"Nate, what is this?"
Nate started in guilty horror. They had found it, the notebook. His confession book. The book which Mother was now brandishing under his nose like a bloody knife. It only took one look at her face to confirm that she had read it. Or at least read enough of it. Her eyes reflected a righteous horror. An indignant repulsion, as if she had discovered something unbelievably ghastly.
"It's…mine," Nate said, feeling a dull shame settle down somewhere in his lower abdomen.
There was a dull 'whop' as the notebook was slapped across his face. "oh Lordy Lordy," his mother said, looking almost as if she were about to burst into tears, "How could you, our only son, do this to us?"
"Mom, I can expl…" whop, Nate was cut off mid-sentence by another slap.
"Get up to your room, you filthy sodomite!" his mother shrieked, "Just wait until your father sees this!"
Blinking back tears furiously, Nate nodded, "Yes Mother."
"And don't even think about coming down until you're told to," Mother cried after him as, head down, he plodded up the stairs.
Nate closed the door to his room and knelt in front of his bed. Clasping his hands in front of him, resting his elbows on the mattress, Nate looked up at the cross hanging on the wall above his bed. "Oh Lord," he said with a hitching voice, "I know I'm nothing but a hopeless sinner. And I know that I'm guilty of lying because I didn't tell Mother about this earlier. But could you possibly get them to understand why I did this? I know that having such thoughts about other boys is an abomination towards you, Lord. That's why I wrote them down, so I could get them out of me. I did it so I wouldn't have to think about it anymore. Isn't that what I should do?"
Nate's voice quickly lost coherence as he went on, cracking and hitching as tears began to flow more freely down his face. He tried to compose himself, and failed horribly. Giving up any attempt at a verbal prayer, Nate sobbingly lowered his head. The blue bedsheets became spotted as more tears fell upon them. Nate clasped his hands together so desperately that his knuckles began to turn white. Throughout all of it, the cross, complete with a moulded, plastic Jesus mounted upon it, stared down impassively, offering neither aid nor criticism to Nate's predicament.
Above all else, Nate felt it was a predicament of his own doing. When he had turned thirteen, two years ago, his parents realized that there were some things they would have to talk to him about, things which a growing boy would have to be taught, lest he be tempted to find out for himself with blasphemous experimentation. Thus, he was told about the act of intercourse, though no real details were given, lest his mind be tempted by darker forces. Mother and Father were certain to warn Nate about the fate that awaited those heathens who engaged in the hideous act known as 'pre-marital sex'. They told Nate to steer clear of the sins of the flesh, lest he be tempted down an ungodly path. They made it known that if he should dare to let the beliefs and habits of the idolatrous infect either his physical actions, or his thoughts, he would have more than just the fires of Hell to facilitate his atonement.
But most of all, they warned him against the single worst abomination before the eyes of the most Just and Loving God. They told him about the actions of those whom Our Lord Jesus Christ considered beneath murderers and even the dreaded Atheists. They warned him to keep clear of the ways of not only those who engaged in that single most sinful of acts, but also those who supported or condoned the act known as 'sodomy'. They told him that the quick and decisive judgment of both a wrathful God and incensed parents would fall upon him if he ever did as the sodomites did.
That was two years ago. Nate, like most boys his age, was not yet sexually mature then. Then, the rules were easy enough to follow, as the pre-pubescent Nate had no interest in such acts that were not only sinful, but in his opinion, rather gross. Then, as time passed, and Nate turned fourteen, then fifteen, things began to change with a frightening rapidity. The few girls that Nate saw, when his parents rarely allowed him out of the yard with them to go on the occasional shopping trip, began to hold a special interest to him. Nate began wondering what it would feel like to do certain things with them. Nate discovered that his body reacted in strange ways when he thought too long on such things, or when he gazed too long at certain older females.
Then, something else began to happen. Nate noticed with a growing fright that the same thing happened when he looked at certain boys too. It was with a gripping horror that Nate realized he was having the thoughts only had by those most filthy of creatures. He, the child of two servants of God, raised since birth to walk the correct path in the eyes of Our Lord, home-schooled so that he wouldn't be exposed to those blasphemous public institutions of Satan. Nate himself was having the desires of a sodomite. It was then that Nate decided to get the notebook. At the time, he thought it was a brilliant idea. He would get the notebook, and confess his sins to God there, so that they would be removed from his mind and placed upon paper. That way, when he was done, he could close the book, and thus, close off those thoughts that would send him to Hell.
Now, though, Nate regretted ever getting that book. It was a regret tinged with horror, guilt, and shame. The horror, understandably, came from the fact that his secret notebook, and its heretical contents, had been discovered. The shame was due to the fact that his own parents now knew that Nate had had fantasies of sodomy, the one thing they warned him away from with the greatest vehemence. The guilt, though, was a bit more complicated. Nate felt a curdling guilt deep within him. It was guilt at his own thoughts. Despite all that he had been taught, about how horrible and shameful even the consideration of sodomy was, Nate did not feel ashamed for having done it. Nate was ashamed, rather, that he had been caught at it. He was frightened, not of what God would think of the fact that he had had thoughts of sodomy, but what his parents would do now that they had found out. Nate knew he wasn't supposed to think that way. He was supposed to feel guilty for having thoughts of sodomy, and be strong and accept the consequences of such thoughts. But for some reason, he couldn't. They had felt so natural. Upon the sight of certain pale, thin boys, Nate found his body reacting with a completely natural-feeling desire.
His thoughts were interrupted by the clump of heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. His father, undoubtably newly-enlightened on the contents of his son's hidden notebook. Nate gulped nervously as the doorknob turned, and his heavyset father stepped into the room. Nate looked downward, fresh tears crowding for release at the edges of his reddened eyes as he saw the belt clutched in his father's hand.
Without a word, Father flicked the belt-holding hand. Nate cried out in pain and surprise as the leather strap lashed across his face, splitting his lip open. "By God in Heaven," Father rumbled sanctimoniously.
The belt flicked again, this time across Nate's bent legs, welting the skin exposed by his shorts, "My own son…"
A third time, this time across the back of the doubled-over boy. The t-shirt Nate wore provided no protection whatsoever, and pain flooded across his shoulderblades, "…a flaming faggot!"
Nate looked up at Father, his shoulder-length, sandy-blonde hair now wet with tears, sweat, and a little blood, he gasped in pain, "But Dad, I'm not gay, I like gi…"
Slap, the belt once again found its mark on Nate's left cheek, sending him sprawling on the floor. "Quiet! You little homo piece of shit!" his father cried.
Nate curled up, agony coursing through his thin frame. The blood now flowed freely from his split lips. Beyond verbal protest, Nate was reduced to helpless, inarticulate sobs as his father stood over him. "I didn't raise you to be no fucking faggot, boy," Father said menacingly, "God will judge you for that sick shit you wrote, son. But so long as I have a say, you'll either learn to walk right, or I'll beat the learnin' into you."
Nate couldn't even reply. The words came to him through a haze of pain. Dimly, he heard his father walk towards the door, then pause, "You're going to sit your little sodomite ass up here, and you're going to think about what you did, you understand, boy? I want you to think about how much you've hurt your mother and me with your selfish, sinful thoughts. Mother and I are going to have a long talk about what we're going to do with you."
The door opened and closed, the footsteps disappeared down the stairs.
