When my sister asks me to pretend to be some straight guy’s boyfriend, my automatic response is to say no. Meeting the guy I’m bribing to be my boyfriend for the weekend makes me question everything about myself. And I have to bring my boyfriend-the boyfriend who doesn’t exist because I’m straight.Īt least, I think I am. Now, five years later and after a drunken encounter, I find myself invited to her wedding. When the pressure to marry my childhood sweetheart became too much, I told her I was gay and then fled to New York like my ass was on fire. The reason I rarely go home is three simple words: I’m a liar.
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