Curiosity got the best of me and I went with a new acquaintance to a lecture, "Wide-Stance Christians: New Horizons for Tea Room Ministries."
My friend, "Mr. XXII," and I hooked up on Facebook. He saw a piece of my confabulated art that stirred up graphic longings in his digital loins. I e-mailed back that that's what confabulation does for those young at heart, visually horny. (Unfortunately without ready cash for art.)
Mr. XXII – requesting PG anonymity – claims to know Dr. George Rekers first-hand, and to be buddy buddy to the now-defrocked reparative therapy Ponzi, through carrying his luggage in and out of evangelical backrooms, washrooms, parking lots of metro cities.
"Please understand," adds Mr. XXll, as we take back row seats in a storefront church in fair-minded, clergy dwindling, er, dwelling Ferndale,
"There's no hanky-panky involved. I just have this thing for carrying other men's leather luggage (or Gucci wallets) in public – especially if these items look expensive or suggestively bulky."
"I do understand," I say, squeezing his torn-jean, (XXll-inch-waist-size) readily available, naked knee cap to reassure him. "Sorta soft-core S&M (suitcase and muscle); but this time, in Doc Reker's case, with other-worldly objectives in mind?"
"Yes, he told me I should call him George. St. George. Slayer of Drag-ons."
While eagerly awaiting the lecture I count 50 people – mostly guys in dark sunglasses– a few intently yellow-underlining Scofield Bibles – several women in blond beehive wigs, a tad embarrassed, occasionally vigorously elbowing husbands or boyfriends, possibly both.
Promptly at 8, a rather fetching young man, slightly well-muscled – with a becoming hint of nelliness: one dangling crucifix earring – begins. "Good evening, folks! I'm Mark-Luke Downlower. I'm gainfully employed in an online IRS bona fide community service. (Tax-free for clergy!)
"I'm also a proud member of – are you ready to party, discretely speaking? – Teabagboys.com."
I notice a few in attendance squirm. One guy audibly groans from a well-placed rib poke. "Nice to see one or two used Teabaggers here," says Mark-Luke, beaming like a TV evangelist who's saved yet another sinner from eternal, never-no-fun-ho-hum viewing perdition.
"Put your minds at ease. Sex is not what Teabagboys is about. Our motto – God knows we've had many satisfied customers – 'Yield not to temptation. Get as close as you can to it. Love the sin as much as you love the sinner. But save both. Conveniently for later.'
"Face it, folks. There's a trend underway. More clergy, GOP politicians, would-be ex-whatever therapists, playboy priests, are calling themselves Wide-Stance Christians. (The inches vary inversely from standing stall size to total occupancy sit-down confessional capacity.)
"Motto two: 'If you can't wear high heels, do the next best thing. Put on a pair of sneakers. You can tap. But don't touch. Fake it 'til you can make it.' Here's what Teabagboys.com offers in the way of non-sexual, exploratory missionary positioning …
"If you're into a little mindless rumble and tumble in fig-leaf buff, try sampling our Going Rough Special: Sarah Palin TS look-alikes, complete with fishing rod, tackle, moose-hunting rifle, fishnet hose to put you through many happy-go-lucky hours of a-thigh-for-a-thigh obedience training.
"If the thought of S&M (sandals and mascara) turns you on, let a Teabagboy B&D you. (Bible verse duct tape.) We'll bind you in a narrow closet space for nonstop re-loop viewing of gorier scenes of Mel Gibson's 'The Passion of Christ.' You'll scream for more. (Family physician consent required.)
"Oh, yes! Before our Teabagboys.com power point presentation starts, please turn off all cell phones, put hand-held vibrators on no audible hum and repeat prayerfully, 'The devil made us do it. So, what the hell. Let's keep on truckin' for Jesus.'"
