The Gay Senator
I am not a strong man, even if people in this state elected me as their US senator.
I give into small urges too easily.
Sometimes I eat too much.
Other times, I drink too much
And as you know, I sometimes crave for sex.
The last would not be a bad thing, even in Godís Country, if all I wanted was a woman.
Here it is an unforgivable sin to crave another man.
In this part of the world, someone is always watching you.
A pastor or parishioner, or the usual Republican committee gossip with nothing better to do.
Then there are the police, who treat gay sex the same way they might murder.
Over the years, Iíve learned to put on a respectable face.
Down deep, even now, I still believe I am a good man, a good Christian, and a good husband.
Growing up in this part of the country, I learned to love this place and its people, despite their well-known prejudices.
I could never imagine myself living anywhere else, even in more liberal places like New York or San Francisco.
I always believed that if I could learn to control my urges. I might live out the rest of my life without being crucified.
Who ever thought I would be done it, not by the Christians, but by another gay man, who believed he knew how to live my life better than I did, and did his best to destroy me in order to prove it.
As careful as I was, this gay man and his radical friends sought out my secret lovers, humiliating them into confessions that could be used against me.
This naturally drew the attention of the police and the press, both who found better ways to hurt gays than the old fashioned way of simply beating us.
What hurts most, of course, is everyoneís belief that I have done something wrong.
Even I sometimes believe this now, although I never thought so before.
A governor in the East might easily become a hero to the gay community by coming out, even when he uses his confession to cover up his political corruption.
But an honest senator like me, a good Christian at heart, faces only shame and ridicule, even from the gay community which should strive to protect me.
I decided to protect myself, force myself to control my urges.
If I do nothing, the police canít bust me, regardless of the hateful things gay radicals say.
After all, I thought, I am still a respected man in the community with a wife and position. Certainly without proof, the good Christians would not allow me to be so harshly judged.
But what man can betray his own nature?
And why should he?
If a man hungers, should he not eat?
So when the man in the toilet stall next to mine hinted he might be interested in me, I succumbed.†††††††††††
But once the handcuffs were on me, I foresaw my life in ruins.
A Christian might forgive a man a rape or even a murder, but never this.
I would not even get the comfort of a cross.
I pleaded guilty to the crime hoping the whole matter would go away.
If I fought the charges, the press would have a field day.
Who would notice one small disorderly conduct charge with all of the serious crimes to uncover?
Should not the good Christians and citizens of our nation with more concerned with who a man killed than whom he slept with?
In my heart, I truly believe my life could go one as it had always.
But as I said, I had not considered those who should have comforted me: the gay community.
Judas, after all, was always the greater threat to Jesus than Julius Caesar.
So in the same manner that the Jews gave up Christ, the activists gave me up, both preferring to ignore murder in order to crucify me.
The gleeful police then released the tape of my arrest, stabbing me as the Roman soldier stabbed Christ on the cross, just in cast eh crucifixion failed to finish me.
Fellow Christians and fellow Republicans turned into a pack of wolves, tearing every shred of dignity from me as if shredding flesh.
No humiliation could be so terrible, no isolation so complete.
I live with the idea that I exist on no oneís side and have done wrong to everyone simply because of a natural human urge.
I suppose in the end I will learn to accept who I am and what I am, in just the way the evil Gay activists intended for me.
But I will never forgive those mean and despicable people who believe they must life my life for me without having walked in my shoes or carried my cross.
Yes, the police watch me even now.
But there is little they can do to me that has not already been done.
Bullies must be bullies, even bullies with badges.
Perhaps all this has taught me something about the world.
I now know what it means to be a good Christian, a good person and a good gay, by refusing to do onto others what has been done onto me.