Commentary

‘No one likes a faggot’ & other lessons learned from my first love

Pushed Apart

When he came back an hour or so later to talk, we went up to my room. My mom was at work so we didn’t have to worry about being overheard. I screamed at him that he was going to shame me into suicide. I blamed him for beatings I would get. Then I did the unforgivable. I got conniving and realized what I “had” to do.

fag-teen-school-gay-bullyingHe reached out to me and told me he loved me. And I spit in his face.

I called him names like “faggot” and “queer.” I told him I wasn’t like him and never wanted to be. I said that I’d tell everyone he was lying and that he’d told me about being gay and I’d rejected him. I told him to leave and never come back.

And then I punched him. Again and again and again I hit him – trying to release all of the hurt and sickness I felt inside for his honesty about being exactly what I’d always been despised for. I raged and I shook and I yelled. I cried for his love that I couldn’t accept and I screamed at the pain I’d felt myself as each punch landed. I beat him for what seemed like hours, days, years. He never raised so much as an arm to defend himself.

“No one likes a faggot,” I hissed at as he retreated. I spit on him again as he left my house shell shocked and wounded.

When it eventually got around school that he and I had been sleeping together, I spun a big story about how he’d hit on me, I’d rejected him and he was just making up sick queer fantasies. I lied. Over and over again, I lied. I denied him in public while at home I cried because I wanted him.

I’m ashamed of what I did, but I’ve never apologized. His family moved away two weeks later. I don’t know where he went or what’s ever become of him. I don’t know if he’s gay, bisexual or even straight. Does he have a partner? Was he ever the same? Did I kill the same part of him that died in me with my inexcusable reaction? I don’t know.

One week after Steve moved away, my mom sat me down on the couch. She told me that she’d heard the rumors of Steve and I. She told me that she didn’t want to know the truth, but that she’d better not hear anything of the sort about any other friends of mine.

“Homosexuality is disgusting and God will punish you for it. No one likes a faggot,” she lectured me.

I’d already learned that lesson. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that recently.

I’m sorry, Steve. Forgive me.

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