Christopher and His Kind

Couldn’t you get yourself excited by the shape of girls, too—if you worked hard at it? Perhaps. And couldn’t you invent another myth — to put girls into? Why the hell should I? Well, it would be a lot more convenient for you, if you did. Then you wouldn’t have all these problems. Society would accept you. You wouldn’t be out of step with nearly everybody else.
It was at this point in his self-examination that Christopher would become suddenly, blindly furious. Damn Nearly Everybody. Girls are what the state and the church and the law and the press and the medical profession endorse, and command me to desire. My mother endorses them, too. She is silently brutishly willing me to get married and breed grandchildren for her. Her will is the will of Nearly Everybody, and in their will is my death. My will is to live according to my nature, and to find a place where I can be what I am… But I’ll admit this — even if my nature were like theirs, I should still have to fight them, in one way or another. If boys didn’t exist, I should have to invent them.