Mostly Hetero Pudge And Ronny: Chapter Nine

Trigger Warning: Parental anger, threatened violence, fatphobia, homophobia, and homophobic slurs in the first section, homophobic slurs in the second section. Skip the first section to have a "lighter," though not as well-developed, version of the story.

 "You don't write love notes to another boy!" Ronny's father bellowed, nearly spitting in disgust. He was shaking Ronny roughly by the arm. Ronny cringed, trying not to cry between the pain and his terror of his parents' disapproval. Though his mother often lost her temper and screamed at him, this was the first time in all of his twelve years that his father was upset enough to care about anything he did.
"Stop crying, you little faggot!" Dad shouted, as Ronny tried in vain to wipe the tears from his face and the snot from his nose.
"You look like a little girl!" Dad added.
"Ronny, this is inappropriate," Mom explained, angrily thrusting his journal, which he had apparently not hid well enough, in his face. "You are two boys, and you don't need to be talking this way to each other."
"But Pudge is my friend," he sniffled, "He's just a friend."
Pudge had been spending more time with him since Ace had left for Bible Camp. Pudge had confided that his mother had kept him home not because of money, as she told those who asked (even though Ace's family had secretly offered to pay for it), but because he didn't want to be away from home for two weeks.
"Your little fat friend doesn't like you," Dad cut in, "he's just trying to get you to go to Sunday school, so the teacher can give him a pat on the head and a candy bar."
"But..." Ronny trailed off, wondering if it was true. Was Pudge's niceness all an act? Ronny was glad now that he hadn't signed his name. Pudge would probably think it was that girl, Susie, that Ronny saw him talking to sometimes.
"You're not to see that little fat kid again, do you hear me?" his father demanded.
Ronny sniffled again and nodded.
"And if I ever catch you writing faggy notes in your little girly diary again, I'll beat your ass. You hear me?"
"Yes," Ronny choked.
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good boy. Now mop it up. You're crying like a fairy."
His mother then made him rip out the offending pages and throw them away. His hands were shaking, but he managed it.
He learned that day that the worst thing a man could be was something called a "fag," and that if you said you loved another boy, you were a fag.



"I'm not a fag!" he found himself screaming, thirteen years later. He had just gotten home to his small rented house about an hour before, and like his father, he had a beer in his hand. And like his mother, he was yelling. And again, it was about Pudge.
"I'm not a fag!" he screeched again, hurling his beer bottle across the living room. "I'm not! I'm not! I'm--oh, fuck!" Ronny slammed his hand into the wall, then was painfully reminded that it was still injured. He screamed in pain, then let loose a long string of curses and gay slurs, livid still at that car hood that had not been properly secured that day, and had slammed into him.
Finally he sank into a heap on the floor, holding his hand tenderly and weeping softly. He hadn't meant the note like that, he thought. Or at least, he didn't think he had. How could anyone tell, at twelve years old?
He had done everything right in his life. He had kept his chin up at urinals and looked at nothing but his own locker. He had given nothing more than handshakes or, on special occasions, shoulder-pats. He had called other boys queers for being weaker or more effeminate than him. He had ridden a motorcycle.
And he had liked girls. He had dated girls. Well...one girl. Until his foolishness had killed her. He had not gotten up the courage to ride a motorcycle--or a girl--ever since.
"Not a fag," he whispered softly. "I dated Susie..."
He had liked Susie Selfwill. She let him do things that most girls in their conservative town didn't, and she was good company. She wore pants, which he liked, because he could take her on rides. She also had a nice ass, and didn't hide it under a long, loose skirt.
She had everything, really. Ronny had been so relieved when he had realized that he liked her, and girls in general.
But if he liked girls...why was he always faintly worried? Why had these worries returned, since Pudge came back into his life?
And most of all, why had he almost grabbed Pudge's dick?!
He had seen the way Pudge had jumped--Pudge probably hated him now. As he certainly would have, had he found out that Ronny had written the note.
Ronny almost got up to get another beer, but he was very drunk already, and couldn't quite manage it. So he lay down on the floor and closed his eyes.
"Not a fag," he whispered, the words a little slurred. "Not a fag..."