UNITED STATES
Huffington Post
Michael Bullock
“All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.”
This is the standard phrase that most publishers use to protect themselves against lawsuits. For my book Roman Catholic Jacuzzi, a story recounting my accidental discovery of a retreat for closeted gay Catholic priests, Brendan Dugan, owner of independent book publisher Karma (a name that could not be a better match), decided that it was important to do the exact opposite, proudly proclaiming “a true story” on the cover. Since the book launch last month, that is the question I’m asked the most: “Is it really true?” I explain that the only embellishment is in my in portrayal of the priests as both more attractive and more likeable than they were in reality.
In October 2010 I discovered the secret retreat where these priests meet in private once a year to let their hair down and be openly gay together for the week. I was not on a mission to find and expose such a retreat; I booked a cabin with the aim of being alone to concentrate on writing, and it happened to be at the same place and time as the priests. The disorganized resort allowed my stay without realizing what else they were hosting. As a gay former Catholic altar boy, I could not believe both the luck and horror of this discovery: Here I was, in the heart of the hypocrisy of the Catholic Church, face to face with gay men whose teachings give a moral backbone to homophobia and discrimination against their fellow gay and lesbian brothers and sisters, men who uphold a value system that made me feel terrible as a teenager and made the process of admitting to myself that I’m gay torture because of its unbearable moral dilemma: Repress your sexuality or be damned! I immediately knew how politically important this retreat was and wrote down my experience with the priests as it was happening. Roman Catholic Jacuzzi is the document of my weekend with these men, which resumed in their disco-drag party, during which I witnessed the hilarious irony of watching gay priests freak out on the dance floor to every Lady Gaga and Madonna hit, including “Like a Prayer.”
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