Marge’s next older sister, was a total dyke and also not afraid to make sure the world and I knew it. The oldest girl was married to a nice, gutless...guy, but he had no backbone or opinions of his own. I think pussy-whipped is an applicable term here. Dad was another story entirely. 100% Indian, and very closed mouthed, barely spoke to me. Several weekends, we’d go to her home and eat Sunday roast beef.The strangest part, [at this point] was each girl had a part in making dinner. One would take. De nudged me under the table and leaned closer to whisper that it was okay for me to flirt, but I wasn’t to pick anyone special. I asked how far the flirting was allowed to go, and she smiled impishly and told me that we could touch and kiss and that was it. “Yes or no,” she demanded. “Yes, of course,” I quickly agreed and by then the waitress was at our table, setting our drinks down. I bent over to check out her legs and she laughed as she looked at De. . More

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