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195 pages, Kindle Edition
First published October 25, 2011




I wasn’t having a relationship with another man; it was laughable. I looked on it as a series of ‘episodes,’ and I called it that in my head. I refused to call it…what it was.
I loved his exuberance, his passion for life. Nothing, for Alex, was impossible. He made me feel invulnerable, and far more special than I am.
I was in my own garage, with my children and my wife on the other side of flimsy wooden doors, and I pulled that young man into my arms and I kissed him as if it was our last moment together instead of our first.

Small lies seem nothing—, and big lies—even the biggest—are no harder. They shrink with time and with repetition.
Elation is a bubble that lasts for tiny tiny moments but leaves something of its memory in scents and sounds so that later, when you need that boost, you can close your eyes and remember happiness.

"Can't I'm drowning."
"No...................."
There is a stillness that happens after love. Not the hushed quiet of the deep breaths which slow in time, but a moment of perfect silence when both hearts stop and then a new breath is taken which leads to clothes and reality. The trick is to delay it.
There was no embarrassment. Well, to be honest, there was a little on my part. I had, after all, just sodomised a teenager, muttered his name into his neck as I spent myself within him.

When he zipped himself back up, he was just my friend, and I think, even with the tide of pleasure ebbing away from me, I knew that this wasn’t what I wanted, but that didn’t help. I didn’t know what I wanted, only that it was something more than this.
And I remember holding that glass close to me on that first night as if this secret—my secret—were captive in the glass and would be easy to keep. Yes—it was wrong and I just didn’t care.
I was in my own garage, with my children and my wife on the other side of flimsy wooden doors, and I pulled that young man into my arms and I kissed him as if it was our last moment together instead of our first. Oh God.
"Yes. I’ve wanted to touch you, to feel your skin under my palms, to put my fingers into your hair, to touch your mouth and see your eyes close when I…"



My talent for deception entered a new level at this stage. It was at this point that the old Eddie died forever, I think, for there wasn’t a day after this when I wasn’t lying to someone. Perhaps because it was I’d stopped lying to myself.