She thought back to the few unicorn stories she’d heard, back when she was a kid. Only one thing seemed to have much effect on the animals.But that was silly.
Megan looked hesitantly up at Kyle. “Would it help if–mean I haven’t–” Her cheeks felt hot. When she spoke again, her words came out in a rush. “I’ve never slept with anyone, okay? Isn’t that supposed to make a difference or something?”
As a child–and, okay, through most of college, too–my walls were covered with flowy, showy, glimmery pastel unicorn pictures. In my late teens (or was it my very early 20s?) I tore them all down in a fit of anti-unicorn sentiment, though I have let a few unicorns back into my life since then.
I’ve also written several stories in which I tried to make sense of my unicorn obsession. This one was the first, published not long after I started writing professionally.
(Story is rated PG-13, and not for younger readers.)