Dad had joined in, adding that puberty was a time for reflection; it was hardship of the character building type. This was his cue for a walk down Dad’s teenage lane, featuring masturbation and wet dreams, doubts about sexuality and facial hair. Donald remarked that Dad’s facial hair had still not grown, and that his palms were still sweaty. But she paused and listened intently to his rendition of his first encounter with homosexuality. There are many things that children don’t need to know about their parents, such as genital warts and flatulence, but this admission of oddness struck a chord with Donald. She’d always tried to understand her parents’ peculiarity – and perhaps this would elucidate matters.
By this point in the conversation, Donald’s initial malaise had developed into full-on nausea, and her throat, Dad’s point of mire, was tightening which each convulsion of her gut. Dad never held eye contact during his talks. This had always been a sour point between Mum and Dad, where Mum accused Dad of mental infidelity – if there ever was such a thing.
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