Half Hetero Pudge And Ronny: Chapter Ten

 One hundred points to whoever can guess what part of Christian pop culture "Reverend Ray" comes from. I will give hints, upon request.



 Pudge and his mother arrived a few minutes early, to allow them more time for socializing. As he pulled into the parking lot, his mother put her hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right, dear? You've been awfully quiet today, and lately, come to think of it."
"I just...I just have a headache," he said.
"Again? I think you might be coming down with something," she speculated, putting the back of her hand against his forehead. "No temperature, though. Are you going to be all right to go into the service?"
"Yeah, sure," he replied. "I'm fine, Mom, really," he said, grabbing his bible and getting out before she could ask any more questions.
He noticed a two strange cars in the parking lot, a sliver Kia which looked only a few years old, and a small red Volkswagen convertible, maybe from the early nineties. He wondered somewhat about them, before walking past the two cars that had passed him on the side of the road last week, apparently not seeing him. Pudge briefly thought of last week's sermon, about the Good Samaritan, then dismissed it. No, he was just bitter because he had finally discovered the extent of his sin, he thought.
Everything was the same, and yet strangely different, as he walked into the church. He greeted his friends, his pastor, and his elders, hugging his grandparents. He even said hello to J. Michael Kindhart, someone he had known from school picnics and conventions, and who had attended one of Highland's sister-schools, Harmony, with all of the other black children. That would explain one of the strange cars in the parking lot (the Kia, he thought, for some reason), though Pudge was faintly surprised that it had been so nice. Apparently J. Michael had decided to be a guest here today.
Yet something was very different, very wrong. He was very different, and, well, he felt that something was very wrong with him.
You are a fake, he thought to himself, as he smiled and shook hands with Pastor Alltruth. You're not a real Christian. There's no denying it now. Real Christians are transformed by Christ's power, and you...?
Stop it! he protested in his mind, shutting out that accusing voice as best he could. Pudge felt like everyone was staring at him, though they weren't, and that everyone could see right through him. He carried his bible high up against his heart, trying to hide the scarlet letter "G," the pink triangle, that he felt like he had indelibly stained on his shirt.
The voice was right about one thing--there was no denying it now.
He had struggled with this issue the past few days, wondering if he could change, really change, and wondering what this all meant.
Did God want him to marry a woman to whom he was not attracted, and try to sublimate or change himself that way? He had certainly never found a girl for whom he had struggled with lust.
Was he supposed to remain single all his life? That seemed like an awfully lonely life. Would he have to remain lonely forever?
Would God change him somehow? He had not changed him so far, no matter how long Pudge had struggled.
Maybe God would change him if he confessed this to Pastor Alltruth and some of the men from his church? But then again, given the nature of the struggle, maybe he should confess it to the women instead? No, that was silly; that would never work. But the men might think that he lusted after them, when he didn't. And all of the older men, and even most of those his own age, were married--to women. How could they possibly understand?
Maybe if he went to some sort of group or retreat? But that would involve making it known, to other Christians, that he had this problem, and he knew that they would look at him differently after that. He didn't think that they would fully believe that he loved Jesus (but not in that way!), and they might question his sincerity or his commitment to purity and holiness. He couldn't stand the thought of that.
I love you, Jesus, You know I do! he thought. And not in that way, NEVER in that way! I love you because You saved me--You did save me, right? Please do save me now, if I'm not saved.
That question was the most disturbing one of all. Maybe he wasn't really saved, because he hadn't confessed his sin to anyone. Was he going to hell, because of his shame?
And even if he wasn't, what else could he do to get saved, and to help himself? He had done far more praying and searching the scriptures in the past few days than he had in a long time, and that was saying something. He wanted desperately to know God's will for him, to get close to God and to please Him, though he wasn't trying to earn his salvation through works.
Whom could he tell--to whom was it safe to tell, he wondered? He was afraid that everyone he knew would misunderstand. They would think that he was fornicating already, that he was a sodomite already.
Already--that word had shocked him, as if he thought it was inevitable. His heart started racing, and his breathing became quicker and shallower, as he envisioned his mother and grandparents crying by his bedside, as he lay hooked up to a bunch of tubes and ventilators, dying of AIDS.
Call it what it is--GRID! the voice had growled, as he literally shrank from it. Just one slip-up, in a lifelong struggle, and he was doomed. He couldn't put his mother through that! And he couldn't carry condoms, which everyone knew weren't as effective as the liberals wanted people to believe, either, because that would be making allowance for sin in his life, keeping the sin as an "option." So what little protection, "protection" afforded, wasn't available to him. And God could keep him from being overly tempted, perhaps, but not from his own bad choices.
He didn't trust himself anymore, not since Ronny had almost grabbed him there. He knew the way his body had responded; it had been almost automatic--what if someone did that to him on purpose, someday? Would he say no?
And even if he did say no, was an erection considered consent? Would he be sinning, even if he didn't want to? Everyone knew that only girls got raped, and even then, they were always partially responsible for arousing men (or always suspected of being responsible)--did he have to worry about how tight his pants were, now? How short his swim trunks were?
What if he decided to start working out and get in good shape at the gym--could he take his shirt off, if he got hot? Would just the fact that he was in good shape be enough of a temptation? Was that a stumbling block, and possibly a signal that he was available? How much of his body should he cover, or should he simply stay home (even if the gym had better machines or weights than he had)?
Men were visual creatures, after all, as Pastor Alltruth said. All of this worry, was this what girls went through while getting dressed every day--how to look nice, but not arousing? He couldn't imagine dealing with the questions of makeup, jewelry, skirts or pants, how long the skirts should be, what color hose should be, whether to shave his legs, short sleeves or long, high heels or flats, how to be comfortable but modest in the hot weather, swimwear, gym clothes...
"...Pudge? Pudge? Are you all right?"
Pastor Alltruth was speaking to him now, interrupting his thoughts.
"Huh? Sorry, Pastor, what were you saying?" he asked.
"Pudge, this is our guest speaker today, Reverend Ray. He's going to talk to us about how God delivered him from the homosexual lifestyle."