Date: Thu, 4 Feb 2016 10:36:01 -0500
From: ronyx <ronyx@woh.rr.com>
Subject: Other Sinful Things   Chapter 3

The following is a work of fiction. Any similarities to anyone are purely
coincidental. The story is intended for a mature audience. It may contain
profanity and references to gay sex. If this offends you, please leave and
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Ronyx is a prolific Nifty author. I have previously posted the stories:
Birds Don't Sing Before a Storm, A Delicate Situation, Reggie's Journal,
It's Not Easy Being a Tree, Door Number Three and Closing the Barn Door to
name just a few.

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Other Sinful Things   Chapter 3

By Ronyx



I didn't see Tiffany again until my sixth period Spanish class. I was
sitting quietly in the back of the room waiting for Ms. Summers to arrive.
During my freshman year, I had Mr. Foster for Introductory Spanish. He
retired, and Ms. Summers took over his classes. She is young, slender and
blonde. During my first year, there were only me and another boy enrolled in
Spanish. Now, over half the class is filled with amorous males.

I was reading an assignment from a previous class when all of a sudden the
room erupted into laughter. I looked up and saw Tiffany making her way to
the back of the room. Our eyes met, but she said nothing. She plopped down
in the seat beside me and let out a deep sigh.

I looked over and she appeared so forlorn. Her face was taut, and her hands
were trembling as she placed her book bag on the floor beside her. Our eyes
met, and I can't describe the wave of sadness that overcame me. Just then,
several boys in the front of the room turned and began to taunt her. She
closed her eyes and slumped down into her seat.

I attempted to make eye contact with her throughout the class, but she
seemed distracted. I guess if I had put up with the barrage of cruel remarks
and taunting as she had experienced, I would have closed myself off from the
world.

As Ms. Summers spoke, I looked around at the room filled with my peers. They
had become like strangers to me, even though I had known most of them since
kindergarten. None I would call friends, but I still felt I knew each and
every one of them.

I had grown to know their families, their mothers, fathers, brothers and
sisters. A few attended my father's church, so I got to know them outside of
school.

However, the students I was looking at were today different. I had never had
great respect for them, but I didn't despise them. Now, I felt a sense of
disappointment. And as I sat and looked at them, I began to doubt everything
that had been instilled in me since birth.

Before, I believed that people were basically good. People sinned. The Bible
tells us that. However, if faced with the two distinct possibilities, I
always believed that people would choose good over evil. Now, as I looked
around the room, I wasn't sure anymore.

People are cruel, rude and intolerant. Not one person, except myself, stood
up for Tiffany and challenged their actions. In my eyes, they were no better
than murderers, thieves and adulterers. Sin is sin. Hate wraps itself in
many kinds of cloth. But it is still hate when it is unwoven. There is no
degree of wrongdoing. Wrong is wrong. My father preaches that homosexuality
is a deadly sin. However, there are many other sinful things that are far
worse.

When the final bell rang, I cautiously followed Tiffany from the building. I
wanted to sit with her in the back of the bus. I felt that perhaps I could
be a blanket of comfort. I wanted her to know that there was someone who
would not judge her. I wasn't at the point where I could completely embrace
what she was doing, and I wasn't sure I could ever quite understand it.
However, I would try to understand because I knew that was what God expected
me to do. It is what Jesus would have done. Some students wear plastic
bracelets that are embossed with WWJD- What would Jesus do? How ironic.

I tailed Tiffany from the building, but she didn't head to the bus. Instead,
she approached a van being driven by whom I assumed was her mother. I
watched as she got into the front seat, buried her head in her hands and
wept violently. Her mother leaned over and held her tightly. Tears filled my
eyes as I walked toward the bus.

When I entered the kitchen at home, my mother was busily preparing dinner. A
package of chicken breasts was on the counter, and she was peeling potatoes.
She turned and smiled when she heard me behind her.

"Hello, Sweetheart," she cooed as she stepped toward me to kiss me on the
cheek. I moved away and walked over to the refrigerator, took out the gallon
of milk and poured some into a clean glass I took out of the sink.

She continued to peel potatoes as she asked, "How was your first day of
school?"

I shrugged my shoulders and replied, "Like every first day since the first
grade."

"Do you like your teachers?" She asked as she began to chop an onion.

"I guess," I replied as I took a bite of a chocolate chip cookie she had
placed on the counter for me. It was store bought and stale.

Just then, I heard my father holler from his study. "Jacob!" he shouted. "I
want to speak to you!" His tone sounded angry and urgent.

He was sitting at his ornate oaken desk. The room was dark with heavy green
velvet drapes. Behind him was a large bookcase filled with religious books.
He often used them as reference for his weekly sermons.

He leaned back in his chair and watched as I sat down in a wingback chair
off to his left. He cleared his throat and asked in his authoritative voice,
"Were you able to avoid the temptations of Sodom and Gomorrah?"

I gave him a puzzled look and asked, "Excuse me, Sir?"

My father isn't a very big man. He's tall, but slender. His brown hair is
beginning to turn gray, and wrinkles have appeared on his forehead and
around his mouth. I guess years of frowning have given him a stern
appearance. His eyes are dark, almost black. When I was younger, his stares
used to scare me. I always thought he looked like the devil, or at least how
he described the devil in his sermons.

"Sodom and Gomorrah," he repeated as his voice became more excited. He rose
from his desk and started to pace around the room. Suddenly, he stopped and
glared down at me.

He asked angrily, "Did that sinful creature come to school today?"

"Sinful creature?" I was becoming upset, but I knew better than to challenge
him when he was as angry as he was at that moment. "You mean Tiffany?"

His face reddened as he shouted out, "Tiffany? Tiffany!" I watched as the
veins on his neck rose as if they were ready to burst. "His God given name
is Samuel!"

He began to pace around the room. He approached his desk and picked up his
favorite Bible and wrapped it under his arm. He then walked up to me and
glared down.

His voice shook with anger as he warned me, "I never want to hear you use
the name of Tiffany in my house again." He turned and slammed his Bible down
on his desk. I shrunk back in my chair as he walked up, placed his hands on
the arms, leaned down and stared into my face. "God gave him the name of
Samuel," he spat. "In my house, you will call him by that name." His eyes
glared angrily as he asked in a slow, rhythmic tone, "Do you understand me?"

My voice quivered as I replied, "Yes, Sir."

"Good," he said as he stood, walked over and sat down in his chair. He then
dismissed me by saying, "Now, go to your room, Jacob, and pray for God's
salvation."

I stood and hurried to my room. I slammed the door shut and threw myself
across the bed. "Shit, shit, shit," I mumbled softly. I was angry because I
hadn't stood up to my father. He was filled with the same hatred I had
witnessed all day. I felt ashamed that I hadn't said what I was feeling
inside.

I managed to somehow fall asleep until my mother called me for dinner.
Reluctantly, I washed my face and hands and headed to the kitchen. My father
didn't even look up at me as I took my seat.

He held out his hands toward us. It was customary for us to hold hands while
he blessed the food. This time, however, it was different. Instead of his
fifteen second blessing, he began to rant about Tiffany, or Samuel, as he
insisted on calling her.

"This deviance must not, and cannot, be tolerated," he prayed as he tightly
gripped my hand. I tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip even more.
"God created Adam and Eve," he continued. "They were placed upon this earth
to procreate. It is a perversion to attempt to alter God's plan."

He squeezed my hand so tightly that I wanted to scream out. "Protect my son,
Jacob, from this vile creature."

I yanked my hand free and exclaimed, "Tiffany is not a vile creature!"

His eyes narrowed in anger as he slammed his hand down on the table. Gravy
from my plate spattered onto the white linen tablecloth. He shouted "You
have already been touched by Satan! His wickedness has influenced you!" He
stood, grabbed my arm and attempted to pull me from the table.

"Get down on your knees, Jacob," he insisted, "and ask for God's
forgiveness."

I pulled my arm free from his grip and stood. "No, Father!" I shouted. "You
are wrong. Tiffany is hurting, and she needs help."

I had never seen his face so red with anger. "Needs help?" he shouted. "Then
he needs to ask God for forgiveness for his sinful transgressions!"

By now, I was shaking with anger. I knew if I said anything more, I would
regret it. I had never talked back to my father or questioned his authority.
This was not the moment to do so. I was completely unprepared to respond to
his wrath.

Besides, I was torn in what I believed. I had met Tiffany, and I knew that
she wasn't what my father said she was. She wasn't vile and sinful. However,
I had never met anyone like her before. I hadn't yet convinced myself that
her attempt to transgress to being a female was right. I still couldn't
understand how a person born a boy could possibly consider themselves a
girl.

So I knew that my father could win any argument concerning this matter. He
did have the Bible and its history to support his beliefs. Any attempt to
rationalize what I was feeling would mean I would have to challenge my faith
in God. I was not yet prepared to take that step.

As he continued to insist I get down on my knees and pray, I walked out of
the kitchen. He yelled for me to return, but I opened the back door and
hurried down the sidewalk. I didn't bother to look back when I heard the
door slam behind me.

I didn't have too far to walk to find a place to sit and try to try to
control the anger that was boiling inside me. I made my way to a nearby
field and sat under a large oak tree. About a dozen boys were playing
baseball on the far side of the grassy field.

I had never been so confused. Maybe my father is right when he says that the
Devil places barriers in our way to test our faith. Maybe Tiffany was a test
of my faith. Since seeing her on the bus earlier in the morning, it seemed
as if my life had changed.

I had begun to question the behavior of my classmates. To me, they were
inhumane for their actions toward Tiffany. Yet, they were the same
classmates I had grown up with, but now they appeared as strangers. I
couldn't tolerate or justify the hatred they had toward another human being.

And I was beginning to challenge my father's beliefs. Over the years, I had
listened to his sermons, and I questioned whether what he was preaching was
really God's word or his own beliefs. Now, I felt that he was wrong. He was
filled with the same hatred as everyone else. And to make it worse, he was
the one who instilled in others such hatred with his weekly sermons.

Perhaps Tiffany, or Samuel, was evil like my father said. Maybe she, or he,
was a product of Satan. Maybe Satan did allow people like her, or him, to
wander among us to test our faith in God's love.

Was this the moment when I would have to declare my true faith? If I failed
this test, would there be another, or would I be forever cast into the pit
of Hell with no chance for salvation? I began to tremble with the
realization that I was at a crossroad.

I pulled my knees to my chest and rested my head in my folded arms. I could
hear the screaming of others, and occasionally I would hear the crack of the
bat from across the field.

I was suddenly startled when I heard a boyish voice above. "Jacob, are you
okay?"

I looked up and squinted my eyes from the setting sun. Looking down at me
was a classmate, Colton Wilder. He brushed back the dark brown hair that had
fallen over his forehead.

I was embarrassed that someone had recognized me. I must have looked a
pitiful sight with my body curled up in an isolated section of the field. I
peered up at him and asked, "What?"

He knelt down on one knee. I stared into his brown eyes. "Are you okay,
Jacob?" He looked around and asked, "What are you doing out here by
yourself?"

I rested my head back onto my folded arms, closed my eyes and mumbled, "I
don't know."

He sat down beside me. Our bodies touched for a second before he scooted
away. I had known Colton since the seventh grade when he moved down the
street with his family from Boston. I always enjoyed listening to his
unusual accent; however, it was beginning to disappear as he grew older.

Colton was a lot like me. He didn't have many friends. One thing about a
small city, if you weren't born and raised there, then you are considered an
outsider forever. Colton never seemed to mind. Even though he is athletic
looking, he never participated in sports, and I never saw him joining the
Saturday afternoon baseball games. He comes from a close knit family with
four sisters and two brothers. I guess when you have such a large family,
you don't need a lot of friends.

In the ninth grade, I thought I was developing a slight crush on him.
However, I never allowed myself to accept that fact. I just figured I was
going through the usual adolescent period of questioning my sexuality. Now
that he was sitting just inches from me, that surge of doubt began to creep
back.

I heard him ask in a worried voice, "Are you hurt, Jacob?"

I shook my head, but I didn't reply. We sat in silence for another minute
before he asked, "Should I go get your father?"

I raised my head and shouted, "No!" Colton's eyes widened from my unexpected
outburst. I became calmer and replied, "I'm okay, really."

He nodded his head as he stared at me. "Oh, God, forgive me," I thought to
myself as I stared back. It was the first time in years I had actually
looked at him up close. For a brief period, I had admired him unnoticed from
afar. But as my attraction to him became stronger, I attempted to avoid him.


Now, he was sitting next to me and staring worriedly at me. He was growing
into a handsome young man. His face was soft and unblemished with just the
trace of a slight dark mustache growing above his lip. His cheeks were rosy,
and it appeared the freckles that used to adorn his nose were disappearing.

When he realized I was staring at him, his face reddened and he looked away.
Just then, one of the boys hit a home run, and the ball came bouncing at us.
Colton quickly rose to his feet, picked up the ball and tossed it to the
left fielder who was racing towards us. He grabbed the ball, nodded and
hurried back to the game.

I smiled slightly and said, "Nice catch."

He sat down beside me and giggled. "It wasn't exactly a catch," he replied.
"It came rolling at me."

"Yeah, right," I smiled as he looked at me and laughed again.

He scooted back and rested on his elbow as he looked over at me. "So, what
are you doing out here by yourself?" He giggled and added, "I thought you'd
be home studying or something."

Trying to avoid his question, I asked, "What are you doing here?"

He replied, "I like to come here to get away." He laughed and said, "With
six brothers and sisters, I don't get much quiet time at the house."

I mumbled sadly, "I wouldn't know."

He sat up, faced me and crossed his legs. "Trust me," he said with a smile.
"You don't want to find out. My mom says we are like the Brady Bunch."

I gave him a puzzled look and asked, "Who's that?" He shrugged his shoulders
and explained he thought they were a family who had been on television a
long time ago.

He lay back and looked up at the sky. I cautiously let my eyes scan his
outstretched body. My face reddened when I looked at his face and saw him
watching me. I started to get up. "I better go," I said nervously.

"No, don't," he said as he reached out and held my arm. "Stay and we'll
talk."

"I don't have much to say," I replied sadly.

He giggled and said, "I don't either. So I guess we'll just bore each other
to death."

I sat back and looked at the boys playing baseball across the field. I could
sense that Colton was staring at me out of the corner of his eye. He cleared
his throat and asked, "How do you like your classes?"

I shrugged my shoulders and replied, "Okay, I guess."

He giggled and said, "We're in four of the same classes."

I gave him a puzzled look and asked, "We are?"

"Yeah," he replied sadly, "But I wouldn't expect you to notice."

"I'm sorry," I apologized. "Today's been a pretty rough day for me."

"That's what I figured," he said. "I saw you stand up to Darryl outside the
school this morning."

I looked quickly at him. "You did?"

"Yeah," he grinned. "I thought it was pretty cool." He smiled and added,
"Standing up for that new kid when no one else would." He laughed and added,
"I've never seen you get angry before."

"I just got tired of how everyone was treating her," I explained.

He scooted forward, looked around and asked, "So you thing he's a she?" When
Colton saw me frown, he added quickly, "I don't mean it the way it sounded.
I mean, if he is, then it is really none of my business."

I smiled and replied, "That's the way I feel, too."

"I thought so," he said admiringly. "I've never heard you say anything bad
about anyone." He lay back again and looked up at the darkening sky. Several
more minutes passed before he said anything.

Finally, he rolled over and steadied himself on his elbow. "It must be
pretty hard living with someone like your father."

I looked over at him and laughed, "Tell me about it."

"No," replied Colton as he sat up. "I mean it, Jacob. When me and my family
first moved here, we attended your dad's church. He said some things that
really hurt me, like the way he said being gay is a sin and all."

I didn't know how to respond to what he said. I couldn't decide if he took
it personally, or if he just sympathized with gay people. I also wasn't sure
if he had just outed himself to me. I was also afraid that if I said
anything, then he could take it the wrong way, too.

After a minute, I said, "It's just the way he believes. He says it is in the
Bible."

He thought a minute and asked, "But just because it says it in the Bible,
does that mean it is right? What if the Bible is wrong? Do you believe
everything he says?"

Again, I wasn't sure if I should respond. He was asking me questions that no
one else had asked me. I knew that I couldn't believe everything my father
said. He was wrong about Tiffany, that much I knew. The rest I had never
been forced to question.

"So?" asked Colton. "Do you buy into everything he says on Sunday?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know," he asked with a puzzled look. "All that stuff about gay being a
sin?"

I was becoming uncomfortable with the conversation. Since I was beginning to
question my sexuality, and the boy who was one of those who ignited that
doubt was sitting just inches away, I knew if I said anything more I might
regret it.

Since I knew very little about Colton, I was also afraid that he may be
trying to lure me into a trap. Perhaps he had seen me staring at him in
class. Maybe he was trying to bait me into admitting that I was gay so he
could go back to school and humiliate me.

And since I was now aware that Satan could be tempting my life, then this
could be another temptation. I pushed myself up and stood. "I better be
going home," I said as I looked up into the sky. "It's getting dark out."

Colton stood and gripped my arm as I started to walk away. "Listen, Jacob,"
he asked, "Do you think we can talk again sometime?"

I gave him a puzzled look and asked, "Why?"

He smiled slightly and responded, "I just think I would like that, is all."

I looked down at his hand, and he released his grip. "Yeah, sure," I said as
I turned and hurried away.

I entered the kitchen through the backdoor. I expected to see my mother, but
the room was dark and empty. I crept down the hall until I came to my
father's study. It was dimly lit, and I could hear my mother and father
quietly talking.

"He is nearly a man now," I heard my mother say. "Maybe you're being too
protective. Some things he's going to have to face for himself."

I heard my father's chair squeak as I imagined him leaning back in it to
talk. "It's my duty as a father to lead him down the right path. That is
what God expects of me. I must make sure that the right seeds are sown to
ensure that he stays right with God."

"You've down a wonderful job, Thomas," my mother said admiringly. "No boy
could have a better father." I rolled my eyes and stifled a laugh. I'm not
sure children's services would have agreed if they had seen the scars on my
bottom after he had taken the switch to me.

My father raised his voice in anger. "Did you see how he talked back to me
at dinner?" I heard his chair squeak as he stood. I could hear him stomping
around the room. "I will not tolerate such disrespect in my house." I heard
his fist slam down on this desk.

My mother replied soothingly, "He was upset, Dear."

"Upset?" my father barked. "Upset over a sexual deviant?" He slammed his
hand harder onto the desktop.

"Maybe the boy isn't as bad as you make him appear," my mother responded.

I heard his fist slam once again on the desktop. "Now you sound like Jacob,
Martha! Has the devil entered your soul, too?"

"Of course not," replied my mother. "It's just that things are changing so
fast around us. Maybe we should be just a little more tolerant."

"Never!" screamed my father. "That is exactly what the devil wants us to do.
He wants us to slowly accept his wicked ways until he has completely
destroyed everything that is Godly. Homosexuality, same-sex marriage,
abortion, and now this...this...transgendered thing. Soon we won't know what
is evil and wicked anymore."

My mother replied softly, "I suppose you are right, Dear."

"Of course I'm right," insisted my father. "Now let us get on our knees and
pray." I listened as my father began to pray for God to come down and
cleanse the world of evil. When I heard him mention my name, I slowly crept
up to my room and quietly closed the door.

***********

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