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As he listens to the preacher’s rant, Dave thinks he finally understands the phrase “sweating like a whore in church.”
After a quick glance toward his parents, the boy shifts uncomfortably on the pew, tugging at his too-tight collar once again and vaguely wonders if he’ll go to hell faster for praying that the preacher just shut the fuck up already.
Detestable, abomination, unnatural…an egregious sin against God. Yeah yeah, he’s heard it all before (although he might have to look up the definition of egregious), and yet—as hard as he tries to fight it--he still can’t help the way he feels.
Sometimes he thinks that God is testing him; that maybe he’s been singled out as some sort of modern Job and he’s surely screwing up the first trial.
And it all started with the porn.
He was 13 and rooting around in the garage for bike parts when he found his dad’s stash of Playboys. The pages were old and faded, a few stuck together (which, when he thinks about it now? Eww) but the images worked quickly on his untried libido. Dave managed to rub three out before he heard his father’s angry threats of yet another whipping if Dave didn’t finish the chores before dinner. As he carefully returned the magazines to their hiding spot, Dave tried not to think about how it wasn’t the girl parts that he kept looking at.
After that it was the videos. Azimio’s dad had an enormous collection. One on one, threesomes, orgies, girl-on-girl, soft-core, hard-core; all of it slightly dated if the clothing, hairstyles and soundtracks were any indication, but watching those always made him hot (again, not thinking about hairy chests or the sweaty, straining muscles). And…well, jerking off together (but not together, together) just made the whole experience better in his opinion. Every once in a while Dave thought if he offered a hand that would be okay; it was just one friend helping another out, right? But no, the last time Dave spent the night Az caught him looking. The panicked fumbling to cover his junk and startled accusation of, “Dude, are you queer or something?” set Dave off that notion real quick.
That was over a year ago and he hasn’t had the guts to go back. Even more than the now-shaky friendship, Dave regrets only being able to snag two of the videos he loved most before leaving Az’s house.
But then, then Dave “borrowed” Finn’s lap-top and discovered what the internet was apparently created for. It took a few failed attempts but he finally figured out how to get around the parental blocks on the computer at home and after that Dave was only constrained by the limits of his imagination. Anything and everything he could think of (and some things he wished he hadn’t), in any possible combination, were all there for him to enjoy.
From kink to kink he jumped, weeks and months of furtive late-night sessions that bled into several early morning close calls with an even earlier-rising mother. Before he realized it, Dave had given up bothering to include the distracting tits and hoo-hahs in his video choices and that’s kinda when he had to ‘fess up, at least to himself.
Of course, without a job or a credit card of his own he couldn’t risk paying to access sites like Corbin Fisher (you know, just to make sure he really was attracted to guys), but he did learn to make do with the free clips and photo galleries.
The resulting carpel tunnel was difficult to explain, but after threatening half the kids in American History for their notes and forcing a bewildered Jacob to re-write them all, his parents seemed to accept the explanation of extensive note-taking in class. That he was excused from practice so that the injury had time to heal was just a bonus.
As he wandered into the racier, homemade stuff (thanks to the marvel that is Xtube), Dave started to wonder what it would feel like to have another guy’s mouth on him (it makes sense that a guy would know better what another guy would like, doesn’t it?); and while he briefly imagined making out with someone like the cute little pizza delivery boy that rang their doorbell last night...it was thoughts of the infuriatingly adorable songster that haunted his dreams nightmares.
But, from listening to his mom’s bible study group discussions and from what he gleaned half-listening to previous sermons, it seems that maybe fantasizing and looking at the hot internet porn was okay (sorta, but not really). Evidently, the dirtybadwrong thoughts were one thing but it was the doing something about it that’s gonna get him in hot water—er, brimstone. Whatever. Anyway, he knows he’s definitely crossed a boundary by now.
Kissing Kurt actually made him a gay.
And at this point he can’t decide who he hates more: Himself for the weakness, for not just walking away so that he wouldn’t give in to that urge; for taking those damnable thoughts out of the relative safety of fantasy and straight into the shocking hell of reality. Or Kurt for being there to tempt him in the first place, for being so contrary and proud and ridiculously beautiful; for making him want something so forbidden--to want what Kurt has and is, and be loved by him…to hell with everything else.
Speaking of hell, if he wasn’t afraid it was already too close on the horizon he might even be tempted to blame God. What kind of a manipulative son of a bitch makes him this way and then watches him squirm? God was supposed to be a loving, forgiving creator…well, Dave supposes that He is, but only if you’re not gay. If God hates fags and Dave is most assuredly one of them now, then it’s no wonder Dave hates himself so much.
No wonder he’s taking out this frustration, this rage on Kurt Hummel.
It’s gone way beyond the “push him cause you like him and you want his attention” stage. He figures he’s got no chance with the boy—Kurt wasn’t playing coy or hard to get; those hurtful but scarily accurate insults were real--but Kurt is the only gay kid he knows. Puck doesn’t count ‘cause that horn dog would fuck anything that moves and, despite all the porn, this is more about feelings than sex and Puck doesn’t know shit about those.
Dave doesn’t really know who to turn to at this point since it seems that everyone in his life is homophobic, and he just can’t see himself opening up to Mr. Shue or that crazy counselor. He’s not that brave.
And, while he’s too chicken shit to do it, he kinda sorta might maybe understand the desperation of those six kids he publicly refused to wear purple for. Not that Dave didn’t want to; he just couldn’t risk the derision of his father, the taunts from his teammates, or risk making Azimio suspicious again. It’s only recently that the other boy stopped hiding his crotch from Dave whenever they changed into their uniforms. No one has to know that Dave secretly carried his grandma’s lavender handkerchief in his back pocket that day (and the next cause he couldn’t manage to sneak it back into his mother’s underwear drawer the night before), but he thinks if someone did it might break the ice and give him a chance to get all this off his chest.
But Kurt, he has a loving family and friends who love him just the way he is—flamboyantly carefree and comfortable with himself--and Dave hates him for that…Dave wants that kind of acceptance for himself so badly that it hurts (well, maybe not the flaming part ‘cause no matter how much Dave likes the idea of getting head from a dude, the whole fairy thing is just never gonna happen).
But misery loves company and he’s kind of made it his mission to keep torturing the boy, to make Kurt feel some of the pain Dave endures daily. It certainly was not due to some hopeless wish that Kurt would see Dave’s actions as desperate attempts to get his attention, to have him change his mind and maybe see Dave as a make-over project; a lost soul in need of some guidance that he would then fall head over heels for (like a gay version of Professor Higgins and Eliza. Only, not so gay). Nope. Nuh-uh. That’s not what Dave wants at all.
And he certainly doesn’t want to actually hurt, hurt Kurt; he realizes the shoves and the looks and the threats do just that, but Dave can’t help it. He’s just so scared sometimes, so jealous…and lonely. Oh, so lonely.
A hush falls over the congregation and Dave jerks upright, kicking himself for losing track of where they were in the sermon ‘cause now he has no idea what’s happening. For all he knows the preacher just called him out in front of the whole church so that everyone knows what Dave did, who he is, what he wants. But, then how would the preacher know since they’re not Catholic and didn’t have those phone-booth confession thingies? Unless, oh my God, Dave panics. He knows everything…did God tell the preacher what happened?
“You have but to repent. Ask God for his forgiveness and sin no more,” the preacher thunders from the pulpit, his face a mask of anger and condemnation.
A chorus of amens follow and Dave almost wets his pants in fear, but when no one turns around to look at him, to wait for his admission of guilt or for him to slink up the aisle toward the alter with his head bowed in shame…well, Dave could have fainted with relief as he figures he might be off the hook.
Of course, no one else is dumb enough to pick today for rebirth and whatnot either so things wrap up pretty quickly after that.
Finally, finally it’s time for the only reason Dave bothers to dress up and accompany his parents to the weekly torture sessions (besides the fact that they make him). He hears the organ bellow and then the piano strikes its first notes and he doesn’t even have to look at the program to know which hymn they’re playing. He knows them all by heart.
Dave doesn’t care too much for “Bringing in the Sheaves” (what the hell is a ‘sheave’ anyway?) but that doesn’t stop him from singing it. The next ones though? They’re the songs he’d sing in the shower if he wasn’t worried that his dad would yell at him to shut up.
“How Great Thou Art,” reminds Dave of Elvis and while Elvis is definitely not Frankie, no one can argue that--dead or alive, fat or skinny--the man will always be one of the greats. On the plus side it suits his voice really well, if he does say so himself.
But it’s while they’re in the fifth verse of Amazing Grace (and yes, he really does know them all) that he starts thinking about the lyrics and how they apply to what the preacher said. And for the first time ever, Dave forgets the words to song he’s singing.
As the last notes fade, the congregation turns to greet each other and then files out of the pews, and yet the whole repentance thing keeps playing itself over and over in his head. Like those damn Glee club songs, only slightly less annoying. Dave wonders if maybe that’s the answer; that he stops looking for a partner, a confidante, a brother in arms on the Earthly plain, and turn to his Heavenly Father for salvation.
But, could he just tell God he was sorry, and then stop being gay? Was that even possible? While on some level the idea appeals to him (‘cause really, who wouldn’t want to get rid of the pain and fear, the guilt and shame?) it seems just a little too easy. Dave pauses for a moment to consider how one would best phrase that kind of prayer.
A hand on his shoulder and a quiet, “David?” shakes him out of his musings. Dave knows it’s the choir director/young adult minister from the sound of that voice. It’s a voice he’s thought of often, and not in a purely musical or innocent way. The rich baritone vibrates the air around them and makes the hair on Dave’s arm stand on end.
Straightening his back and shrugging his shoulder to dislodge the unnerving touch, Dave turns and snaps, “What?”
Disappointment flares briefly in Mr. Sampson’s eyes (something Dave is used to seeing from his parents on a regular basis, so he recognizes it easily--only this time he kinda feels bad about it) but the slightly older man smiles and presses on. “I was hoping to convince you to join us in the choir. I’ve heard that you have a lovely voice and we can always use another member.”
It sounds suspiciously like how Finn asked him to join Glee, and Dave’s immediate reaction is to pump his fist in victory and exclaim “Yes!”
Only the last time he did that--knowing the request was futile but desperate to try anyway (silently begging Please, say yes just this once; I promise not to disappoint you ever again)--his hopes were dashed by a dual refusal to sign the damned parental permission slip.
The resentment and anger at being denied Glee are still so fresh, the pain still so raw even after all these months that Dave is tempted to tell the guy to fuck off just to avoid the anguish of being shot down again. Except, they are still in the church and Dave figures he would only be allowed to get away with so much in one day.
Before Dave has a chance to answer (and honestly, he wasn’t even sure what that answer would be), his dad pipes up with, “He’d be honored.” Of course the man is quick to add the requisite caveat. “Well, as long as it doesn’t interfere with football or hockey. My boy’s got to look toward his future, toward college. Ain’t gonna get in on his grades or good looks, that’s for sure.”
Dave wants to laugh at the condescending smile Mr. Sampson gives his dad, and he thinks that had the choir director not been a man of God, Mr. Sampson might have told the old guy off. Lord knows Dave’s wanted to for years but fear of those fists has kept him in check. Used to be that Dave would incur his dad’s wrath whenever he disobeyed, or talked-back; then it was whenever his dad thought Dave was being disrespectful or didn’t live up to expectations. Bad grades, bad day at work, bad traffic…who knew at this point what would set the volatile man off next. So, Dave just tends to avoid any kind of confrontation and limits their conversations to what is specifically asked of him.
Instead of accepting Mr. Karofsky’s answer though, or calling the man out for his obvious disregard for his own son, Mr. Sampson turns to Dave and says, “Why don’t we let David decide for himself.”
Wait, what? Dave’s not used being allowed to make decisions for himself. And--even as he takes a few moments to ponder the freedom to do so--that his dad hasn’t steamrolled him into agreeing yet is more than just a little disconcerting.
Football, Hockey, both chosen by his father as tough sports a big guy like him could be/would be/should be good at. Sports that real men play.
His wardrobe picked out for him and what he has for dinner each night made by a mother that thinks he’s still six years old. Evidently, blue is best on boys and it’s to be tuna casserole every Tuesday from here until eternity.
His future at Ohio State—his dad’s Alma Mater—and a management degree in order to join the family business. Because why would he ever want to leave this town, get the hell out and never look back?
Not being allowed to join Glee with announcements like, “I’ll be damned if my son joins some faggot-club,” and pleas of, “Don’t ask me to go against his wishes. Just do what your father asks, dear.”
Having his masculinity questioned and being told that it was past time Dave makes a man of himself. That if he couldn’t get laid on his own, maybe by screwing a cheerleader (and didn’t THAT backfire when Kurt became a Cheerio, looking so damn good in that uniform--those pants hugging Kurt’s fine ass and making Dave’s fingers itch to touch), then his dad would just order him a hooker to get it over with. Luckily, Brittany missed him in the “perfect record” tally and agreed to pretend she was dating Dave in front of his parents on Game Night, and that Dave’s dad took his word that he “nailed that hot ass”. (And since she was still kinda pinin’ away for the cripple, he’d forgive the poor girl for forgetting that it was only pretend when she tried to kiss him the next day.)
All of his life decisions were made for Dave, taken out of his hands…but this one, this one someone wanted him to make all on his own.
Only, it was something that his dad wanted him to do--or at the very least already said he could do--and that right there meant it wouldn’t really be Dave’s decision.
So, as much as he wants to quit Hockey to try figure-skating; yearns to ditch the jeans and Polos for a look that would fit his mood better (like black eyeliner and chains); craves sushi or dim sum one night, just to shake things up; is desperate to attend Berklee or Julliard, because they’re both so far away; dreams of dating whoever he wants simply because he cares for them, all without regard to what other people would have to say about it; and aches to sing to his heart’s content in both Glee and the Choir…
Dave says no.
Because, for once, he can.
Mr. Sampson doesn’t even blink. “Okay, let me know if you change your mind,” he calls back over his shoulder as he heads out after the rest of his kids, and wow. Isn’t that disappointing?
Dave sees the arm coming for him out of the corner of his eye and for once it’s not a struggle to keep from flinching. He’s been punished worse afterwards for showing weakness, but this time it’s not the reason why he’s fighting the instinctual urge to duck.
The arm lands on his back and his dad’s hand slaps him heartily in approval. “Good job, kid. Your mom thought it was a good idea--Sampson mentioned it to her a few weeks back, I guess and she felt maybe we’d been too hard on you about that whole fruity singing club—but I think you’re right. Nothing to interfere with your focus, now. Besides, rumors about him being what they are I’m thinking good ole’ Mr. Sampson wasn’t listening much to the preacher’s service today.”
Dave cringes, but evidently his dad took it as disgust at the innuendo and pulls him in tighter. As much as he didn’t want to want it, as much as he wished to yank himself away and run after Mr. Sampson to beg for a spot in the choir, it was a hug from his dad. They were united in a camaraderie (no matter how false or misguided), and it was something Dave hadn’t felt in years. In that one moment he felt loved; for the first time in a long while he didn’t feel so lonely.
So he wraps his arms around his dad and nods, whispering, “Fucking Fag.”
After all, Dave is still a kid, still a little boy vying for his mother’s attention and most importantly: his father’s approval.
It’s Dave's cross to bear that right now he’s just not ready to be a Kurt Hummel. Not yet.
Maybe not ever.