Page 2 of Man On

"No. It's a s-stupid game."

And it's wrong, I repeat internally, not wanting to be called homophobic again. Although, maybe I am. I don't know. The only thing I've ever heard about homosexuality is that it's wrong, that it's the worst kind of sin. That young people without a good head on their shoulders are led into temptation by the devil, and acting on such urges would incur the wrath of God and the church and everyone who is good and holy. That the devil sends distractions and temptations to everyone in different forms, but it's up to us to fight against evil and avoid eternal damnation by denying sins of the flesh.

What I didn't know is how prevalent the sins were in the outside world. Soda and junk food, video games, co-eds mingling… it's all an impossible obstacle course. I've done the best I can to manage since my mom picked me up and drove me away from my childhood home. But it feels like every step is another towards something worse, and here I am, faced with the worst sin of them all.

So, yes, I'm chicken. I’m terrified. But I can't let them know that. I can’t let him know.

Noah does know, though. He can read me like a book, no matter how much I try to hide myself from him. "You know what I think? I think maybe you're chicken because you have a little secret of your own."

I can feel the blood leave my face. "N-no I don't."

"Prove it then," he says, pouncing on my vulnerability. "First one to back down has to wear a sign that says, ‘I like dick’ at the picnic tomorrow."

In front of everyone? Everyone will think… Our parents will be there!

Don't do this, I beg with my eyes. For the briefest of seconds, his eyes flash, and I think I see a spark of something—kindness, or maybe pity. I don't like pity, but in this situation, I'll take it.

"That's what it is, isn't it?" Noah says, so quietly that even I can barely hear him. "That’s why you’re always watching me, always tagging along?"

“W-what?” I whisper, trying to hold my breath so I’m not sharing air with him. He’s too close.

“Just admit you like cock and I’ll back off.”

"N-no!" I force out, anger sending a flush of indignation across my neck and face. On top of his cruelty, his crude words fluster me.

He hums thoughtfully, menacingly. “I think thou doth protest too much.” I can feel his breath on my face, and when I turn my cheek, he laughs.

"So what's it gonna be, church boy?" he asks loudly, making sure everyone can hear.

My mind spins. If I do it, I have to kiss him, which is gay. But if I don't, will everyone think I'm gay? How does this make any sense? Which is worse?

This is stupid. I bet he's just bluffing anyway. If I act like I'm not afraid, he'll walk away from this stupid game.

I push against his chest, he steps back, surprised. I know he thinks I'm a snob, and a sheltered Jesus freak weirdo. Sure, I'm a little socially awkward.I’m a fish out of water, and I’ve struggled to acclimate to a new environment. But I'm not dumb and I'm not weak.

Standing up to my full height, which is over an inch taller than him, I close in on his personal space for once and look down at him like the nuisance he is. I hit a growth spurt this past fall, and I use every bit of my size to try to intimidate him. It's only been a month since I left my home, and I've done everything I can to be nice. But he's crossed the line one too many times.

"You won't do it," I growl under my breath.

"Try me," Noah says, squaring up. The confidence pouring off him rivals his hatred of me, and I almost falter.

“Dude, you are not going to make out with your brother,” Noah’s obnoxious friend Miah snorts with laughter.

"This is so cringe," some girl I don’t know says.

"Stepbrothers," Maci retorts, and although I know she’s only defending Noah, not me, I’m still thankful. "They basically met last month."

"Ooh, scandalous," another girl chimes in.

The commentary continues, but Noah and I ignore them all, staring each other down with equal parts animosity and false bravado. Well, false on my account. I'm scared shitless. But I can't back down, can't let him win. Can't let them think…

Noah's smirk grows uncomfortably close until I can taste his breath. It's fruity from the candy he ate earlier, and I'm curious if his mouth will taste sweet. Stiffening, I quickly push that thought far away, instead wondering what my breath tastes like. Hopefully, like the mouthwash I used after dinner.

No. Wait. Why do I care what my breath tastes like? I should be wishing I'd chewed a raw onion before I came out here, maybe that would deter him from this embarrassing display.

Don't do it. Don't do it. Don't do it.

He does it.

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