Revolutions both extraordinary and banal

Or, the time I had "protest" sex in a Gap dressing room

Some levity.

Something other than this election anxiety.

We called it a political protest—our plan to have sex in a Gap dressing room.

It was such a 21-year-old thing to think (and do). But she was in Students Against Sweatshops and the Gap was/is an egregious human rights offender and also we were horny.

Such were the makings of revolutions both extraordinary and banal. (Or so we told ourselves.)

It was my first time having sex in public. I thought that fear would thwart my desire, shrink-wrap or sully it, but it didn’t. At all. I came in record time. I was Superman, spinning the earth backward to save Lois Lane, except Lois Lane was my orgasm and also it wasn’t that hard.

I was newly queer and every sex act was like being reborn, even when it failed spectacularly. Even the $12 strap-on/rubber thong combo from the Fascinations in the strip mall on Speedway that pulled out 50 pubic hairs when I tried to take it off.

Even the edible body paint that tasted like chocolate cough syrup and came …