chapter twenty-five
Innocence Shattered
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Each calendar month seemed to go by faster than the last. And still I waited. I obtained my masters and began work as a mental health therapist. Wade married his beloved and had two or three children. And still I waited. I remembered the dreams and visions of my wife and children. But with each passing year, it felt more and more like a distant unfulfilled childhood fantasy.
I roomed with two different skateboarders and worked as a traveling social worker. I spent the hours in-between sessions journaling life events, hoping the dreams of her, whoever she was, would not fade away. I did not want to lose her. And I did not want to die lonely.
But with each passing year, it felt more and more like a distant unfulfilled childhood fantasy.
In small groups, I struggled to relate to the other men recanting their week’s sexual impurity soaked in pornography and lust. I never understood the attraction to pornography. Naked bodies glorified through a computer screen seemed like a strange way to spend your time. Despite how strange it was to me, it seemed every man had wrestled with the taboo activity. In secrecy, I wondered if I had missed my entry into manhood. I half-heartedly prayed for them, not out of pride but a sense of isolation for not understanding the every man’s struggle.
I waited... impatiently.
As darker clouds rolled in and the temperatures grew colder, I found myself spending more time at home than not. Heavy snowfall isolated me to a third story apartment overlooking north Lexington with a week of cancelled therapy appointments resulting in no pay. With roommates away and plans cancelled, I fell into boredom, frustration, and isolation, and in the midst of that I discovered the every man’s struggle. A full weekend of unfortunate sexual discovery.
Twenty-nine years of waiting sacrificed during a lonely, snowed-in weekend.
The secret did not stay within me. I knew enough to confess the badge of shame I wished I had never discovered. I now understood how the addiction could grab your neck, choke you until you thought you were dead, and let you regain composure only to choke you again.
Twenty-nine years of waiting sacrificed during a lonely, snowed-in weekend.
In an effort to alleviate any shame, I took up running half marathons. I ran my first with a German graduate student and neighbor who is a close friend to this day. The following fall I decided to run my second half marathon along with an overnight team race called the Bourbon Chase.
With minimal effort, I ran slightly better than the average amateur long distance runner. And gratefully I got some relief from bouts of depression and the every man’s struggle.
Running gave me the kind of concrete results I lacked in the abstract social work world I practiced in. As a social worker, I could never tell if my clients made strides towards healthiness until months or years later. As a runner, I could see results through the increasing distances I ran and weight I lost.
As a result of poor planning, I ran two half marathons within a week of each other. Afterwards, I struggled to bend my knees or walk up the stairs to our third floor apartment. Every part of me ached. I scheduled a massage to help release the muscle tension and let my body recover.
I had stumbled upon a way to get that need met without making my friends uncomfortable.
A week later, I stepped into the third story massage therapy office. The front desk gave me an application to fill out. I included my demographic information, areas on my body that needed the most work and any other pertinent information. A dark haired, bearded man took me to one of the rooms, gave me brief instructions and exited the room. A few minutes later, he knocked on the door, gave me a massage and left again to allow me to put clothes on.
Throughout the entire massage, I prayed. I had not been touched, even by a handshake, in weeks. And in a strange way, it felt like I found a way to get a simple need met. Multiple male friends had asked before if I needed anything. Fearlessly, I would answer I needed a hug when I saw them, only to be met by a concerned face, and the question would never be asked again. It seemed I had stumbled upon a way to get that need met without making my friends uncomfortable.
I exited the massage room to be greeted by the massage therapist. He mentioned he had his own studio in town, gave me his card and said maybe I could schedule my next appointment there. He sought to get out of this studio and increase his own business instead of having a portion of his wages go to someone else.
Innocently, I scheduled the next appointment at the new location.
Innocently, I scheduled the next appointment at the new location.
Ten or so days later, the same routine occurred, but this time at his studio. My appointment was at ten and I had planned to meet one of my roommates, Gideon, during his lunch break afterwards. I filled out an application, instructions were given, he left, I undressed, placed a sheet over myself and waited for him to return. Up to that point nothing had changed from the previous appointment.
But when he returned to the room to get started, he asked to play the new Adele album during the session. I said I enjoyed her music, so he played the album on his iPhone through his Bluetooth speakers and began his work.
And like before, I continuously prayed during the session. I prayed against any lustful thought, I prayed for friends, for myself, for the massage therapist - anything that came to mind - and tried to relax.
Half way through the ninety minutes, he asked me to roll over. I did and continued to pray over myself.
We ended up in a place I had not intended.
Somehow, he misinterpreted my comments about what felt good. The internal praying subsided as I zoned out while he crossed a massage therapist-client boundary. My body froze as he took advantage of the situation and we ended up in a place I had not intended.
Abruptly, Adele stopped singing over the bluetooth speaker. Only the air conditioner hummed over us as he finished what he had started.
Twenty minutes later, it felt like I woke up again.
In twenty minutes, thirty years of purity disappeared. In twenty minutes, thirty years of waiting seemed stolen. In twenty minutes, defeat took over, dreams disappeared.
In twenty minutes, it felt like the world had caved in and somehow I could still say I had never been kissed.
He cleaned both of us. We both dressed. He chatted about how much he liked me and explicitly complimented my body. I sat silently and anxiously waited for his phone to charge, so I could pay him. He asked a few questions about my life, which I answered briefly, and then asked me to tell no one about what had happened because it could ruin his business. In fear, I agreed. I finally paid and walked down the hall to him saying, “See you soon!”
I even had to pay for my first, but unwanted, sexual experience.
In shock, I sat waiting at a local restaurant for Gideon to show up. I wrestled over and over again with how I could have let this happen. I felt dirty and used. I even had to pay for my first, but unwanted, sexual experience. What kind of man was I? I had thrown it all away. Gideon joyfully entered the restaurant and, in a very Gideon sort of way, greeted me with “Sup dude?”
I shook my head in disbelief. Gideon’s tone quickly changed as he asked if everything was alright. I shook my head no and tried to explain what happened. In the middle of the conversation, the massage therapist walked in to pick up his to-go order.
“That’s him.”
I tilted my head in the man’s direction. Gideon’s pupils grew bigger as he looked at him and then back at me.
“Bro, I’m so sorry. Let’s get out of here.”
The days and weeks ahead turned darker. I met friends, even a pastor, and tried to explain what happened, only to be asked how I had provoked him because I must have done something to get that kind of attention. I withdrew from community as the every man’s struggle pulled me deeper and deeper into a pit. A few hundred dollars from a recent paycheck purchased hours of internet porngraphy leading me into self destruction.
I withdrew from community as the every man’s struggle pulled me deeper and deeper into a pit.
I received text messages, voicemails and letters from him. Each one was deleted, blocked and thrown away until all communication eventually stopped. Each one was a reminder of the innocence I thought I had. An innocence that was now left shattered.
Thirty years of purity gone. Thirty years of waiting gone. Any dream or vision of her and the kids disappeared.
In the midst of my sexual brokenness, spiritual warfare heightened and suicidal thoughts came once again. I wouldn’t harm myself again. Offing myself never seemed to work anyways, so instead I sat in my shame.
The most ironic part of it all, I had less than four months before heading on my first missions trip since leaving Costa Rica.
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