The Battle for Jericho by Gene Gant Read Free Book Online Page B

look.
    “That’s the standard membership contract,” Dylan replied. “You know, for joining WHO, the World Homosexual Organization.” He uncapped a pen and dropped it on the desk. “Read it over, then sign and date it.”
    I read the contract. Or tried to. There were enough wherefores, in witness thereofs, agreed heretos and other legalese in that thing to scare the pee out of a Supreme Court justice. The gist of it was that I agreed to become a fully committed gay/lesbian/bisexual/transgendered individual (the form allowed me to take my pick) for life. The terms and conditions obligated me, as a guy, to get busy on a regular basis with at least one member of the male persuasion. My responsibilities also included, as Dylan had already pointed out, destroying all precepts regarding male/female relationships and the moral teachings of society, especially those established by the Bible, Quran, and all other holy books. This wasn’t just limited to fighting for same-sex marriage. WHO would also be pushing to expand the legal definition of marriage to include bigamy, adult/child unions, human/animal nuptials, and knot-tying between people and bacteria.
    When I got to the end, my hands were shaking.
    “It says here my signature has to be notarized,” I pointed out. I figured it would buy me some time.
    Dylan opened one of the desk drawers and pulled out a notary stamp. “Not a problem,” he said. “I can also handle the oath and affirmation part.”
    Damn it. Oh well. As Mom always said, in for a penny, in for a pound.
    I signed. He notarized. Then he had me raise my right hand, and I took the oath of gaydom.
     
     
    “Y OU have to start small. Take baby steps.”
    We were sitting at the dining room table. Dylan had pulled a legal pad from his satchel and was jotting down pointers as he spoke.
    “Right now, you have to concentrate on fighting your attraction to girls and getting yourself used to the idea of being with a guy,” he continued. “You have a girlfriend?”
    “Uh-huh.” I closed my eyes because I knew what was coming next.
    “Break up with her.”
    I tried to swallow. My throat suddenly felt as if was lined with sandpaper. I looked at Dylan. “When?”
    “Tonight would not be too soon.”
    I didn’t say anything. I was afraid I’d start crying if I opened my mouth.
    “You don’t have to come out to her,” Dylan continued. “At this point, you don’t have to come out to anyone who’s not in the movement. That’s a giant step you’ll get to down the line, when you’re ready to take up a cause—same-sex marriage, gay adoption, marginalizing the moral teachings of the church, running for political office—to shake up the status quo. But you have to cut off all emotional and physical contact with girls, especially your girlfriend. My recommendation is that you break it off over the phone. That way there’s no chance you’ll be tempted by hugs, kisses, or any other kind of touch. It’ll be easier for you. Got it?”
    I nodded.
    “When you’re around girls, don’t look at them. There is to be no flirting with them. And don’t let them flirt with you. Just walk away.”
    I nodded again.
    “No Playboy , no Hustler , no magazines featuring beautiful women. And don’t visit the websites. You can’t even look at a Victoria’s Secret catalog. No Girls Gone Wild and no movies with naked females. If you have any of the stuff at home, burn it. Tonight.”
    That sent a pain straight through my heart. There was a stack of Playboy magazines hidden in a shoebox at the back of my closet that my folks hadn’t found. They’d been passed down to me by Mac, who slipped his dad’s mags out of the recycling bin when his mom wasn’t looking. “ Did you say… burn?”
    “Yes. Dig a little hole in the ground, burn the stuff, and cover up the ashes. Then spit on the grave.”
    I put both hands over my chest.
    Dylan’s hand flew over the legal pad, his writing so large that the cursive letters took