“After three hours, I come back to the waiting room. It is a cosmetic surgery office, so a little like a hotel lobby, underheated and expensively decorated, with candy in little dishes, emerald-green plush chairs, and upscale fashion magazines artfully displayed against the wall.A young woman comes in, frantic to get a pimple "zapped" before she sees her family over the holidays. An older woman comes in with her daughter for a follow-up visit to a face-lift. She is wearing a scarf and dark glasses. The nurse examines her bruises right out in the waiting room.And you are in the operating room having your body and your gender legally altered. I feel like laughing, but I know it makes me sound like a lunatic.”

“After a year and a half my therapist retired, so I was bounced to someone else-a woman.Shazam! I suddenly felt I could open up and talk about the real stuff going on in my head. She lasted two session. I guess it was the castration fantasy that pushed over the edge.”

“I hurt my hip, too.”“Let me see.”She made a face and yelped when her cheek protested even that slight movement. “You don’t need to see my hip. It’s fine.”“If the skin’s broken, it’ll need cleaning, too,” he said, unbuckling her belt.“Stop that.”“Think of me as your doctor,” he said, as he unsnapped and then unzipped her jeans.“My doctor doesn’t usually undress me,” she snapped. “And my patients already come undressed.”He laughed. “Life your hips,” he said. “Up!” he ordered, when she hesitated.She put her one good hand on his shoulder to brace herself and lifted her hips as he pulled her torn jeans down. To her surprise, her bikini underwear was shredded, and the skin underneath was bloody. “Uh-oh.”She was still staring at the injury on her hip when she felt him pulling off her boots. She started to protest, saw the warning look in his eyes, and shut her mouth. He pulled her jeans off, leaving her legs bare above her white boot socks. “Was that really necessary?”“You’re decent,” he said, straightening the tails of her Western shirt over her shredded bikini underwear. “I can put your boots back on if you like.”Bay shook her head and laughed. “Just get the first-aid kit, and let me take care of myself.”He grimaced. “If I’m not mistaken, you packed the first-aid kit in your saddlebags.”Bay winced. “You’re right.” She stared down the canyon as far as she could see. There was no sign of her horse. “How long do you think it’ll take him to stop running?”“He won’t have gone far. But I need to set up camp before it gets dark. And I’m not hunting for your horse in the dark, for the same reason I’m not hunting for your brother in the dark.”“Where am I supposed to sleep? My bedroll and tent are with my horse.”“You should have thought of that before you started that little striptease of yours.”“You’re the one who shouted and scared me half to death. I was only trying to cool off.”“And heating me up in the process!”“I can’t help it if you have a vivid imagination.”“It didn’t take much to imagine to see your breasts,” he shot back. “You opened your blouse right up and bent over and flapped your shirt like you were waving a red flag at a bull”“I was getting some air!”“You slid your butt around that saddle like you were sitting right on my lap.”“That’s ridiculous!”“Then you lifted your arms to hold your hair up and those perfect little breasts of yours—” “That’s enough,” she interrupted. “You’re crazy if you think—”“You mean you weren’t inviting me to kiss my way around those wispy curls at your nape?”“I most certainly was not!”“Could’ve fooled me.”She searched for the worst insult she could think of to sling at him. “You—you—Bullying Blackthorne!”“Damned contentious Creed!”

“My Lesbian history tells me that the vice squad is never our friend even when it is called in by women; that when police rid a neighborhood of 'undesirables,' the undesirables have also included street Lesbians; that I must find another way to fight violence against women without doing violence to my Lesbian self. I must find a way that does not cooperate with the state forces against sexuality, forces that raided my bars, beat up my women, entrapped us in bathrooms, closed our plays, and banned our books.”

“One of the lessons I have learned in trying to live with history is that for every repression, we have found a suitable form of resistance. Our history is the chronicle of our vitality, our passion, our cunning, and at many times, our integrity. We must now work out a way by which we can honor both the old and the new. We must look for connections rather than judgments...In these days of Lesbian performers (or, as they call themselves, women performers) singing at Carnegie Hall, the wooing of us by national political parties, of big-budgeted gay civil rights organizations, remember that our battle is to be accepted in the fullness of our difference and not because we promise to be like everybody else.”

“Her gaze met his, her green eyes glazed and filled with shadows. "I-Iain?" Iain understood those shadows only too well. She was in shock. She had witnessed the full horror of war. Worse, she had killed a man. Like a young soldier after his first battle, she was struggling to cope. 'Twas an anguish no woman should have to bear.His rage broke like the tide against the shore, and before he could think, he pulled her hard against him, held her, stroked her hair. "You foolish, brave woman! Why do you no' obey me?" "What the bloody hell is he doin'?" Connor asked from somewhere behind them. Morgan answered, "I think he's punishin' her." "If he tries this on the men, they'll mutiny.”

“But that's not what you said when she walked into the room," said Simon quietly. "You said, 'Why didn't you ever tell me I had a brother?'""I know." Clary yanked a blade of grass out of the dirt, worrying it between her fingers. "I guess I can't help thinking that if I'd known the truth, I wouldn't have met Jace the way I did. I wouldn't have fallen in love with him."Simon was silent for a moment. "I don't think I've ever heard you say that before.""That I love him?" She laughed, but it sounded dreary even to her ears. "Seems useless to pretend like I don't, at this point. Maybe it doesn't matter. I probably won't ever see him again, anyway.""He'll come back.""Maybe.""He'll come back," Simon said again. "For you.”