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I'm not Catholic-- but a priest, a confessional, and absolution for my sins would be nice right about now. Not unlike a lot of Catholic priests these days, I'm about to get caught in a little sex scandal of my own. The story involves my cousin Justin, a bottle of rum, and a guest house.

The story goes back almost two decades when I was 13 years old and my mother found my stash of gay pornography hidden behind my bed in my room. Mummy kind of freaked and threatened to call my grandpa, aunts, and uncles, and tell them I was gay.

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I didn't want her to do that. I preferred to tell certain people myself, particularly my favorite aunt and uncle, Mark and Sandy. My uncle Mark and Aunt Sandy were always good to me. They let me stay with them in the summers and took me places and did things with me. So I felt I had an obligation to tell them about being gay myself.

I worked up my nerve and called them up one night and got Sandy on the phone. There was no easy way of saying it, so I just told her. She completely flipped out and started to cry and talk about God and shit. It was completely not the reaction I was hoping for. And it lasted. Sandy and Mark were never the same again.

The next time I was over at their house I learned the full extent of their homophobia. We had all just eaten McDonald's and I asked their young son Justin if I could have a sip of his milkshake. Well, uncle Mark practically had a coronary. "Don't do that. You'll give my kid AIDS." Then he told me that from now on if I was going to come over I wouldn't be allowed to drink out of the same cups as everyone else. At that point I knew my relationship with my Aunt Sandy and Uncle Mark was over. I didn't see any of them again for many years. As a result, I had nothing to do with Justin as he grew up.

Now fast forward to 1998. It's many years later and time for my family reunion in Little Rock, Arkansas. It's important to my grandfather that as many of us come as possible, so my brother and I make the trip from Toronto to be there. My aunt and uncle don't show, but my cousin Justin does. He's now 17-years-old and quite a good-looking young man.

We're there for a week and one very hot night when everyone else was in bed I was sitting on curb outside the motel with a bottle of rum and a pack of Winston Lights when Justin came out and sat down beside me.

"I know it's illegal," he said to me, "and the family wouldn't approve, but could I have some of your rum?" I didn't see any harm in it, so I poured him a drink.

We made small talk for a bit until Justin got around to what was really on his mind. "I know you're gay," he said to me. "And I want you to know that's cool with me."

I thought it was a nice thing for him to say, and I thanked him for saying it.

Then he continued: "But if you don't mind, I have a few questions about your lifestyle."

I didn't mind. It's my job as an activist to answer personal questions.

"Shoot," I said to him.

Two hours and half-a-bottle-of-rum later we had covered the gamut of questions about homosexuality and the "lifestyle." There was a moment of silence, and then he said to me: "There's something I want to tell you. But if you tell anyone, I'll hate you forever and never forgive you."

He has my attention.

"It's a deal," I say to him.

He then tells me he's been having sex with his best friend Trevor and he likes to get fucked. In fact, it's one of his favorite things and he can't get enough.

"But I'm not gay," he adds emphatically. "I just like getting fucked and I only do it with Trevor."

I'm not really surprised, but I have to take a moment to enjoy the delicious irony of homophobic Aunt Sandy and Uncle Mark ending up with a son who loves to take it up the ass.

Then he goes one step further. "If it weren't for the fact that we're cousins, we could have sex right now," he says. I don't bite. The last thing I needed was to get thrown in an Arkansas prison on a sodomy charge with a drunken underage male cousin. I watch Showcase. I've seen the prison show "Oz" and know that would be a bad situation for a little blond fag.

We decide to call it a night and head back to the room we're sharing. I go directly to bed and he goes to the bathroom. I notice he seems to be in there a long time, but really think nothing of it. Remember this detail because I'll come back to it later. For now it's enough to say the rest of the trip is uneventful and I'm glad to get out of the sweltering heat of Arkansas and back to my nice air-conditioned bathhouse in Toronto.

Moving right along...

Now fast forward again to the present. I haven't seen Justin since Arkansas almost four years ago, although he calls from time to time and we chat. When my Aunt Mabel calls and says she'd like to have a little spring gathering at her cottage in Northern Michigan, I balk. It's a long way to go and it doesn't sound like a lot of fun to me. But when Justin phones me and says it would be nice to see me again, I change my mind and agree to go if he does.

The first night is uneventful. We eat like pigs and watch A Beautiful Mind. The cabin has an open-concept design, so no matter where you are in it everyone can hear you talking, which means Justin and I have no real opportunity to do so. We spend the next day touring from God-forsaken town to God-forsaken town. I quickly realize that Michigan is fucking ugly, and the highlight of the road trip is when my aunt spontaneously decides to buy me a very expensive gold necklace with a cross on it. I'm not Christian, but decide, what the hell. It's a nice piece of jewelry.

After dinner we start to watch Lord of the Rings, which sucks, so we turn it off. Justin suggests that he and I go down to the guest house and play cards. I say no because the place is only heated by a space heater and it will be too cold. But he persists and tells me to stop being such a pussy. "All right," I say. "You bring cigarettes and I'll bring my secret bottle of rum I brought in case of emergency."

Justin is a month away from turning 21, and still not quite legal for the booze. The first couple of hours is normal chit chat. He mainly wants to talk about what's in the book I've just finished writing and about normal things in my life. But half way into the bottle of rum, things change.

"Now the conversation gets interesting," he says to me. "There's something I want to tell you." I remember what he had to say the last time we got drunk, so I think I know what's coming. Then he proceeds to tell me that ever since that night in Arkansas he's wanted me to fuck him. He's fantasized about ever since and it's why he wanted me to come to the cottage.

"I don't think that's a good idea," I say to him. "If the family found out about it there would be a shit storm and they'd blame me for recruiting you into homosexuality." He argues the point, saying there's no way anyone could find out about it and he was doing this long before he met me. I'm unconvinced and try to change the subject. "I have other fantasies," he says. And he tells me about his wish to come to Toronto so that me and all my friends could take turns gang banging him. "I want eight guys," he says with all the candor of a pro. "I want four guys fucking my ass while I suck off the other four in front of me."

I'm beginning to think that Justin has come a long way since Arkansas, then he adds: "But I'm not gay. I just like getting fucked by guys. I don't know what you call that, but I'm not gay." I tread lightly and offer the suggestion that maybe he's bisexual.

"No. I have no attraction to guys," he tells me firmly. There was no point in arguing.

"There's something I was wondering," he starts. "Did you hear me in Arkansas or not?" Then he tells me that when he went to the bathroom he was in there jerking off and whispering my name hoping I would come in and fuck him in the shower.

"No, I didn't hear you," I reply. "And I'm glad I didn't." The last thing I needed was to be confronted with that kind of temptation. I'm suddenly reminded that not all teenagers are innocents preyed upon by older and wiser predators. Some of them can be just as dangerous and cunning when they want something.

I also realize that this kid has wanted to seduce me for four years and the flattery of it goes a long way towards getting me to change my mind and say yes. When you're 32, it's not every day that a hot almost-21-year-old practically begs you for sex.

Without thinking or being aware of it, I spontaneously blow a smoke ring. Justin notices and asks me if I remember what I said to him in Arkansas about smoke rings.

"I haven't got a clue," I say. He tells me the story of how I blew a smoke ring in Arkansas and he commented that it was cool and I leaned over and whispered to him that I could "blow a smoke ring around a cock at four feet."

Then I say to him, "I can prove it. Whip out your cock," which he does, erect. I proceed to blow an absolutely perfect smoke ring dead center over the head of his dick. At that moment the logical thing to do was to go for it and go down on him. But I hesitate and there's an awkward moment and he puts it away. He's sitting there with this big boner and I think I'm being stupid. He obviously wants it, so I should just make a move.

I reach out and start to stroke his crotch. He gets this dead serious look his face and sternly says to me, "What are you doing?"

I'm taken aback. "What I thought you wanted me to do," I reply.

"I've changed my mind," he says. I ask him what I did that turned him off. "You made the first move," he answers, "I always make the first move."

I try to move the conversation to more comfortable ground and change the subject.

After finishing the rest of the bottle of rum, he says to me, "You know people can change their minds again." Again, I say nothing. "But I have to know something first," he says. Then he tells me he knows I go to the baths and sleep around and he's worried about AIDS. I tell him I was just tested and was negative. But I've learned my lesson and don't make another move on him.

Bugged out

It gets to be very late. I'm tired. I'm drunk, and I've got a headache from smoking to many American cigarettes. I tell Justin that in five minutes I'm going to bed. I'm really telling him this is his last chance because I'm tired of waiting. Nothing happens, so I start to clean up and turn the lights out. The next thing I know he's standing if front of me aggressively. "If you tell anyone about this, I'll kill you," he says. Then he goes down on me. And he's good. Really good. Then he stands up and says, "Do you have a condom?" Of course, I do, and we strip and start fucking. I'm pounding the shit out of him and he appears to be loving it. Or so I thought.

He suddenly tells me to stop. "Did I hurt you?" I ask.

"No, we have to stop now," he answers.

"Why?" I say to him.

"Because I don't want to get AIDS. If I do, I'll give it to my girlfriend and I'll never be able to live with myself."

I'm stunned, but do as he asks. We dress in silence and get ready to back to the main house. We say virtually nothing on the way up and go directly to bed.

Everyone gets up at seven in the morning. I'm tired, hung-over and shell-shocked when I get out of bed. The first thing out of Justin's mouth is "When are we getting the hell out of here?" My aunt appears to be giving me the silent treatment and is completely ignoring both me and Justin. My grandfather is looking sullen off in the corner.

I go out for a smoke and Justin turns up a minute later. I can't help myself, I have to say something.

"I hate to bring this up," I say to him, "but are you sorry?" He looks prepared for the question.

"Yes," he answers. "But it's not you. I'd be sorry if it were any guy. I needed to figure out if I was gay or not, and now I know. I'm not and that's the end of it."

Then he asks me if I'm sorry. "Yes," I say, "but for different reasons."

Of course, what I'm worried about is that he'll tell someone what happened. He got drunk one night and told his parents about fucking around with his buddy Trevor. There's a pattern here. Every time he drinks, he talks. A little while later everyone is ready to go and no one is saying anything, except my mother who is quite chipper for 7am. My aunt, who is normally all lovey dovey hugs and kisses, gets into the car without even saying goodbye. My grandfather gives a terse "See ya later" and gets into the car. Then they all drive away and the trip is over.

All the way home driving back with my mother I feel guilt. Justin is no altar boy, but I still feel like I've done something wrong. It obviously wasn't a good experience for him and will probably only serve to confuse him more.

I found out just how fucked up he was about it when the phone calls started about a week later. The first one came at 3am.

"I'm freaking out," he says to me, on the verge of a total breakdown. "I'm afraid I've got AIDS," he continues. I do everything I can to reassure him that it's unlikely in the extreme to be true, but nothing I say calms him down.

For the next three weeks I get calls at all times of the day and night with him demanding to know if I'm positive or not. It doesn't matter what I say to him, he just couldn't be rational. Finally, the calls stop when he goes to the doctor one day for a rapid HIV test. He breaks down and cries as the nurse takes his blood and doesn't stop until she comes back and tells him he's negative.

Instead of realizing that he's been a total idiot, he decides the only way to make sure that he doesn't ever get AIDS is to never have sex with another guy again. The next phone call I get is about how he's met the "perfect" girl and he's ready to settle down. Within a month they move in together and are throwing the "engagement" word around.

The poor kid is a fucked up mess who obviously can't see the writing on the wall. As for me, if the family finds out, I'll be crucified. My friends tell me I didn't do anything wrong, but that's not how it feels to me. Where's that priest, anyway?