked someone (anyone!) out. We were in drama club together. I liked her laugh and her red hair. She smoked me out for the first time in a shed near the woods. We used an emptied can of Mountain Dew, a disgusting and…