We’d had classes earlier in the day, and at the end of it, she had walked up to me and said we could meet at the same place at 6 p.m.
The library was quieter now, thinned out as most students had retreated to their dorms or whatever else they had going on. The overhead lights cast a warmer glow in the evening, and I found myself noticing stupid little details about her — the way she looked when she was concentrating: how she tucked a strand of her braids behind her ear, how she bit the corner of her lip when she was thinking too hard, the slight frown she aimed at her screen like it had personally offended her.
It was a very distracting sight. Very, very distracting.
“I think we need to start simple,” I said, leaning back. “The basic questions, but make them personal. For instance, instead of asking ‘How do you identify?’, we could ask, ‘When did you first realise that the labels people used for you didn’t fit?’”
She nodded, scribbling notes in that neat handwriting of hers. “That’s good. More story-based than mechanical.”
“Exactly. People connect to stories more than just spreadsheets.” I watched her write for a moment, then added, “We should probably ask about their first crushes, too. That’s usually when people start realising their attractions don’t match what everyone expects.”
Her pen stopped moving. “First crushes?”
“Yeah. Like, ‘Tell us about the first person who made your heart race.’ It’s a simple question, but it gets straight to the core of sexual identity without sounding interrogative or academic.”
I noticed the faint flush creeping up her neck.
Interesting.
“That’s… that’s a good angle,” she said, not meeting my eyes as she resumed writing.
“We could follow up with something about physical attraction,” I continued, enjoying the way she was trying so hard to appear nonchalant. “Ask them to describe what draws them to someone. Is it the way they move? The way they laugh? The way they look at you as though they want to read your mind?”
Her pen slipped, clattering onto the table. She quickly grabbed it, her face now definitely pink.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I was just… thinking about the ethics of asking such personal questions.”
“Ethics?” I raised an eyebrow. “These are adults volunteering to talk about their identity and relationships. Personal is the point, and I think they can handle talking about attraction.”
“Oh. Of course.” She cleared her throat.
Cute.
“What other… What other physical questions were you thinking?” she asked.
I leaned forward a little. “Well, we could ask about intimacy. How their identity affects their intimate relationships. Do they prefer to take the lead or be led? Do they like gentle touches or something with more intensity? How do they communicate what they want in bed?”
Kelechi’s eyes widened, and she actually squeaked a little. “We can’t ask people that!”
“Why not? It’s relevant to our research. Sexual expression is tied to gender expression.”
“But it’s so… personal.”
“The best research is personal, K. That’s how you get real answers instead of textbook responses.” I tilted my head, studying her flustered state. “Have you never talked about sex before?”
“Of course I have,” she said too fast, though her voice pitched higher. “I just… not academically.”
“Mm-hmm.” I didn’t buy that for a second. “So you’d be fine asking someone about their sexual preferences? Whether they like being the one doing the kissing or the one being kissed? What makes them feel desired?”
She was practically squirming in her seat now, her face a deep red that was frankly adorable.
“I—” she started, then stopped. “I think we should focus on more general questions,” she said weakly.
“Fine, but you’re going to have to get comfortable with this stuff if you want to do real research on gender and sexuality.” I picked up my pen, pretending to make notes while watching her try to compose herself. “Though I have to ask… why does talking about attraction make you so nervous?”
“It doesn’t,” she lied, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Right. So if I asked you what kind of person makes your heart race, you’d have no problem answering?”
