"You goddam fagot!" He roared. I felt like mice waiting to be stumped by an angry elephant. Dad had grabbed the collar of my shirt with his left fist, and his right fist was stopped inches from shattering my nose. I shivered, glancing at the way he appeared before me. His brows were lowered, pulled closer together, eyelids were squinted, lips tightened curl inwards, and then the look...the rage flowed through him like lava.
"DAD! NO. PLEASE STOP." My sister Joni screamed, moving between us. "Please stop, Dad! Please! You're hurting Nate, and he hasn't done anything wrong. He doesn't deserve it."
Before letting me go, Dad shook me by the collar, gave me a scowl look, and pushed me away. Joni was right. I didn't do anything seriously wrong to be threatened by Dad, nor did I provoke him in any way to deserve to be punished. That day, my only sin was not preparing enough food for dinner.
I rushed to my bedroom, scared to death and sobbing like a little girl. Perhaps I should have stood up to Dad, although he was a good five to six inches taller than my five-foot-seven-inch frame and outweighed me by a good fifty to sixty pounds, but I didn't, and I couldn't. Even though I was no longer a little boy, my twenty-year-old self couldn't stand up to the monster. I wished Mom was here to protect me, but it was my little sister Joni who followed me to my room, lay beside me, and cuddled me to comfort me.
"Don't listen to him, Nate. Just calm down and forget about what he said." Joni whispered into my ear while rubbing my back.
"Is that sissy boy now crying over little sister's shoulder? That queer cannot be a son of mine. No good bastard needs to get out of my hair and disappear." Dad yelled again, peeking into my room.
"DAD! That's enough. Leave him alone." Joni yelled back, holding me tighter.
"Maybe, that's what the sissy boy needs. A real woman to show him how to become a man." Dad said as he went down the hallway and slammed the front door as he left the house.
"He'll never change, Nate. But you still can...." Joni whispered to my ear as she caressed my back to console me.
How did all this come about...
Dad wasn't the only one to call me a fagot or a queer; many have, and many perceive me as one. But in my heart and soul, I know I am not a homosexual and never was one, and most likely never will be. I have nothing against one choosing to be a homosexual, but I never chose to be one, as I am not. It all started when a girl in my tenth-grade class called me a fagot. My identity somehow stuck with me. Perhaps it was my appearance, behavior, or how I went with my daily routines. Whatever it was, I hadn't fully understood it even after many years and consequently suffered many years of insults. Having been labeled as a homosexual or being suspected of one, it even crossed my mind to try to find a partner who was gay since I had nothing to lose. But each time the thought clouded my mind, I somehow suppressed the thought quite easily since I truly had no desire to become gay.
I was indeed shorter than many my age when I was growing up. It is also true that I had a baby face without any hint of facial hair, as my classmates had at the time. Perhaps my soft voice, which I had no control over, that others took as a clue to assume my sexuality. Or could that be my plump pink lips?
It wasn't too long after the boys at the high school started to avoid me, thinking I was a homosexual; my parents somehow heard about it. Mom was lovely and tried to comfort me when she knew the boys were avoiding me, but Dad was furious when he heard the news. I heard Mom trying to convince Dad puberphonia may be the cause of slow growth. But Dad wasn't persuaded at all. He kept referring to some of my behavioral concerns, like often volunteering to brush Mom's long hair, helping her with manicures, etc.
Soon, Mom opted to cut her hair short. Soon after, she was diagnosed with a brain tumor, and our beloved mother succumbed to a cancerous tumor shortly afterward, leaving Joni and me under Dad's care.
By the time I graduated from high school, it was customary for Dad to spend a night or two a week away from home, and that gradually became spending a night or two at home and out the rest of the time. We never asked where he was or what he was doing when he was away, but it wasn't a secret for long that Dad had a lady friend at the other end of town. We knew he would be at her place when he wasn't home.
In the beginning, he paid all the utility bills and left money for the groceries a couple of times a month that was sufficient for food for two. But as time went by, the amount of money he gave us became less and less. We knew Dad made decent money but wasn't a wealthy man. We knew the house we lived in had no mortgage because Mom had willed her portion of the house and her other assets to me and Joni, while Dad still owned half of the house. However, there were taxes to pay and maintenance to do. With whatever money Dad gave, the annuity we inherited from Mom, and my part-time job while attending the community college, it was more than sufficient for Joni and me to live.
"Did you hear me, Nate? I know you are probably tired of being bullied all your life and people calling you so many names. You hear me, Nate? You need to change, brother. I am not going to stop bugging you until you do." Joni said bring me back to the present.
"Joni! I am not gay." I uttered.
"Right! You are not. Let's prove to the world that you are straight and a real man. I can't stand people teasing you and harassing you anymore, Nate. I can't even stand people assuming I am a sister of a queer, you know? I will help as much as possible, but you must be serious about it, ok?" Joni susurrated.
"Ok." Was all I was able to mumble? Does she really know I am not gay? Does she really know I had made love to numerous women in my vivid imagination and cum in every possible way, or does she know the fact that I was the only twenty-year-old virgin alive? I may never know, but one thing is for sure - she seemed determined to make me straight, which I already was.
Not long after Joni had sworn to help me become straight, she set me up on a date with one of her friends. For several days before the big day, she coached me on how to behave and talk, topics to bring up, and an endless list of advice. The girl I went out with was amiable, pretty, and all, but I felt as if I was out to dinner and a movie with someone who had no interest in being there.
It turned out that my sense was true when Joni politely told me that her friend thought I was a true gentleman but had no interest in going on another date. Joni wasn't discouraged. The second girl was set up for me to go out again, but the outcome was the same. Then Joni came up with voice training.
"This is not hard, Nate. You must take this free online course several times weekly and practice your vocal cords. You don't need to be much; you must develop a normal male tone. Is that hard?"
Considering the effort Joni was putting into making me straight, I realized dedicating some of my porn-watching time to practicing my voice would be beneficial anyway. Knowing how often people mistake me for a woman when called on the phone. So, the voice training began, and several nights a week, Joni would come to my room before bed to hear me speaking in a tone that wasn't mine and applaud and encourage me.
Voice training was followed by appearance and attire changes. First, Joni determined that tapered shirts and T-shirts were not suited for the image I should be presenting. Those tapered clothes were retired to be worn only around the house, and my clean-shaven face changed to a scruffy beard, which I had to trim to the length she wanted me to wear.
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