***** WARNING *****

THIS IS A REAL STORY WITH PORN THEMES AND STRONG ADULT LANGUAGE

NOT MEANT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART OR JACKASS CHRISTIAN.

It's not like me to kiss and tell but this story warrants an audience.

FTR, I changed a name for obvious reasons.

Somewhere in the Castro district, San Francisco, there's a basement apartment. It produced a moment that drives freedom, glory and an act of love wholly inspired by God.

God saves lives every day, the narrowly avoided accident, the remission of cancer, the cop in the right time, right place. Our faith drives us to believe in the unusual, contrary and miraculous circumstances that only have God sized explanations.

Very rarely is "life saving" associated with gay porn stars; massage tables and time spent going "all in."

I'm saved every day with this ministry. Saved from my tattered understanding and perception of who it is that deserves to be saved and who doesn't. For the record we all need a little saving. After years of chasing God I still find myself passing judgment on every crazy lifestyle and subculture I encounter that goes counter to my understanding of sin and the box I think it should go in.

I met Steve the gay porn star via the phone. He was quiet when I picked up his call. "I need to leave porn, J.R.!" His voice riddled with desperation, readily giving up his isolation and fear for a future. Without the provision of porn what would he do? How would he live? "Can you help me?" He politely asked. 

I didn't ask for this life. It was graciously given to me.

Steve was in the business long enough to know what getting out meant and long enough to have no idea how to do it.

The porn business gets a bad wrap from our corner of the world. Few get the "business side of porn." It's attractive to make quick money while having all kinds of sex with all kinds of people. Think about it... it's easy to get why it would be so appealing and if ya can't, your lying.

Steve was locked into being locked in. He had a history with porn, one that said, "it's all good, we'll take care of ya," security, provision and a following in a subculture where people will worship every part of you every day.

The business of porn is a Mecca for those seeking a sense of community, security and daily provision. Porn's subcultures are not unlike Christians, except the porn community is way more mercy-filled and forgiving of its members than those of us who are essentially seeking the same thing in Christianity. True, don't know what to tell ya.

Porn fills pockets and hearts quickly! It’s like injecting heroin. The business keeps you inebriated from reality, convincing you through its odd fame, odd worship and cash that "there ain't nothing wrong." American Christianity does the same thing as we lead people around by their dreams and their "Best Life Now."

Steve embedded himself in the lifestyle of porn. He became the business and it destroyed him from the minute he committed to its immorality.

Now, on the phone wanting out, for Steve as with anyone else, his sin left him exercising a 500-foot, 500 pound blood-sucking leech from his life. Extracting that would be like taking the breath from his lungs.

He was leaving what kept him, porn. And porn ain't no fun without the cash. After all, bills need to be paid and shoving a baseball bat in your ass is worth a 1,000 bucks, so let's have at it. That reality repeated over time, leads to one place; insanity. And acts performed with bats are a hot commodity in the porn business they'll keep buying new bats and shove em up any willing ass they can find. Don't act like you don't get it or that's despicable or off putting... it's consumed by the church, your kids, husbands, wives, work-mates... even you.

Getting rid of porn for anyone is like removing sand from the beach one grain at a time. Porn doesn't care if you’re watching or fucking, it leaves a mark so deep in your spirit the only way out is God the Father.

Steve had made up his mind over the course of a few months as we talked... he'd leave the porn business with a heavy burden of past behavior and the fear of not making rent without takin one for the team.  As I write that I am reminded of the pain in his voice when he told me "I just don't want to be raped anymore!" It's odd to hear a porn star use the word rape. I have listened to him describe his experience in porn. All I can say... rape ain't a strong enough word. Yes, yes, yes, he was the one lying down but as with any sin you lose yourself quick, like drowning.  

Porn creates props out of vaginas, penis's, tits and ass. It becomes faceless, with no attachment of feeling, relationship or spiritual context. That is the devastating part of porn. The invasion of sexual intimacy ruins spiritual common sexual sense and from there you lose the ability to form any spiritual attachment to anyone or anything, thus losing your ability to ever be dependent on a God whose looking for dependence. Simply, you are literally left alone no matter if you’re fucking or watching.

But for the grace of God.

Steve and I pushed through the issues of coming out of porn. At times we completely missed each other's marks, but always gravitated back to our love for God.  We would talk for hours on the phone, pray together and write emails encouraging new life in Christ. He loved God like I did. Gay and porn star doesn't take away love for the Lord.

God had his way and Steve started to emerge, shutting down his websites, boxing and getting rid of a life bent on being bent over.

Steve was a masseur before porn and he was good. He'd built a business out of his basement apartment in the Castor district, insert gay joke here. It was all-legit with a good client base. He'd set up shop in his apartment complete with professional massage table and all the masseur stuff you'd ever need. It was a great quiet place to get a massage. He had flowing curtains flanked with plants, smelly candles and way cool lighting. When I first saw it I was like "Hell yeah, lets get a rub down!!!" but then I was like, "Your a gay porn star and...I'm good."

Wisdom comes from those you teach. Discipline comes from those who teach.

I had no problem with Steve being a porn star. Hell, isn't everyone? I was concerned about him being gay. I wanted him to not be. Shouldn't I? I wanted the porn to run out of his veins and the gay to follow. We'd talked about it ad nauseam. The "why" and "when" was the first time you knew and have you ever thought chicks were hot? We looked at the Bible and simply considered it's over arching behavior in his life. We covered it… up, down, sideways, left, right and came to no conclusion. He stayed open to the conversation and I stayed open he'd change. Shouldn't I, why wouldn't I, Right? After all I love Christ, aren't I supposed to be the sex cops?

We planned a trip to see each other for the first time after months of building a relationship. I'd fly in and we'd spend a few days together. I was stoked to see him, hug him and let him know I was proud of him and proud to call him friend.

He'd been out of the business now for a few months and things were tight financially, hard is probably a better word... it was hard for him. He had no money and I was doing everything I could to make that easier. 

I'd slept with porn stars before, well... slept over that is. One time a porn producer had me sleep in his extra bedroom. Little did I know it was his freaking  "set" until I got in the room and saw all the lights and cameras. Needless to say, I slept standing and didn't touch a damn thing! With Steve I didn't give it a second thought, he said he had enough room and the gay thing, whatever, I wasn't gonna sleep with him.

Steve's apartment looked like Ikea had blown up. Rooms separated by beads and long sheer draperies. Candles and contemporary furniture, it was modern meets gay porn star. I kinda liked it, truth be told. It was cozy and comfortable. 

He gave me a choice where to sleep, couch or his giant massage table that was in this wicked cool chilled room. The table was huge! He’d made it up like a big fluffy bed with sheets and soft blankets and a giant pillow at the head of the table. The room had white lights hanging from the ceiling and plants climbing all over the walls.  The walls made from parts of garden trellis had real tropical rain forest feel. I loved it! And went all in, "I'll take the table!" I said.

That weekend Steve was emotional. A few times he'd been brought to tears as we re-racked the past trying to understand what it meant to have this giant burden in his life. He wasn't just any gay porn star, he'd had a bit of fame in the industry as the guy who could "take it" or "take anything." from baseball bats to multiple cocks, he aimed to please and please he did, all the way to lapses of sanity. He spun tails of not remembering days, weeks and shoots and did whatever he could to check out of what he was doing to his body. We talked and talked and talked and prayed and prayed and prayed... we rebuilt his life that weekend. I did my very best to stay focused with Him, walking him through every conversation holding onto God's grace for him and God's ability to forgive at the cost of His Son.

We lunched, we dined... It was great!

My last night with we returned home and talked late into the night. We were face-to-face; it was brilliant to watch God move, as we stayed willing to engage each other. But...in the back of my mind I was still waiting for the gay to run out of the apartment and straight into the bay. It wasn't enough to help him out of porn. I had to be the high performing Christian. I wanted commitments to sex with the opposite sex. I wanted to hear, "I love boobs, soft necks and hour glass figures." I needed to be closer, I didn't want to fail, that’s my job, right? Right? I'm a Christ follower, shouldn't I be enforcing a heterosexual lifestyle as a contingency to my relationship with Steve and his relationship with Jesus? Right? Right! Isn't that RIGHT?????

I lay awake that night on the massage table staring at the white lights thinking about the American church. Its head literally inserted in a giant ass when it comes to homosexuals. Hating gays ain't simply about the holes they’re attracted to. It's the fact that the church can't fix 'em. For centuries we've tried and tried and tried... and guess what? The Castro district is doing just fine. Maybe my need to fix Steve should be my need to love Steve. To lay myself down for him and serve him regardless of his attractions. Maybe it ain't my job to be the sex police as a  Christ follower and pass judgment on his sexuality. Maybe my job is to tell him Christ came as Reconciler. Maybe I should mind my own damn business and simply point him to the Word of God and teach him who Christ is, all the while hoping he'll do the same thing for someone else. Maybe the Holy Spirit is more powerful than me and my theological stupidity. Maybe I need to take a back seat to the most powerful entity in the known universe. Maybe I ain't God and I should act accordingly as I realize everyone has sinned and fallen short. Maybe we, the church, ain't the sex police. Maybe me loving Steve is simply being with him, giving him time while helping him past the insanity of an insane sinful past, maybe?

I fell asleep that night comfortable, more so than I had been in a long time.

It was quiet sobbing that woke me...  the kind people try to hide. I rolled over on my massage table and could see Steve through the sheer drapes. He was hunched over at his computer crying. "Hey man, you ok," I asked? "I’m sorry I woke you J.R.," He said quietly between tears. "Dude...You ok?" I asked again. Steve stood up wearing only shorts and a t-shirt and came toward the table. Now for the record, I sleep in my underwear. I'm not a naked sleeper and thank God that early morning I’m not. Steve stood at the bottom of the table and I sat up, no shirt, barley awake, confused about the crying and slowly realizing we were about to have a "moment." "I'm scared J.R., I have no one and no one has me." His head low and tears streaming down his face. Have ya ever had a moment in your life when you're looking down at yourself? Well... that moment… I had one. There was me on the gay porn star's masseur table, he's half nude and I'm in bed half nude holding my hand out for him to come onto the table so I can comfort the half nude gay porn star. "What the hell am I doing with my life," I'm thinking, "Man next time Jesus calls, I'm out!"

I grab Steve's hand pulled him close. He slid up onto the table and we embraced, he buries his head in my shoulder and I take a deep, deep, deep breath and go all in. I wrap my arms around him pulling him tight to me like I ain't ever gonna let go... right there in my arms on his table he lets years and years and years pour out of 'em slowly, methodically, gently, worshipfully... I'm rocking him, whispering, "God loves you buddy, God loves you so much... he loves you so much... Jesus, Jesus, Jesus..."

(peace... peace... peace...)

That basement apartment was peaceful, so deep and so welcomed. The tears, our tears, turned to laughter... it was freaking unbelievable.

For the first time in my walk with God it was abundantly clear what merciful and graceful love looked like. What dying for another means. It was me half naked with a gay porn star whose half naked embracing on a massage table in the middle of the night in the Castro District of San Francisco.

Steve and I mirrored Christ that night, except Jesus used a cross and we used a massage table.

Steve changed my life that night. God saved it. 

Today I talk to Steve not nearly as much as I’d like just enough to know he's living happily ever after... really, happily ever after.

Yes! He's still gay. I guess I failed and man, am I glad I did!