I Had to Say Something

Table of Contents

 

 

 

To the best friend I ever had, my golden girl, my mom

PREFACE

Let me begin by saying that I do not hate Ted Haggard. I have not rejoiced in what has happened to him. I did not throw a party or dance in the street when he resigned. I was truly sad. It is a much bigger sin in the evangelical movement to be a homosexual than an addict. That's why it would have been harder for Ted Haggard to admit to having gay sex with me than to admit to having a drug problem. Ted is not a mean or vicious person. He is a gentle man and was kind and generous with me. Ted has done some good work in the community. He cares about the environment. I am sure he gave hope to many people who were in despair. I want to believe that he is a good father to his children. He, like me and everyone else, is human. We all have faults, emotions, needs, and wants. I have cried many nights, and I am sure Ted has, too. But this is not what this story is about. Ted believes that the homosexual part of his life is “repulsive and dark.” I can tell you that I and my gay friends do not consider ourselves “repulsive.” We are not ashamed. You must not speak out against something that you do in secret. You must practice what you preach. Let us not forget that the ultimate word in this story is
hypocrisy
.

—Denver, March 2007

CHAPTER 1

“Hi, Mike, it's Art from Kansas City.”

Within minutes, the man with the light brown hair lay naked on my massage table. Silhouetted by the light from just one candle, he lay on his stomach with his arms at his sides. The room was quiet except for the sounds of the ocean playing in the background. His breathing was muted and his movement was limited. He was both excited and nervous about what was going to happen.

I stepped from behind the curtain that separated the kitchen from the rest of the studio apartment. Naked, I walked over to a table of supplies I kept in the corner of the room. Taking a few squirts of unscented massage lotion, I walked over to Art and stood in front of him, with his head just an inch away from my crotch. I never used scented lotions, since the last thing a client needed was to walk out smelling like he'd been somewhere he shouldn't have gone. I leaned over him and began rubbing the massage lotion into his lower back. As I extended my arms, my groin was right at his head as it lay in the face cradle of the table. Art put one hand on each buttock and gently began rubbing my legs.

Instead of the ocean, the room was now filled with the soft sounds of relaxation music. The room was dark but gave off an air of freshness and cleanliness.

I continued to rub sensually, moving my hands up and
down his back. “How's that feel, handsome?” I asked in a whisper.

He said nothing, instead letting out a soft moan of pleasure, trying to pull me into his face. Feeling my groin pressing against his head, he lifted his head out of the cradle and pressed against me, making sure his forehead, eyes, nose, mouth, and chin all came in contact with my body. I continued to rub his back with a light, Swedish-massage touch. From previous sessions, I knew he enjoyed being touched everywhere, so working a particular muscle was not as important.

He was clearly getting turned on, yet he still seemed unsure of what he could do or how far he wanted to go. I could tell that he wanted to try a lot of things with me but just could not let himself do it. There was hesitancy there. By touching him more sensually than sexually in certain areas, I hoped to get him to feel a bit more comfortable. As I massaged his back, I initially steered clear of his butt.

He wanted to make love to me and to have some sort of intimate connection. Yet there was a line there that he could not cross, and I did not want to push him past that line until he was ready. I massaged his shoulder blades and then worked my way up his arms. I rubbed his hands, which were still placed firmly on my buttocks. Rather than massage each individual finger, I placed my hands on his hands, pushing his fingers deeper into my glutes. His face still rubbing my crotch, he moaned with pleasure.

I took his hands off my ass and put my hands under his arms so he could flip over. Once on his back, I saw, just as I suspected, that he was turned on. I moved to the side of the massage table where he could touch me easily. As he lay there, his eyes were closed and his body was tense.

“That feels so good!” he exclaimed as I touched him. His
head moved from side to side, just like his body tried to. His body language told me when he wanted to play some more, that he had not yet reached a point where the next thing he wanted was release.

“What would you like to do now, handsome?” I whispered.

Art said nothing but guided my hand to his groin. Focusing on the touch, I massaged his groin with simple motions, just the way he liked it.

“Mike, that feels so good!” His body was getting tenser. For a man, that's good.

I played with him a little more until I felt him pulsating. Releasing my grip a bit, I let nature do the rest. And within moments, everything was over. Art did not like to be touched once he climaxed. He lay silently for another minute, then climbed off the table, grabbed his clothes, and scurried to the bathroom to change. I tidied up a bit in the glow of that one candle. I put on my gym shorts and waited by the massage table.

Coming out of the bathroom dressed and ready to go, Art had my money, two hundred dollars, in hand. I took it from him and said thank you, but you could tell he was not happy to be leaving. He acted like he wanted to kiss me and stay with me the rest of the afternoon.

“Call me again when you're in Denver,” I whispered and kissed him on the cheek.

Art gave me a bear hug. “Thank you, Mike,” he said with a lot of sadness in his voice.

He rubbed my shoulders, opened the door, and left. Once I heard him get in the elevator, I turned on the overhead lights in the apartment and got the room ready for my next client, who would be arriving in a few hours.

I checked the room to make sure he didn't leave anything behind. I've had client leave watches, cell phones, even wedding rings behind. Art was always good about picking up after himself.

 

Art from Kansas City.

That's how the man I later discovered to be Ted Haggard, the founder of New Life Church and the president of the 30-million-member National Association of Evangelicals, first introduced himself.

I would love to tell you that from the day we met in June 2003 I remember him as being unique or odd. He had some quirks, such as an incredible shyness, but so did many of my clients. And there was nothing about him physically that made you take notice.

Except for his smile. His grin was big and sincere, almost goofy. You couldn't miss it. Even when he was sad, like when our sessions came to an end, he still managed to muster a smile that brightened the room. Art, or Ted, always seemed to be in a good mood. He was never bitchy or mean.

He came to every appointment very well groomed and dressed. His nails were always trimmed and his hair perfect. He was always clean-shaven, and he kept his body clean as well. Believe me, that's a big plus in my business.

Business casual is how I would describe his dress. He never wore shorts or just a T-shirt. He always wore a nice shirt with a collar, looking like the tie had come off just a few minutes earlier. He always wore jeans and never wore dress slacks. All the way around, he always looked great, just like all the guys in those Levi's commercials on television. When we first met, I knew he wasn't openly gay, but I remember thinking that he sure did dress like a preppy gay boy.

There was shame in his eyes, but Art never wore a hat or sunglasses or tried to disguise himself. I could tell he wasn't proud of his visits to me, but that didn't bother him enough to stay away or hide his face.

He was attractive but not in an obvious way. Perhaps the best way to describe his appeal is to call it subtle. He was just one of the guys—a guy who had needs, and my job was to help him meet those needs. Art was basically no different than most of my other clients. He had an average build and average looks. He wasn't fat, but he wasn't muscular. He was average below the waist as well. He was just an average, pleasant guy.

When he first called me, it was a typical bright sunny morning in Denver. I had just returned home after playing tennis. Shortly after breakfast, my phone rang; the caller ID read “unavailable.”

“Hi, this is Mike,” I answered.

“Hi, Mike, my name is Art from Kansas City,” said the light and happy voice on the other end. For more than a year, he never said, “This is Art.” He always said, “This is Art
from Kansas City
.” To this day, I can only guess that he said that because he didn't want me to know he was from Colorado Springs. The two big industries there are Christianity and defense. Perhaps he feared I would stereotype him as wearing either a vestment or a uniform. Not surprisingly, almost all my clients from the Springs were, in fact, either clergy or military. And they were some of my best customers.

“I saw your ad for escorting,” he continued. At the time, I had ads on several Web sites, and one of my ads appeared in the escorting section. “I'm visiting Denver and would like to schedule an appointment with you.”