Trouble in Paradise*

This is post 21 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

*This post contains foul language.

It had not been such a wonderful day chez Robert and Jack, either.
“I cannot believe you invited my father to the bachelor party,” Robert said at breakfast. “If I weren’t positive he’d never show, I’d call the whole thing off.”
“Which would be just fine with me,” Jack snapped. “I’ve never been one for the club scene.”
“Are you calling me a tramp?” Robert raised one eyebrow archly.
“If the mattress fits. . . . Pass the preserves, please.”
Robert shot the jar across the table. “You don’t have to come, you know. You could stay here—in the closet.”
“I can’t believe you’re saying that. I am so out. I belong to every gay organization there is.”
“That proves nothing. Anyone can write a check.”
“I never knew before that my sexual orientation was some sort of test. Tell me, Robert, what do I have to do to score true faggot status?”
“Stop using that word, for starters. You know I hate that word.”
“Ponce? Pansy? Pantywaist? Pouf? Queen? Queer—as a two-dollar bill? Ho-mo-sexual?”
Robert shook his head, but Jack went on, “Cock sucker? Fudge packer?”
“Stop it,” Robert said coldly. “You’re just proving my point. Dripping with self-hatred.”
“On the contrary, it’s you who dare not speak the name.”

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