I like to think that people live on in other people's memories.
I enjoyed sex and indulged in it when I fancied the men.
I took on the sins of everybody, of a generation, really.
One way of reading my life is that I have been in constant search for a father.
I have survived and possibly I should not hope for more than that.
The fathers, if they got me alone, would try to kiss and fondle me. I hated it.