I wrote this in response to an ad I found on Craig’s list for Christian singles to write articles about dating. The poster requested from all applicants an explanation of how they came to their faith. So I made one up. I hope I got the gig.
Dear Fellow Bachelors And Bachelorettes Of Christ,
I saw your advert on Craig’s List, and I am very interested. I am a single Christian male in the Year of our Lord two thousand and twelve. I must admit that it is a bit ironic that I would come across your listing on Craig’s List, as my spiritual journey has been a long and difficult one that has also involved Craig’s List. You see, brothers and sisters, I was once an inveterate sinner who once used the Adult Services section as a means of supporting my licentious and libertine lifestyle. Allow me to explain.
I have been told that I am devilishly handsome, which I used to take as a great compliment; however, now I see that there is absolutely nothing handsome about Satan and his underhanded trickery, and I now prefer to be referred to as angelically attractive. I say this not out of arrogance, but because it is important to my story. You see, I was once a misguided youth. I attended a public and atheistic university. I read science textbooks. I even dabbled in rock ‘n’ roll. In other words, I was hopelessly lost, to the point where I found myself a college graduate without any prospects of securing a well-paying job and paying back my oppressive student loan debt. I found myself broke and alone, overeducated and under-qualified. What was a poor young sinner to do?
I stumbled upon the idea one day whilst reading the newspaper. One of the nasty habits I had picked up at the communist college I had attended was reading liberal rags daily. (Now, thank God, I have discovered FOX News and the 700 Club.) There was an article about women (single mothers in particular) who had resorted to escort work via the Adult Services section of Craig’s List in order to supplement their income. They blamed all sorts of things for their decision: the sorry state of the economy, wanting to feed their children, the volatile mortgage market and the desire to stay in their homes, and all sorts of other cop outs. I should have seen then that it was merely the devil working through them and nothing more, but I was young, dumb, broke, and desperate. So I thought to myself that surely I was attractive enough to do the same thing. I had loose morals and an even looser waistband, so I endeavored upon my new demonic calling as a male escort.
I could regale and repulse you with countless tales of sexual misadventure, but I will spare you the shameful rentboy raconteurism, as I am a Christian now and I try not to think about such things. However, I must relate one particular incident, as it is responsible for my spiritual conversion.
After being in the illicit fornication racket for about forty days, I came upon an ad that looked like easy money to me: “ATTRACTIVE YOUNG MALE NEEDED FOR FILM ROLL: COSTUME AND COMPENSATION PROVIDED.” Well, I was certainly young and male, and I had been told I was attractive, so I replied to the ad. Via email correspondence, a meeting time and place were arranged.
I showed up as agreed, and was led into a dimly lit apartment by an older man. Imagine my surprise when I saw that the apartment floor was covered in sand and that there were fake palm trees everywhere. Now, picture my further exasperation when I saw that the only other person present was a young man dressed like Jesus Christ. When I asked the older man (we will call him Solomon) what the deal was, he explained that he wanted to film a video based on the story of Jesus’ temptation by Satan in the desert. Except in Solomon’s version, this temptation would degenerate into sordid homosexual acts between the savior and the deceiver. Before I could say another word, he handed me a bag and directed me to a bathroom down the hall. He told me to hurry up and get changed because his wife would be home in a couple of hours.
So there I was, standing in front of a bathroom mirror and looking at my reflection all dressed up in a skintight, red devil costume complete with horns. I even had a pencil thin villainous mustache at the time, so I looked particularly nefarious. But the most bizarre part of the wardrobe was the little name tag that was affixed to the chest: “HELLO, MY NAME IS LUCIFER.” It was so surreal of a scene that I didn’t even have a chance to think about whether or not I should go through with it or not. By this point in my career, being with another man wasn’t so big of a deal, but he was dressed like Jesus; even though I was a staunch atheist, there was something a little off-putting about that. Maybe it was the crown of thorns. To be honest, my main concern at the time was money. Realizing that I had not negotiated the terms of payment, the first thing I did when I emerged from the restroom was ask Solomon (who was very impressed by the diabolical figure I cut in my getup) how much he planned on paying me.
A sly smile danced across the aging man’s lips as he looked me square in the face: “Six hundred and sixty-six dollars, which I believe is more than fair. But you’ll have to forgive me, because thirty of them are silver dollars. I’m sure you don’t mind.”
It was at the point that I realized I had inadvertently found myself on the devil’s porn set.
My mind was reeling. I looked at the scene before me and a million thoughts raced through my head at once: Could I, a destitute and desperate degenerate, go through with this? Could I sell my soul (and my body) for such a paltry pittance? What would Jesus do (not the sexy porn Jesus in front of me, but the carpenter from Nazareth)? It was all too much for me, and everything went black.
The next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital wing of the county jail. My devilish skin suit had been replaced by a blue smock, and my head hurt like hell. Apparently, I had lit out of the apartment at breakneck speed, screaming about Satan and demons and Sodom and Gomorrah. When the police finally caught up with me seven blocks later, I was babbling incoherently and foaming at the mouth; to top it off, my private parts were flailing about in the open, as I had attempted to claw my devil’s disguise off of me in my frenzied flight from that sacrilegious scene. It took twelve police officers to bring me down.
While I narrowly avoided being convicted as a sex offender, it was all worth it. I saw the metaphorical light in that dingy apartment that day. I surrendered my life to Jesus Christ in that hospital wing with the jail chaplain, a nurse, and two corrections officers as my witnesses. I haven’t worked as a rent boy since then, and while I am now homeless, broke, and starving, I am able to get by with the strength that Jesus has given me.
While I am unable to afford what most Christian ladies would consider a date, I believe that my contributions to your publication would be unrivaled; therefore, I propose that we work out some sort of agreement that provides for a monetary advancement. This way, I could show my dates a real good, clean time instead of, say, taking them for an extensive tour of the best dumpsters in the city to forage food from. I believe this is a fair and mutually beneficial proposal.
I look forward to our working relationship.
Yours In Christ,
Damascus Rhodes, PhD
P.S. If it takes me a while to respond to any correspondence, it is likely because I have run out of quarters to use the computers at the public library. Either that, or I’m on a hot date. Just kidding! God bless.