The Gift, The Curse & My Escape from Sodom
If you ever want to get girls, sing. It works better than the magic of Siegfried & Roy. And that, my friends, is how I got into a mess that derailed my secular music career, turned my life upside down, and could have very well cost me eternal life. Satan took something as innocent as the gift of music and molded it for his glory. Too spiritually dumb and arrogant to recognize I was being played, the curse eventually caught up to me and almost killed me.
My 1st performance in secular music consisted of a keyboard, 2 rappers, dancers, a standing ovation, an award, and a girl waiting for me backstage. A year or 2 later, I found myself singing in a female R&B group in Boston, MA. The leader of the group was well connected. She knew famous people – not gospel famous but the kind of famous atheists are impressed with. By then my boyfriend, who would become a platinum musician, suspected something and had left me but tried to remain a friend as he saw me heading in the wrong direction. I needed her connections and she needed another lover. I’m not sure why. I found out later she had plenty.
As I gained my music education at Berklee College of Music, she taught me another curriculum. It consisted of homosexuality, drugs, pornography, and the one thing it took so long to shake – cross-dressing. One night, with a snap of her fingers, I found myself going from dorm room to mansion in the company of a record producer who had sold over 100 million dollars in records. My new lover had already begun to model me after one of his female singers. A powerhouse vocalist whose career never broke, this woman was bold, talented, and could switch from skirt to tuxedo in the blink of an eye. Before long I had adopted a fade and thrown away my dresses. My journey living as a male had begun.
Boston is expensive. I had no real income. Neither did my lover but we lived in a loft on the Charles River. The average Bostonian could work 3 jobs and still not afford this place but with a connected girlfriend, I didn’t have to work. There was weed galore, XTC neverending, and an ongoing stream of famous people in and out of our lives. She peddled whatever men of power in the music industry needed. One mogul, arguably the biggest producer of female vocal talent in music history, was not yet out of the closet so his male lover would pay her thousands to pose as a girlfriend. My eyes just weren’t on Jesus anymore. They were on power and fame.
There was the Tony award winner who lived at the Ritz Carlton, the lesbian print magnate who traveled to Hawaii like it was up the street, and the platinum R&B star who held his famous wife’s hand in public but called our loft in private. By the time XTC hit Boston in the late 90’s I had a degree, a bad relationship, and a ticket back home to Houston.
Within a year of arriving in Houston, I was enjoying a healthy buzz in the gay community. I was filmed in the award-winning documentary, “Pick Up the Mic” and ended up on MTV Logo. People traveled far and wide to hear me sing and you can bet I had a lot of women. 5 years later, I no longer needed a record deal because I had a wealthy businessman funding my music. I was the top female DJ in Houston, was on national TV, singing in Manhattan on New Year’s Eve, and writing rhymes on a jet while traveling to the Toronto International Film Festival. Finally, the major labels began to call. I was so close.
Really the wheelchair was the beginning of the end and the beginning of the beginning. I was vain so you can imagine what it felt like to slowly resemble Gollum from Lord of the Rings. Crooked hands, frail limbs, and most certainly a broken future did not sit well with me. The deals, the gigs, the popularity snatched away via diagnosis, courtesy of God – a diagnosis I still live with today. The only things remaining after the verdict of muscular dystrophy? God, family, and women.
I made a terrible “husband” – ugh – I hate even saying the word but that is what I was to her. I said I’d always be gay and we’d be married but one day, God gave me a choice. “Leave her and I will help you,” He said. So, begrudgingly, I left. I sang gospel in men’s clothing and the body of Christ still embraced me. They didn’t seem to care that I was in a wheelchair or three-piece men’s suits. The Christians I thought would hate me actually loved me. Before long, I was singing 10 times more than I had ever sung before.
In no time God had me in the company of gospel’s greats, back on national TV and my testimony was on its way to being read, shared, and heard by millions of people. I’m not always happy being crippled but I’m comfortable, so much so that I no longer lose sleep over walking again. If it’s not His will, I’m okay with that.
So that’s how I got into Sodom and how I got out. Pleasure got me in. Pain got me out. Where is my life headed? I don’t know but you’re reading these words so let’s not worry about where I’m headed but rather where I’ve been and how God has used that for His glory. Besides, my glory doesn’t compare to His. Blessings, – M.