Naked B4 God: Exposing the Hypocrisy of Ted Haggard By Neal Davis Mike Jones, the man who exposed the Reverend Ted Haggard in the highly publicized sex scandal that rocked the New Life Church of Colorado Springs, will play himself in this new oneman show for seven performances only. Where: The Bug Theater 3654 Navajo Street, Denver When: Thursday, March 13 through Sunday, March 16 Thursday, March 20th through Saturday, March 22nd All shows 8pm Price: all performances $25 For tickets and information, call 888-768-7469 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ I began escorting at eighteen, purely by accident. I was a hottie when I was younger, before I turned into the suave, handsome specimen you see now. I began lifting weights in my early teens, and by the time I graduated high school, I had quite the pair of guns and pecs. Does a quick muscle pose. That and a fake ID got me into just about any place I wanted. The first time it happened, I was sitting at a quiet bar in Denver, horny and looking for trouble. Instead of trouble, though, I found opportunity. A guy in his 40 s approached me, made some small talk, then let me know his buddy was interested in me. Real interested. He can pay you for your time.
Whoa! Pay me? Let s see, I m eighteen, hunky, horny, unemployed My natural response was How much? I m sure he ll make it worth your time Remember, this was a different era. The phrase STD didn t exist. Aid s was only a diet candy. The best night of TV was prime-time Saturday, and disco ruled the world. A strange man offers me money? I didn t think about being scared, because I didn t know better. His friend could have looked a lot worse. We went to his apartment, stripped and made crazy monkey love for two hours. It was hot. When it was over, he shoved some bills in my pocket. Later, when I counted them, I freaked. Two hundred unbelievable dollars! 1975 dollars! For something that I was willing to do for free. I had won the seventies version of the gay lottery. The career counselors at school never mentioned anything like this. While I was trying to choose a college for an education my parents couldn t afford, this opportunity arises. Holds his hands like a scale, showing the imbalance of his options. Hmmmm.four years of continued education followed by twenty years of student loan payments, versus making money for having sex (tips scales in that favor) Oh, yeah! I had found my calling! The second time was just as much of a surprise. Different bar, different guy. Same end result. Except this one happened in a restroom. I know foreshadowing. From then on, it just kind of happened. I d go to a bar, and someone would invariably offer to pay me to get them off. Not a bad line of work. There wasn t much capital investment on my part, and my time was free to get some community college courses in. Maybe it was inconsistent, but hey, still a good gig. But not one that Mom would be proud of. Mike sits on the sofa.
Mom. My mom was a hell of a woman, and an even better mother. She was also my best friend. Not so much in the I have to tell you everything way. More in the I don t have to say it, because you already know it kind of way. We were extremely close, and as comfortable in our silences as we were in conversation. She made me laugh, she taught me how to listen, and I never questioned her love for me. Mom became my best friend when I was still a kid. Before her, my best friend was my great grandmother. Nanny was also a hell of a gal. In her younger days, she had been a madam for one of the nicer hotels in Central City, Colorado. Even did some entertaining herself. Yep, it s genetic. It was one of those family secrets that no one spoke of, yet everyone knew. Nanny was an extremely attractive woman. She gave me an appreciation for beauty. She taught me how to bake. We d make pie and watch Lawrence Welk. Polkas and waltzes. The Lennon Sisters in matching dresses, the men all slicked in Brylcreem, and the audience filled with the bluest hair on TV. It was won erful, won erful. My Nanny exposed me to a skill that would be crucial to my future. She taught me the benefits of touch. Nanny would rub my back, soothing my preschool worries, putting me in a state of pure bliss. My family wasn t horribly affectionate we very much loved each other, we just weren t real touchy-feely. Nanny s touch filled a huge void, one I probably didn t know I had. I don t remember being consciously aware of the healing nature of her touch. Because I was so young, I think this almost became an innate knowledge, one that would end up help ing to keep a roof over my head later in my life. My mother wasn t as physically hands-on as Nanny, but emotionally she was there for me. Just as important, she let me know how much she valued my company. She gave me a strong sense of worth. Mom talked to me like an equal. She didn t just nurture. She included me in her life, allowing me to be more than her son. I was her friend.
I realize now that, as a kid, I was quite the little gay. My best friends were my Nanny and my mom. My favorite toy was a doll. Casper, the Friendly Ghost. Hmmm Caspar. No distinguishing gender characteristics, only wanted to be loved, and liked to disappear when things got uncomfortable. No metaphor there! In the sixties, we didn t talk a lot about gays. It certainly wasn t a hot topic in Colorado. So, my Friday nights spent ironing with Mom weren t gay. They were just different. We d watch Man From U.N.C.L.E. together. God, agent Illya Kuryakin was a babe! And Stephanie Powers could rock any outfit! And while we watched, I ironed. And I got paid for it I learned at an early age to charge for my services. Ok, does this sound gay? I would do my mother s hair. What I could do with some rollers, a handful of Dippity-Doo, and one of those big ass portable hair dryers. Yeah, definitely gay. But, because we weren t invented yet, no one teased me about being fag. The closest we ever came to discussing my homo-ness was when I was fourteen. I had written a love letter to a male teacher I had a crush on. I never mailed it, but I didn t toss it out, either. Of course she found it. And of course she read it. That s not a nice letter. Mike runs and hides behind the stool, acting frightened. That was it. No lectures, no speeches, no I m gonna tell Did I mention my dad was a cop? Oh, yeah. This had a whole lot of potential for being a real mess. But that wasn t Mom s style. That wasn t Mom s gene pool. We kept secrets. We watched out for each other. She left the letter with me, I destroyed it, and I hid in my bedroom for a day or two. That was it. The first guy I did it with was a teacher. I was in the 10th grade. Ah, those were the days! A teacher could still provide quality mentoring and hands-on training without fear of recrimination.
Just like the Greeks. He made sure to provide me with continued education; at least, as long as his wife wasn t home. A few years later, I had turned his lessons into a profession. By my early twenties, I began developing a clientele of repeat customers. Between regulars and referrals, I made out ok. I also had some real jobs, including owning my own gym and a greeting card store. A slow economy killed those businesses. Escorting, though, survives any financial downturn. I think one of the qualities that caused guys to become regulars was that I didn t ask any probing questions. I didn t need to know about their personal lives, unless they volunteered the details. I provided a safe zone. It was just about them and me. I was like Vegas they knew they d spend some money, that they d get lucky, and that what happened in my apartment stayed in my apartment. In June, 2003, I got a call from a new client. Hi, Mike. My name is Art from Kansas City. The voice was cheerful and upbeat. I saw your ad for escorting. I m visiting Denver and would like to schedule an appointment with you. He didn t sound like a cop, and he didn t sound like a creep. It starts at two-hundred dollars. Art didn t have a problem with that. So, we made a date for Tuesday afternoon at two.