The Many and Varied Adventures of Psychedelic Frog Skin Boy
an excerpt

I'm sitting at my playing place, stacking up blocks, and I can feel her staring at me. You know how you can feel when someone's little hazel eyes are drilling into the back of your head. I didn't give her the time of day, of course. No point in encouraging her. I stack a few blue blocks on top of the red castle I have halfway-built, for the sake of diversity. I'm considering a moat or drawbridge when Cynthia plops down next to me. She's wearing pink overalls and some kind of heart-printed shirt and has curly hair and, even then, I remember thinking that she was probably a bitch. Not in those exact words, but you know what I mean. She had the vibe.

There's a minor scuffle over who gets to play with the blocks, which shouldn't have been an issue because I was already playing with them. Problem solved. frogboy gets to play with the blocks. Evidently, she didn't agree because she bit me right on the arm, almost on my elbow exactly. Before I even got to push her off, she'd pulled back and was staring at me. Who even knows what a five year old sees when she's hallucinating, but it must've been pretty weird because she starts screaming. And I start screaming, too, and I'm thinking "what the hell, this girl just bit me and she's screaming at me, is she crazy?" and then the teacher came and it was a big long thing and, long story short, frogboy has this weird skin and no one's allowed to taste it.

Back then, this rule did not bother me. In fact, it continued to not bother me all the way until the sixth grade, when I decided that maybe I wanted people to taste my skin. Girls in particular. And by "skin" I meant "lips". It's a weird moment in a young man's life when he realizes that all those people who put their mouths on other peoples' mouths might have been onto something and maybe he ought to give it a shot. And then once the idea's in your head, it eats away at all of your other thoughts. Everything else in your mind - your memories, your inner dialogues, your daydreams and nightdreams and everything, gets cannibalized by this one single idea, until all that's left is a big puddle of blood. A puddle of blood shaped like lips.