” Hearing that phrase in my own mind is what freaked me out. Like many straight people of my generation, my view of homosexuality had evolved over the years, from disdain or disgust to a sort of who-am-I-to-judge tolerance and a couple of real friendships with gay people. In my case the process was hastened by the guilty memory of those youthful encounters with my cousin. But being tolerant of homosexuality was one thing, doing it was another. To all this was added the guilt I felt about cheating on my wife. I really loved her and hurting her was the last thing I wanted to do. The fact that our sex life had begun to bore both of us was no excuse to play around. And even if I hadn’t felt the guilt, which I did, there was the fear of getting caught. I knew from the experience of a couple of friends that an affair rarely stays secret forever. Yet none of these considerations kept me from replaying the encounter in my head. Every time I did I’d start to get a hardon, so I spent most. And I was lolling on the couch in my sweat pants (and nothing else) in the TV room when my sister showed up an hour later.Lizzie! I looked up at her in irritation when she plopped down next to me on the couch. In the couple of days she'd been home since returning from her camp counsellors job I'd just come to regard her as another pair of eyes and ears to worry about. Dad being home was bad enough. But now mom and I had to worry about her. And sis could be nosy."Hi," she said tentatively. She clearly had been sensing my quasi hostility over the past couple of days. I'd never, ever been mean to her before. I grunted back at her and moved my legs so she'd have some room."Are you mad at me?" It was a timid, almost shy question and the voice that delivered it was the voice of the little girl of seven or eight who'd at one time years ago been my best friend. The little girl whose big brother had always looked out for. The little girl who'd always greeted her brother with a smile and total.
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