Secrets of a Gay Marine Porn Star. Rich Merritt
the Gay Men’s Chorus of Orange County. Bruce, Casey, Tanya, Ashleigh, Michael, Katherine, Eric, Jorge and Danny. USC Law School faculty, staff, students and GLLU. Heather. Brie. Terri and DeeAnn. Tracy and Harris. Kim, Jackie, Katie, Michael, Sasha, Mira, Mark, Kate and Annalyn. Galen and Rob. Amy. Barry, John, Rich, Sony, HT, Andrew, Pixie, John, Martin, Michael Mack, Mick, Diesel, Russ, Streeter, Tommy, Glen, Tony, Forrest, Rob, Alex, Jim, Vu, Tom, Andy, Brandon, Michael and Randy. “Dream” and Bob. Todd and Kevin. Mauricio, Milo, Tim, Alberto, Michelangelo, Mark. Israel. Norah, Graham, Tali, Kyle, Heather. Anne, Paul and Cole. Greg, John, Megan, Scott and Wayne. Oran, Shaun and Russ. “Donna Summers—Sometimes Catered, Sometimes Not.” Icebreakers. Jamie, Rob and Dawn. Many, many more.
Although most of my family will never understand why I wrote this book, they’ll just have to trust me when I say that I love them all very much, just as they are.
Finally, I owe a special thanks to Bob Jones for teaching me that absolute truth exists, and for launching me on my journey to discover it for myself.
Our secrets keep us sick.
—One of my therapists
CONTENTS
1: THE MARINE WHO WAS ALSO A PORN STAR
2: THE GOOD SON
3: BORN AGAIN AT BOB JONES
4: SHOW MY PEOPLE
5: LIFE IS A STAGE
6: LIFE’S BASIC TRAINING
7: OUTSIDE THE FORTRESS
8: SEX AND ASSAULT
9: BARRACKS SEX
10: HIDING IN PLAIN SIGHT
11: DON’T ASK, DON’T TELL
12: CROSSING THE LINE
13: MAKING PORN
14: SMITTEN
15: CREATING A FUTURE WITH A PAST
16: CHEATING
17: FAME, NOTORIETY, CONTROVERSY
18: CIRCUIT BOY
19: ROCK BOTTOM
20: SIGNS OF HOPE
21: BAD FAITH; GOOD FAITH
22: APOCALYPSE
23: OUTSIDE THE PERIMETER
24: THE HEALING
EPILOGUE
1
THE MARINE WHO WAS ALSO A PORN STAR
I didn’t expect the article to be a story about me. I honestly didn’t. I thought it was going to be a story about my friends, about this group of guys and how we all stuck together, and how we always tried to be there for each other.
The New York Times Magazine had assigned a young, freelance writer named Jennifer Egan to write about what day-to-day life was like for those of us in the military living under the “Don’t ask, don’t tell” policy. About how we felt trapped in this kind of no man’s land. The article would reveal how we were not necessarily a part of the military community because we were gay—there was always that distinction. Yet we were not completely part of the gay community either, because we were in the military. We were caught in the middle. But at least we had each other. That’s how we all felt and that’s what I hoped the story would convey.
In researching the story Jennifer contacted the Service Members Legal Defense Network (SLDN), an organization out of Washington which provides free legal services for anyone in the military facing an investigation, charges, or any problem with the “Don’t ask, don’t tell” policy. Jennifer asked SLDN for assistance in locating military people who would be willing to talk about their experiences. Since southern California has a heavy concentration of military personnel, Jennifer decided to conduct some interviews in San Diego.
I was an active-duty Marine stationed at Camp Pendleton, just north of San Diego, and had been writing op-ed pieces for the Navy Times. I had recently written this one piece which suggested that “Don’t ask, don’t tell” should be repealed. That caught the attention of SLDN. I had also been previously introduced to Tim Carter, the co-chair of the organization. Tim contacted me and said, “We’re going to put a New York Times reporter, Jennifer Egan, in touch with you; is that okay?”
I said, “Sure.” I thought it would be great to be part of a story that would reach so many readers.
“This journalist is looking for a model of the military,” Carter added. “A poster child.”
I wasn’t exactly sure she’d find that representation in me but I thought there was a good chance she’d see that image in one of the people I planned to introduce her to. I was aware, however, that a “poster boy” was at least a part of who I was. At that time I had attained the rank of captain and I was a commanding officer, the most sought-after position in the Marine Corps. My assignment just before I became a battery commander had been a general’s aide-de-camp, a very high-profile and demanding position that gave me a lot of connections I could use down the road when it came time for promotions and other selections. So the trustworthy, hardworking, reliable Marine was certainly one role I fit into.
The romantic homosexual in a loving relationship was another. I had already gone through my wild period, or so I thought. By now I had been with my partner, Brandon, for almost three years and I was trying very hard to make a committed relationship work.
But we all go to bed with our secrets. Let’s face it, most of us are many personality types dwelling in one body, showing various sides of ourselves to different people as we see fit. I was aware that the Times was not digging for the sordid lives that many of us lead in one way or another. They were looking for the golden boy, the guy you always imagine when you hear about gay men in the military. So I thought, Fine, I’ll present them with that image of myself.
At the time I did not realize just how expert I was at slipping on different masks. My background had trained me well for projecting whatever image was expected of me. My deep dark secret, the thing that would be considered part of my “sordid” hidden life (and the issue that would set in motion the unfathomable ordeal that would soon follow) was the fact that I had appeared in porn films four years earlier. Eight of them. As hard as it is to believe now, at the time I really didn’t think that my brief fling with the porno industry was pertinent to the story because, as I said, I had no idea the story was going to focus on me. All I kept thinking about was, Finally someone is going to tell our story—what being gay in the military is like for us.
There was a precondition that the interviewees for the Times story were to be anonymous. Jennifer explained that the New York Times would not give us fake names, but that we could go by one initial. We could pick whatever letter we wanted. I decided to use my real initial. In the article I would be identified as “R.”
I went down to Jennifer’s hotel in Coronado to pick her up, and she and I bonded instantly. We had rapport. She’s very quiet, somewhat timid, but a genuinely warm, receptive person. Plus, my longtime reserve had me longing to be forthcoming about so many things. I had so much inside of me, all these ideas and emotions bottled up about what living under this policy was like. I started spilling my guts out. Yet, the whole time I was talking to her, in the back of my head was the porn thing. I could almost hear an audible debate going on between my opposing selves. It was as if one part of me was saying, “I’ve been in porno movies.” And the other was saying, “But don’t tell her, because if you do, you won’t be part of the Times story.” That was the part that won out.
Soon after our interview, I set up a dinner for Jennifer to meet about twelve of my military friends at a house in San Diego. The fact that she witnessed firsthand how we were a support system for each other is what planted in my head that the story was going to be about all of us. I had no idea how much of the focus of the story would be on me and how much of her article would talk about my friends. I was completely unaware of what Jennifer would use or how I would