“FOURTEEN YEARS AGO TODAY, WITH the help from a great man, I chose to stay clean and sober. I was eighteen and in jail serving a six-month sentence for breaking and entering and selling the stolen items.” I paused for the typical gasp from new meeting attendees. “I had zero potential for a happy life. My body had already started to detox from the poisons I’d put into it for the past two years. When I looked into the late Randall Givens’ eyes, I knew he was my only hope at redemption. I wanted it very badly. There was never a day living on the street where I didn’t crave a better life for myself, I just never thought it was attainable. I had given up believing in miracles. I’d stopping waiting for a hero to come along and rescue me from a miserable life. But Pastor Randall did come along, and he made me believe again. He restored my faith in humanity and the god I was convinced could never love me as I was—gay and proud of it.”
One of the newcomers looked away and squirmed in her seat. It was never my goal to make anyone uncomfortable, but I always started out with the same story when someone new arrived just in case they didn’t thoroughly read the pamphlet their counselors gave them. I wasn’t going to deny my sexuality or my faith, because there were plenty of other chapter meetings they could’ve chosen. My mission in life was to provide a safe place of worship for the rainbow community and a Narcotics Anonymous chapter designed with LGBTQ+ persons in mind because they had additional needs and issues their straight counterparts didn’t. It wasn’t like I hung up a sign that read: No Straights Allowed, but I made it abundantly clear in all my signage, descriptions, and even with my rainbow logo that this was a safe place for my community.
“Don’t worry,” I said jokingly. “I’m not going to preach to anyone, and I’m not here to convert you to a religion. My only goal is to help you stay clean and sober.” The woman met my eyes once more and smiled slightly. “I took the chance Pastor Randall gave me and never looked back. I had many hurdles and temptations to overcome, but my need for a better life outweighed the desire for drugs. I want to help you reach that point too. The first way to do it is always to be honest. Pretending you aren’t having cravings isn’t helping you and standing up here and talking about your struggles could help someone else who isn’t ready to talk about theirs yet.”
I caught and held a particular member’s eyes for a few seconds before glancing around the room again. Keeton had been attending meetings for months but had never felt comfortable enough to stand up in front of the group. When he had first arrived; angry, bitter, and so very alone in the world, he made snide remarks when someone shared their story. So, instead of seeing his silence as a negative thing, I saw it as a victory.
“Speaking in front of the group is always voluntary, and I’m available for private counseling an hour before each meeting. Other arrangements can be made in emergency situations. You’ll also pair up with a sponsor who you can reach out to any time. We’re a family here, we care about one another, and we’re in this for the long haul. Are there any questions before I step aside for someone else to come up and speak?” No one raised their hand or asked a question, so I asked for a volunteer to come up and give testimony. Rebecca raised her hand.
“Come on up, Bec,” I said and returned to my seat.
“Hello, everyone. My name is Rebecca, but my friends call me Bec.”
“Hello, Bec,” almost everyone said to her.
“This is my third attempt to get clean and sober.” She gasped and looked at me with wide, panicked eyes before continuing. “My lack of success has nothing to do with Ollie or his program. This is only my second time attending one of his meetings. Maybe I should back up to the beginning.”
I nodded at her encouragingly then listened as Bec talked about deciding to quit on her own after she was nearly beaten to death by her pimp. Her sobriety didn’t last long; she returned to prostitution and was arrested a few months later. The judge had offered her rehab over jail, and she’d chosen wisely. A stint at rehab isn’t the cure-all everyone thinks it is. Sure, you get medical attention and therapy while your body detoxes, but you’re on your own most of the time after that unless the court mandates meetings. In Bec’s case, she was required to attend meetings and chose mine because she didn’t want to be harassed at other meetings when her sexuality came up in conversation.
Only straight people thought sexuality shouldn’t be a factor in anything because they’d never had their own used against them as a weapon. A person’s sexuality is a huge factor in teen homelessness, drug addiction, depressive disorders, and suicide. I couldn’t change the world by myself, but I could build an army of people who could combat hate and intolerance. Instead of using bullets and machines to kill, we’d use words to heal and educate. It all started right here in this room with acceptance, love, and encouragement.
“The second time, I came here to one of Ollie’s meetings and felt hope for the first time in decades. Everyone was so nice to me, but I guess I wasn’t ready yet. I went back to rehab for sixty days where Ollie visited me weekly and let me know how welcome I’d be when I was released. And here I am. I’m not sure if I’m ready to talk about the things that led to my addiction, but I do want to say you’ve all chosen a great program if you’re serious about getting help.” I noticed her gaze connected with the new lady who’d looked so nervous when I introduced myself, and she didn’t shift away for a few seconds. It felt like a host of things were being communicated between them during the brief interaction.
“Thank you, Bec,” I said from my chair. “Who’s next?”
“I’ll go,” Paul Windsor said.
Some meetings were over with quickly, and others took longer because we had more speakers. Most of the time, I wouldn’t be upset if meetings lasted hours because people were free to come and go as they pleased, and I didn’t want anyone in the group to feel rushed. After the meetings ended, a small group of us usually went out for burgers, fries, and milkshakes before going home, but lately, we started going to Queen City Divas after dinner to watch drag queens perform.
It probably wasn’t something many pastors did in their free time, but I would never be considered a normal pastor, nor did I want to be. I didn’t try to stifle my sexual desire, because to do so felt unnatural to me. Loving God didn’t mean I couldn’t love my body, and those of other men, or had to give up sex. I wasn’t a priest for crying out loud.
Andy, one of the guys in the group, dated a performer, so that’s how our weekly field trips started. It was during one of those late nights at Queen City Divas when Milo introduced me to his former drag mother, Archie White, who was responsible for the antsy feeling in the pit of my stomach as I tried to keep an eye discreetly on the time. Archie had retired from drag to run an HIV transition home he named Ryan’s Place to honor his friend who’d died from complications of the disease, and the drag revue was hosting a charity event to raise money for the home. The owners at QCD decided to donate a huge portion of the profits every Wednesday to Ryan’s Place, and Archie showed up to emcee the event. His previous life as a drag queen and his ownership of the transition house were the only things I knew about the man I couldn’t get out of my mind because he kept me at arm’s length every time I tried to get close enough to ask questions. He preferred not to be in the same room with me at all, but it hadn’t always been that way between us. For a brief, shining moment, Archie looked at me with keen interest and longing, until he found out about my profession.
“Ollie,” Keeton nudged me. “No one else has anything to share tonight.” Dang. How long had I tuned out? “About twenty minutes,” Keeton said.
“I asked that out loud?” I whispered.
“No, but you have this dazed look on your face and the question in your eyes. Don’t worry, no one else noticed with that serene smile slapped on your face.”
“I bet he was thinking about a certain someone with mesmerizing green eyes and pouty lips designed to kiss and suck.” The comment came from Tyler who was a CFO for a major corporation whose headquarters were in Cincinnati.
“Ew,” Adam said. He was a pediatrician at Children’s Hospital. “He’s a man of the cloth.”
“Beneath the cloth beats the heart of a man,” Brent said. For an engineer, he sounded romantic at times. “And the heart wants dirty, back-clawing sex with a man he can bend in half and—”
“Guys,” I whispered, cutting him off before he could finish. “You don’t usually get crude until we go to dinner. Let’s not change that now.”
“Besides,” Andy said, “Archie is one of Milo’s best friends. I’m not cool with hearing this.”
“Mr. Sensitivity,” Keeton teased.
I ignored them and walked to the podium to close out the meeting by expressing my gratitude they all came and my hope to see them again the following week. Some of the veteran recovery addicts attended meetings biweekly or monthly, but most showed up weekly. As I explained many times, it was good to connect with people who understood and related to your daily struggles.
Afterward, we drove over to Janine’s for the best burgers I’d ever had. Andy liked to argue and claimed a place called Gemini’s was better, but I thought it was more to do with the sentimental value the place held for him and Milo. Gemini’s didn’t have the 1950s diner feel or serve hand-dipped milkshakes and fresh-cut fries, so I wasn’t interested in giving it a try. We all ordered our usual and settled in for conversation while we waited for our food.
It wasn’t customary practice for an NA chapter leader to show favoritism toward certain members of the group, or form deeper, personal relationships with them, but I was drawn to these five men, or maybe they were drawn to me. Whatever the reason, there was a spark and bond between us that went deeper than my sponsorship. We ate together on Wednesday nights and caught an occasional movie together or bowled against one another for fun.
The Frat Boys, as Milo dubbed Adam, Tyler, and Brent because they dressed like it, rarely spoke about their jobs, which was understandable since they all had confidentiality agreements. Instead, they talked about hobbies or what was happening with their families. Some were blessed with involved, loving families and others were in various phases of discord with theirs. I hadn’t spoken to my parents or sibling since I was fifteen, and on occasion, I’d feel a twinge of pain because of it, but mostly, I was grateful for my chosen family. I smiled because I realized it would make a great subject for a future sermon.
I realized the conversation around me had stopped, and everyone was staring at me with various expressions stamped on their faces. Adam, Tyler, and Brent looked smug as if they assumed I was thinking about Archie which was fair because I thought about him a lot. More than I should. Keeton looked annoyed like I’d let him down somehow. Andy looked content and maybe hopeful I’d find the same for myself.
“How’s the house coming along?” I asked Andy. He was a master carpenter who specialized in rehabilitating and renovating older homes. It was the perfect job for a gentle giant with a caring nature.
“It won’t be much longer now. The walls downstairs are painted and the floors are sanded and ready for stain.”
“You work fast,” Keeton said.
“I wouldn’t say fast, but I take a methodical approach. For instance, it’s extra work if you sand the floors first then try to paint. Floor sanders make a mess, even though they have bags attached to collect the sawdust. You can wipe down the walls a dozen times before you paint, but I promise you the roller will still manage to pick up dust from somewhere you missed with the naked eye, and you end up with textured walls no one planned for. What about you, Kee,” Andy asked. “I bet your job never slows down.”
“Nope,” he said, shaking his head. I was sure confidentiality was a requirement for a fire medic, but I suspected his unwillingness to talk about his job came from a deeper issue. The young man revealed next to nothing about himself except a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue.
“What are the odds Archie finally acknowledges Ollie’s existence tonight?” Tyler asked.
“Fifty to one in favor of fuck no,” Adam replied.
“It’s better than one hundred to one,” I said, trying to stay positive.
“Does that mean you’re feeling lucky?” Brent asked.
“Can we not hear about the padre getting his love jones on?” Keeton asked, looking and sounding extremely uncomfortable.
“He’s still a man,” Adam said to Keeton.
“A man with needs,” Tyler added.
“I said ‘feeling lucky’ not getting lucky, brat,” Brent said, hooking Keeton around the neck and pulling him closer so he could rub his knuckles over Keeton’s head.
“Knock it off,” Keeton said, elbowing Brent in the ribs so he could get away. I noticed his face was a nice shade of pink, but it didn’t appear to be from displeasure, fear, or exertion.
“You sure didn’t blush like that when you took your clothes off for the annual fireman’s calendar,” Adam said to Keeton. “Or did they photoshop it out.”
“I had clothes on,” Keeton protested.
“You had on a pair of work pants, and they were unzipped at the top,” Tyler countered.
“Someone manscapes,” Brent said, trying to pull Keeton close again.
“Knock it off, B,” Keeton said. B? When did that happen?
“Since when did you give one of us a cutesy nickname?” Adam asked with a pout.
“Just now, I guess,” Keeton said with a shrug. “Normally, I think of you as Saint, Bruiser, Nerd 1, Nerd 2, and Nerd 3.”
“Oh, which one of us is Bruiser?” Tyler asked with wide, innocent eyes. “How do you know what we’re packing anyway? None of us stripped down to become spank bait.”
“Speak for yourself,” Brent said, waggling his brows. “You have no idea what I get up to when you guys aren’t around.”
“Oh, I bet he goes live cam when he jerks off. How many subscribers do you have, Bruiser?” Adam asked.
It never failed to surprise me just how fast things could get out of control. “Knock it off, guys,” I said firmly. “It’s obvious as hell I’m Bruiser.” That got a laugh out of all of them.
I noticed Brent had removed his arm off Keeton’s shoulder but propped it on the back of Keeton’s chair instead of dropping it back in his lap. Keeton was aware even if he didn’t let on. I was glad no one else pointed it out either, and by the time our food arrived, we were too hungry to do any more talking.
By the time we arrived at Queen City Divas, the club was packed with energetic fans who loved the carefree atmosphere and exciting entertainment the queens delivered with every show. Andy’s relationship with one of those queens guaranteed us a reserved table front and center of the stage. Many people grumbled when we arrived, but none dared to sit in our seats unless they wanted to be called out and embarrassed during a performance.
Mistress Vixen was on the stage giving her best Etta James performance and the words to “At Last” resonated within me because I knew I’d met someone truly special the night I looked into Archie White’s eyes. Then the man in question stepped onto the stage after the song was over to excite the crowd for the next queen. He looked sexier than he had a right to in his skinny jeans and white lacy shirt giving me, and everyone else, a tantalizing view of his cut abdomen and perky, dark pink nipples. The lacy shirt stopped a tantalizing few inches above the top of his jeans, and I was dying to see if his ivory skin was as soft as it looked. Archie’s green eyes looked even lighter beneath the spotlight, his black lashes even longer. His mouth looked shiny and plump from whatever lip gloss he wore. Was it flavored? I wanted so badly to find out. I ached to climb the stage and slide my hands into his immaculately styled hair to see if those black strands were as silky as they looked. The only thing hotter than an August summer day in the Queen City was Archie White, leaving my throat dry and feeling parched. I was desperate to quench my thirst, and only he would do.
“I need a volunteer for the next performance. Any takers?”
I would’ve liked to blame the devil for my next action, but it was a pure act of desperation. I wanted, no needed, Archie to look at me and really see me, so I stood up and yelled, “I’m your huckleberry.” At least those vivid green eyes locked on mine.