So this is love.

The giving. The taking.

The abandonment of roles. The opening of the self.

And the resultant sensuality of it all. The delight. The laughing joy.

Were I to describe in clinical detail for some unknown reader those things that we have actually done, the intensity and pleasure would not come through. The joy would be filtered out. The written paragraphs would be grotesque. Perverse.

Because love cannot be discussed objectively.

It is a subjective thing. You must be immersed in it to understand it. The things that Danny and I (Don and I) have done, we’ve done them out of curiosity and delight and sharing. Not compulsion. Delight.

And joyous sexuality. We are discovering our bodies. We are discovering each other. We are children with a magnificent new toy. Yes, sex is a toy for grownups.

To describe the things we have been doing would deprive them of their special intimacy and magic. We do them because they feel good. We do them because in this way we make each other feel good. We do it out of love.

Is this love?

It must be. Why didn’t I do this sooner?

And yet, I wonder what I am doing.

A vague sense of wrongness pervades my life. I find myself looking over my shoulder a lot — Who’s watching me? Who’s judging my days?

Is it wrong?

I don’t know.

There is no one I can talk to about it, not even myself. Every Don I know — every Dan — is caught up in the same whirlpool. None of us is any closer to the truth. We are all confused.

I’m alone for the first time in days.

It makes no difference. I’m still talking to myself.

I wish some Don from the future would come back to advise me — but even that’s a useless wish. Any Don who did come back would only be trying to shape me toward his goals, regardless of mine.

(I did meet one once. I don’t know if it was intentional or accidental. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, maybe older; there were tiny lines at the corners of his eyes. He was a little darker and a lot heavier than me. He said, “You look troubled, Danny. Would you like to talk about it?” I said yes, but when we sat down on the couch, he put his arm around my shoulders and tried to pull me close. I fled into yesterday — Is that my future? Am I condemning myself to a life of that?)

(Is condemning even the right word? There are times when I am lying in Danny’s arms when I am so happy I want to shout. I want to run out in the middle of the street and scream as loud as I can with the overwhelming joy of how happy I am. There are times when I am with Don that I break down and cry with happiness. We both cry with happiness. The emotion is too much to contain. There are times when it is very good and I am happier than I have ever been in my life. Is that condemnation?)

(Must I list all those moments which I would never excise? The times we went nude swimming on a California beach centuries before the first man came to this continent. The night when six of us, naked and giggling, discovered what an orgy really was. [I’ve been to that orgy four times now — does that mean I have to visit it twice more? I hope so.] I had not realized what pleasure could be — )

But when I think about it logically, I know that its wrong. I mean, I think it’s wrong. I’m not sure. I’ve never had to question it before.

Man was made to mate with woman. Man was not made to mate with man.

But does that mean man must not mate with man?

No matter how many arguments I marshal against it, I am still outvoted by one overwhelming argument for it.

It’s pleasurable. I like it.

So I rationalize. I tell myself that it’s simply a complex form of masturbation. I know it. This is something more. I respond to Dan as if he were another person, as if he were not myself. I am both husband and wife, and I like both roles.

Oh my God — what have I done to myself?

What have I done?

Rationalization cannot hide the truth. How can anything that has given me such happiness leave me so unhappy?

Please. Someone. Help.

I put the pages down and looked at Don. The mood of the moment had abruptly evaporated. “You’ve read this, haven’t you?”

He wouldn’t meet my gaze; he simply nodded.

I narrowed my eyes in sudden suspicion. “How far ahead of me are you?” I asked. “One day? Two days? A week? How much of my future do you know?”

He shook his head. “Not much. A little less than a day.”

“I’m your yesterday?”

He nodded.

“You know what we were about to do?” I held up the papers meaningfully.

He nodded again.

“We would have done it if he hadn’t stopped us, wouldn’t we?”

“Yes,” said Don. “In fact, I was just about to—”

He stopped, refused to finish the sentence.

I thought about that for a moment. “Then you know if we are going to — I mean, you know if we did it.”

He said, “I know.” His voice was almost a whisper.

Something about the way he said it made me look at him. “We did — didn’t we?”

“Yes.”

Abruptly, I was finding it hard to talk. He tried to look at me, but I wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“Dan,” he said. “You don’t understand. You won’t understand until you’re me.”

“We don’t have to do it,” I said. “Both of us have free will. Either of us can change the future. I could say no. And you — even though you have your memory of doing it, you could still refuse to do it again. You could change the past. If you wanted to.”

He stretched out a hand. “It’s up to you. …”

“No,” I shook my head. “You’re the one who makes the decisions. I’m Danny, you’re Don. Besides, you’ve already — you’ve already done it. You know what it’s like. You know if it will… be good, or if we should… avoid it. I don’t know, Don; that’s why I have to trust you.” I looked at him. “Do we do it?”

Hesitation. He touched my arm. “You want to, don’t you?”

After a moment I nodded. “Yes. I want to see what it’s like. I — I love you.”

“I want to do it too.”

“Is it all right, though?” I held my voice low. “I mean, remember how troubled Don looked?”

“Danny, all I remember is how happy we were.”

I looked at him. There was a tear shining on his cheek.

It was enough. I pressed against him. And we both held on tight.

I put the papers down and looked at Don. “I had a feeling we were heading toward it,” I said.

He nodded. “Yes.” And then he smiled. “At least, now it’s out in the open.”

I met his gaze. “I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner. …”

“Think about it,” he said. “It can’t happen until Danny is ready. Any Don can try to seduce him, but unless Danny wants it to, it won’t happen.”

“So it’s really me who’s doing the seducing, isn’t it?”

Don grinned. He rolled over on his back and spread his arms in invitation. “I’m ready.”

So was I. I moved into them and kissed him.

And wondered why previous versions of myself had been so afraid.

I wanted to do it. Wasn’t that reason enough?

Evolution, of course.

I had provided a hostile environment for those of me with doubts about their sexuality. They had excised themselves out of existence.

Leaving only me. With no doubts at all.

Survival of the fittest?

More likely, survival of the horniest.

I know who I am. I know what I want.