When I first moved to Austin in the late 90’s, I was freshly thrown out of the closet like 300 pound muscled bouncer tossing out a 120 pound drunk from the only bar in town. It was swift but messy, larger than life, and my heart was broken, and the ‘love of my life’ was mentally collapsing and blamed me for ruining his life. I had been living a purposefully gay sexual life since about 16, but it was all under the radar as I was an active member of the Jehovah’s Witness religion where homosexuality is viewed as a sin.
It was described to me that homosexuality was like alcoholism: it may be something genetic and something a person has to continually work at to control, but it doesn’t make it healthy nor does it make socially responsible to practice in the eyes of God. Love the sinner, hate the sin. Homosexuality was a ‘gross sin’. Since a children it was ingrained in us that ‘men who lie with men’ were an abomination and will be part of those that would be tossed into the lake of fire (this means the second death, as Jehovah’s Witnesses do not believe in Hell).
It is then understandable that fucking one’s same-sex roommate at the world headquarters of Jehovah’s Witnesses is also frowned upon. It wasn’t that we were in love (per se) or that we were going to spend the rest of our lives together, it was that we had fun. We were constantly laughing and enjoying each other’s conversation. It was one long talk that never ended, and when the day closed, we felt safe, comfortable, and at peace with each other. It was honestly something I had never felt before.
The tendon in my right knee was detached in a horseplay incident with another friend which will forever teach me to never listen to the words, “Hold still. I want to try something,” again. Instead of trying to heal me, the infirmary of the Jehovah’s Witness compound gave me physical therapy and Vicodin. Oddly, my knee did not get any better – although my addiction to Vicodin was.
Already people had been looking at Aaron and I like a couple. This bothered many of those in charge and Aaron was basically told that he could either move out into his own room, or go back home. He moved out, and it was torturous for me. I was stuck in my room with guy who would take off his shoes and socks, rub his feet, and then eat a slice of pizza. Since the knee was not getting better, and the power of prayer seemed to have failed me, I decided to go back to my parents home who were now living outside Corpus Christi.
Upon my leaving the world headquarters, Aaron began to disintegrate at an alarming rate. Eventually, he had to admit that we were sexual for most of the time that we were living in the ranks as volunteers (or “Bethellites”) at the World Headquarters of Jehovah’s Witnesses. This was cause for excommunication (or “disfellowshipping” in JW jargon). As I was back home in a small congregation, my process was kept small. Aaron was still in New York and had to go through the process on a level I will never be able to comprehend.
The process was… humiliating. A group of 12 or so men, including my father, sat around a circle in the library of the Kingdom Hall and asked the intimate details about our sex life and what we did and when. The letter that was sent from the elders in New York was 17 pages of scandalous charges that included everything from my conspiracy to lead the younger teenagers of the congregation astray to the predatory practice of exchanging alcohol for sex. In reality, I didn’t like the teenagers of the congregation and the only person I had sex with was Aaron.
I never admitted to having sex, but I did admit that I was gay and made it clear that once I walk away, I will walk away for good. And I did. An announcement was made the following week to the entire congregation that I had been disfellowshipped. Aaron was not so lucky. His announcement was made to the entire World Headquarters in the three branches of the United States and the Canadian Headquarters. The Sunday after the announcement, my parents went to a visiting congregation out of town. I took the opportunity to pack everything I could into my hatchback and ran away. I left a note telling my over-controlling and now manic parents that this was something I had to do as an adult – and as parents, they needed to let go and allow me to find my own way.
I had $500.00, my computer, my cell phone, and the number of a guy named Dale who I met one time while playing cards a month before at a friend’s house. Dale was also a Jehovah’s Witness but not a very strong one, so I thought I would be safe for a while until I had enough money to get my own apartment. When one is excommunicated from the Jehovah’s Witnesses, there is a cutting off completely. Growing up the only friends I had were JW’s and the only family I knew were JW’s. When I left, every friend and family member that I knew from birth to age 23 was gone.
Feeling betrayed by my best friend, my family gone, my friends gone, and going through a wicked Vicodin withdrawal made for a chaotic trip to the Live Music Capital of the World. When I arrived, I collapsed. Dale gave me a key, and the couch became my new home. I thought it would be a great time to learn about the gay life. I thought this could best be accomplished if I applied for a job at a gay gathering spot, so I picked someplace that I was already familiar with from my closet days in Houston – Midtowne Spa… a gay male bathhouse. I also figured that I could use a little humility as well since being part of any exclusive religion tends to make one grow a rather voluminous sense of superiority. I needed to go down a few notches.
I decided to ‘retire’ from my normal computer drafting career and applied for a cleaning job and was hired the next day. I was ‘trained’ at the job and let loose on the night shift. About a week into the job there was a staff meeting, of sorts. Basically they were getting the place ready for a holiday and then entire building needed to be cleaned (and I will use the term “clean” loosely). JW’s do not celebrate any holidays, including birthdays. So the concept of getting ready for a holiday weekend was not only foreign to me, I was in conflict over whether or not I SHOULD participate. I was trying to learn and act “normal” at the same time. So I arrived and started scrubbing away wherever I was told to scrub. The manager at the time, Bob, elbows me and lifts his eyes to outside. There stood Jeb with his shirt off, water hose in one hand, broom in the other scrubbing the deck of the outside hot tub area.
I looked back to Bob and asked, “What?”
He just gave his eyebrows a few little lifts and smiled and walked away.
I looked back over to Jeb. I didn’t see what Bob was looking at. Jeb was a skinny white boy with puffs of hair coming out two sides of his head… the top and the chin. His baggy green cargo shorts were old and entirely way too big, so the belt bunched up around the waist. His hair had no style, his skin looked rough, and he was imprinted with this permanent “I don’t give a fuck” look on his face. Frankly, I didn’t find him attractive at all.
An hour or so past and everyone was finally gathered inside. Jeb had his shirt back on. I was beside him and told him, “Awe. Why’d you do that? Bob was enjoying you having your shirt off.”
“Bob enjoys anyone under 25 who’s hairless and skinny with their shirt off.”
“You’re not completely hairless. You have… this,” I waved my finger at his chin, “whatever this is going on.”
“You don’t like my chin strap?”
“Oh, you’re fine, just keep your shirt off and no one will even notice.”
Jeb gave out a laugh.
Once all the chores were accomplished we all clocked out (it was an actual time clock punch card that we used at the time). Jeb and I continued to talk after working. He had a job listing from the Austin Chronicle for an adult bookstore that was offering $14.00 an hour. He wanted to know if I wanted in. An adult bookstore? The peddlers of smut and sin? I know it might be tough to understand but to me that was so many notches below my moral standard than working at a bathhouse. I was only out a few weeks, and this “worldly” environment where sex is commonplace was difficult for me to digest in a short amount of time. But, seeing as the adult book store was offering $3.00 more than what I was currently making, I went ahead and shelved those moral notches and jumped at the chance. We hopped into his Jeb’s Jeep, and drove off.
It didn’t really hit me at the time, but Jeb was my first gay friend I made while venturing into my new, religious-free and out of the closet life. We started talking about everything. Mostly we were laughing about the world, and Jeb immediately connected to my sarcastic punches and absurd, over-the-top ideas which I usually presented, not as real ideas, but as concepts used as shock value. Jeb loved shocked value. We started our conversation on that afternoon… and didn't stop for a decade.
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