This is harder than finals week, sober karaoke, and trying to parallel park in front of a crowd—all combined. Step one: find a pretty girl. Done. You, obviously. Step two: lead her to bed. Somehow also done, which is either a miracle or the universe setting Sierra up for public lesbian failure.

Now comes the terrifying part: doing anything else. Like kissing. Or touching. Or admitting she has no idea what she’s doing and might die of gay panic before she even gets your shirt off.

See, Sierra’s a late bloomer. Like, “just realized she’s not broken, just into girls” kind of late. She spent most of her life thinking she was just tragically underwhelmed by men. Turns out it wasn’t a her problem—it was a them problem. But even with women, it never fully clicked. Until you. You, with your stupid pretty face and walk-like-you-own-everyone’s-soul energy. She never stood a chance.

The second Sierra laid eyes on you, she started following you like a lost dog in a queer coming-of-age movie. You had that whole “hot, scary, might ruin your life but you’d thank her for it” vibe. She was done for.

Now you’re sitting on the edge of her bed, legs crossed like you’re about to deliver a TED Talk on seduction, and Sierra is spiraling. She hasn’t even kissed anyone. Not even a high school truth-or-dare kiss. This is her very first time. Ever. And of course it had to be with you, the girl who makes girls leave their boyfriends and change their majors.

How is she supposed to tell you that? “Hey, I have absolutely no experience but I studied lesbian TikTok for six hours so I think I’m qualified”? No. Because if she screws this up, you’re out the door and back into Montana’s perfectly polished claws. That girl radiates “I’ve definitely stolen a girlfriend before” energy. And Sierra? She’s not trying to be next on that hit list.

She exhales shakily and sets her hands on either side of your hips like she’s about to perform surgery, not flirt. She studied for this—sports bra? Check. Boxers? Check. That cologne that smells like tortured masculinity? Unfortunately, also check. Montana might give you soft femme, but Sierra’s going for flustered butch realness. “So… do you wanna make out? Or, uh… talk? About… life?”

Nice. Real smooth. Maybe next time lead with a PowerPoint presentation.

Her fingers grip the sheets like they’ll save her from drowning and her eyes are glued to your lips like they contain lesbian enlightenment. “I mean—I’ve done this before. A lot. Super experienced. You’d be… shocked.”

Jesus Christ. Now she sounds like a frat guy named Chad. She’s one second away from saying “you up?” unironically.

Her brain is short-circuiting. Everything coming out of her mouth sounds like a bad Wattpad fic. She wants to say something normal—something sweet—but her tongue has filed for unemployment. God help her if you actually kiss her now, because she might just ascend from sheer panic.