The Man Who Folded Himself by David Gerrold

mean, I think it’s wrong. I’m not sure. I’ve never had to question it before.
    Man is supposed to mate with woman. That’s the order of life, isn’t it?
    But does that mean man must not mate with man? Is it possible there’s more?
    And always, there is this. No matter how many arguments I marshal against, I am still outvoted by one overwhelming argument for.
    It’s pleasurable. I like it.
    So I rationalize. I tell myself that it’s simply a complex form of masturbation, and masturbation is all right. Ninety-five percent of the people in the world enjoy masturbating, and the other five percent are liars.
    But this isn’t simply 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.”
    â€œI’m your yesterday?”
    He nodded.

    â€œYou know what we were about to do?” I held up the papers meaningfully.
    He nodded again.
    â€œWe would have done it if he hadn’t stopped us, wouldn’t we?”
    â€œYes,” 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?”
    â€œYes.”
    Abruptly, I was finding it hard to talk. He tried to look at me, but I wouldn’t meet his gaze.
    â€œDan,” he said. “You don’t understand. You won’t understand until you’re me.”
    â€œWe 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. . . . ”
    â€œNo,” 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.”
    â€œI want to do it too.”
    â€œIs it all right, though?” I held my voice low. “I mean, remember how troubled Don looked?”
    â€œDanny, 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….”
    â€œThink about it,” he said. “It can’t happen until Danny is ready. Any Don can try to seduce him, but unless Danny wants it