Tag: Michael King

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From the Pulpit by Michael King

Not too long after I got my divorce from my first wife I allowed myself to have male appreciation fantasies. I had curiosities since I had not done the showers, etc. that most guys do in P.E. in Jr. High and High School because I was exempt due to asthma. I had seen a few naked guys briefly but not enough to have my curiosity satisfied. I also had confusion regarding religion. Having had some personal spiritual experiences, my religious beliefs were not well thought out and seemed problematic with anything homosexual. But I was becoming increasingly intrigued with masculine appreciation and had desires to explore further
One Sunday my son and I decided to go to church. We hadn’t done that before and I also felt that he and I needed to spend more time together, just the two of us. The church we went to was the Episcopal Church in Honolulu near where we lived. It was quite ornate and definitely High Church.

I don’t know if the speaker was a priest, but I was totally fascinated by his appearance, especially his forearm and elbow.

I had never before looked at an arm in the way I was seeing his. I was totally turned on by his arm as he was gesturing to emphasize his talk. He was also good looking and seemed to be in good shape. He also was probably in his thirties or maybe late twenties.

This new experience created both emotional and intellectual conflict as well as religious and spiritual confusion. I still think this new fascination with a man’s forearm and elbow was the kind of peek experience that I can look back on as a turning point in my life. I don’t have any idea what the sermon was about, but it was from the pulpit that I first dared to let myself imagine any uncensored fascination with the male body.

It took many years for me to be relaxed about my interests or to let myself be free to fully explore the wonders of masculine beauty.

Now forty years later I am open, unashamed and thoroughly enjoy forearms, elbows, and lots and lots of other body parts and am free to do so all day long, including my dreams, my fantasies and my love life.

About the Author 

I go by the drag name, Queen Anne Tique. My real name is Michael King. I am a gay activist who finally came out of the closet at age 70. I live with my lover, Merlyn, in downtown Denver, Colorado. I was married twice, have 3 daughters, 5 grandchildren and a great grandson. Besides volunteering at the GLBT Center and doing the SAGE activities,” Telling your Story”,” Men’s Coffee” and the “Open Art Studio”. I am active in Prime Timers and Front Rangers. I now get to do many of the activities that I had hoped to do when I retired; traveling, writing, painting, doing sculpture, cooking and drag.

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No Good Will Come of It by Michael King


I don’t
think that statement, title or subject is true. My philosophy is very
different. I think that given the really, really big picture that good comes
from all things, all disasters, all terrorist activities to name enough to get
a few raised eyebrows and a few smirks. In all the happenings including the
most horrific, there will be those whose lives will have been changed or redirected
thus having the potential to influence others with the growth promotion and
maturity that comes with life changing experiences. Good has a way of
accompanying all experience. Humans can profit from others’ experiences.
Now from a
narrow perspective, as the mortals on this planet have such a long way to go to
actualize the idealism that might resemble the potentials of a perfect world,
we see evil and iniquity, graft and corruption, lies and propaganda, dirty
politics and corrupt corporations, vice and prejudice, hatred and subjugation;
I could go on. From this perspective there is great difficulty to see where
good can or will come of these kinds of effects on people’s lives.
We seem to
think that the victims of this world are deprived of something. They are,
however in the larger picture, there is only good. There is only the eventual
achievement of perfection.
And I will
define the perfection that I am talking about. I was an art therapist at a
residential treatment center for asthmatics and had as many as 110 kids doing
arts and crafts at any given time. One day the kids were working with clay,
this is probably the best therapeutic tools for hand-eye coordination an area
where many asthmatics as children didn’t develop as other kids did. In child
development in which I had much training, this deficiency is very common with
childhood asthma.  Using clay to create
an image of one’s desire is the challenge. 
This was a very successful program of which I am very proud. The results
were life changing for those residents. As I observed a room full of kids
working with clay to achieve an imagined result there was total silence. I saw
that every child was in a state of perfection relative to his or her ability
and capability to visualize and each of them was totally focused on the desired
result. That was a moment that brought about a major revelation in my life.
Perfection is relative.
I know that
it may take an eternity to understand that there is only good, only truth, only
love, only beauty, therefore as we have a challenging experience or see the reports
of disasters, etc. I have to see that in the long run eventually only good
exists and only for the growth potential that is the purpose of all experience.

So you now
see why only good will comes of it. I am not without having had numerous
disastrous and greatly challenging experiences. I only see the goodness, the
truth, the beauty and the superficial ugliness around me. I see those who
struggle without hope. You see reports of disasters on almost a daily
basis.  No good will come of it is a
pessimistic and unrealistic way to look at things when a much higher and more
optimistic opportunity is staring us in our face. I now have only good in my
life. Where I came from was quite the opposite and so were my confused
beliefs.  Previously I never thought any
good would come out of it when I was totally devastated. That happens but it is
always temporary. Right now is the opportunity to be the most positive and to
claim superb self-respect, the secret of maturity, happiness and maturation. In
all situations good will always come of it, we need only to view from that
perspective and develop that outlook. Our experiences will then have a depth
and meaning that expands our consciousness, enrichens our lives and gives
meaning to existence. 
© 6 May 2013

About the Author


I go by the drag name, Queen Anne Tique. My real name is Michael King. I am a gay activist who finally came out of the closet at age 70. I live with my lover, Merlyn, in downtown Denver, Colorado. I was married twice, have 3 daughters, 5 grandchildren and a great grandson. Besides volunteering at the GLBT Center and doing the SAGE activities,” Telling your Story”,” Men’s Coffee” and the “Open Art Studio”. I am active in Prime Timers and Front Rangers. I now get to do many of the activities that I had hoped to do when I retired; traveling, writing, painting, doing sculpture, cooking and drag.


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SPECIAL EDITION: PRIDEFEST

Today’s Special Edition presents stories from three authors.


Breaking into Gay Culture

by Michael King

It was a little over 4 years ago that I got the nerve to go to the Gay Pride activities at Civic Center. I had gone about 15 years ago and ran into someone that I knew and at that time I was so far in the closet that I couldn’t admit even to myself that I was fascinated and curious about the gay culture. Having seen someone that recognized me freaked me out. So after all those intervening years, I finally got up enough nerve to check things out again. My problem wasn’t with being gay, but with other peoples’ reactions. But now I was retired and my only concern would be my kids’ reactions. I figured it didn’t matter much at this point in my life now that they were grown. But I saw no point in saying anything unless I had a lover. I didn’t know much about gay culture and was uncomfortable with going to bars, straight or gay. And for the most part I was unaware of the gay activities and groups where I might meet others and learn about these things.

So I leisurely strolled around Civic Center Park and observed, but without much understanding of the goings on. I was approached by this elderly man who handed me a green card about a luncheon held on Wednesdays with a group of gay men called the Prime Timers. The little gentleman I later got to know. His name was Francis Acres and I credit him with opening the door for me to discover a part of myself that was yearning for expression and acknowledgement. At the time I thanked Francis for the invitation and stuck the green card in my pocket fully intending to trash it when I got home. However just as I was about to throw it in the garbage I looked at it again. Suddenly it seemed like it was the thing I had hoped for. I called the telephone number on the card and left a message for someone to call me with more information. I didn’t get a response. On Wednesday I called the 20th St Cafe where the “Nooners” luncheon was held and found out the time it started. Not knowing how long it would take by bus, I got there quite early. Don Harvey and Jim Michaels were there, greeted me and explained the procedure for buying the lunch and some information about the group. I watched as the members came in and had my first exposure to a gay activity. By the third Wednesday I joined Prime Timers and have been going to events and activities ever since. I started going to the Monday “Coffee Tyme” where last year, I met my lover. Slowly I was feeling more and more comfortable with the group activities and discovered that many older men had also been married, raised children and came out late in life. Others have always been gay while a couple of the guys I met were not only out, but still married. I was no longer the only one with a family and straight friends. I got involved in The Denver Church, later to be known as The Center for Spiritual Living-Denver. And about 2 1/2 years ago, I started going to activities at the GLBT Center. 

         When I met my first lover at “Nooners,” I finally told my kids. A surprise to me, they all said that they had always known. My oldest daughter said, “I knew you were gay before you did! Ha, ha, ha.”

          Now on Mondays we go to the Telling Your Story group, of which this writing is for this week. On Tuesdays is the Men’s Coffee group. Wednesdays is “Nooners,” Thursdays I go to The Open Art Studio and on Fridays I volunteer at the front desk.  “Nooners” on Wednesday and The Center for Spiritual Living on Sundays are the only regular activities not at the GLBT Center. Of course there are other activities now and then, some monthly, others only one time events, others a few times a year. We also belong to the Colorado Front Rangers.

          I’m now experiencing one of the most rewarding and happy periods of my life. I am very comfortable being myself and doing things I would never have done in the past. I went to the celebration of the repeal of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” with my two lovers dressed in drag, fulfilling a fantasy I have had for a long time. I rode sitting on the back of convertibles in two Gay Pride Parades, waving like the queen that I have become. Last month I had 4 outfits, including 4 wigs and 3 pairs of shoes as I participated as Queen Anne Tique in The Gray Stocking Review. I am recognized by people that I don’t remember meeting because I’m almost always wearing large and often unusual gages. Gages is the name the kids use for body jewelry worn in piercings. Many of mine are 0 gage. I only wear 6 gages in my nipples. I also have a few tattoos, even though there is nothing particularly gay about that.

          A comment that I make perhaps too often is, “I was born a king, but it took me 70 years to become the queen I am today!”

          When interviewed by Channel 4 after the vote to repeal “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,” I looked so gay, it even surprised me when I saw it on the news. The anchor introduced the interview with this statement, “Michael King, a gay activist.” When I heard that remark, I realized that I now have a mission. I will let everyone know that I love being myself. So I guess that by now, I’ve truly broken into gay culture almost totally and feel so wonderful for having done so.

Except for Sunday, Thursday and Friday, while I am either at one or the other Centers and while Merlyn is at the Gym, both of us are always together.

About the Author

I go by the drag name, Queen Anne Tique. My real name is Michael King. I am a gay activist who finally came out of the closet at age 70. I live with my lover, Merlyn, in downtown Denver, Colorado. I was married twice, have 3 daughters, 5 grandchildren and a great grandson. Besides volunteering at the GLBT Center and doing the SAGE activities,” Telling your Story”,” Men’s Coffee” and the “Open Art Studio”. I am active in Prime Timers and Front Rangers. I now get to do many of the activities that I had hoped to do when I retired; traveling, writing, painting, doing sculpture, cooking and drag.

Exaggeration 

by Pat Gourley

In thinking about this word I realized that it is something that I have many times been accused of when acting my most “queenly” and uninhibited. I do though think that exaggeration may be an innate queer quality that has certainly in the past and continues today to serve us well. I am not sure that what is really happening in my more exaggerated moments, and this would be true for the queer world at large, would not more accurately be described as exuberance.

If I might take the liberty to use an example I see often around this [storytellers] table it would be Michael’s earrings. One could easily view these wonderful adornments as certainly exaggerated and quite over the top. I choose to view them as an example of his exuberance for life.

[Editor’s comment: Refer back to the picture of today’s first author above to see Michael’s earrings.]

Early on especially for young gay men and women it is often exaggerated tones of voice, hand gestures, clothing choices and body English that seem almost to be expressed unconsciously that attracts the attention of the straight world. It is viewed as something quite queer by our hetero parents, siblings etc. but for us most often it is something arising from our very souls and seems to us to be quite a natural expression. Something not contemplated or premeditated but simply expressed spontaneously.

What is “reparative therapy” for example in part but the attempt to squash our innate sense of exaggeration or our true sense of exuberance for life? Usually it is men who fall into these programs and are encouraged to be aware of speech and hand movements to tone it down and present themselves in more manly and subdued fashion.

A personal example of my own “exaggeration” I suppose could be the gardens I have planted over the years, often over the top and full of color. If you knew what you were looking for you could simply walk down the block and spot the queer house many feet away. I wasn’t trying to exaggerate but merely was expressing my exuberance for brightly colored plants and lots of them. Oh, and I have an extensive collection of purses that I hope I still carry most often in a very fey manner.

How else but through exaggeration do you breakthrough the soul-crushing curtain of heterosexuality that smothers us all from cradle to grave? Particularly, the exaggeration of difference becomes vital in forming our queer identities. Subtly does not get one very far.

A perfect example of productive exaggeration to refer to this month is our annual celebration of the Stonewall Riots. This momentous event of course occurred at the Stonewall Inn in Greenwich Village NYC in the early morning hours of June 28th, 1969. This action was started and sustained for three days by the most exuberant members of our community, drag queens. Wikipedia defines a drag queen as: “…males who dress and act in a female gender role, often exaggerating certain characteristics (such as make-up and eyelashes) for comic, dramatic or satirical effect.” (Emphasis mine)

One of the most poignant descriptions of that event is in Larry Mitchell’s iconic tome from 1977 The Faggots & Their Friends Between Revolutions.

Action Fierce Against the Men

One warm and rainy night, the faggots and their friends were gathered in one of their favorite cellars dancing and stroking each other gently. Suddenly, the men, armed with categories in their minds and guns in their hands, appeared at the door. The faggots, true to their training for survival, scrammed out the back windows, up into the alley and out into the anonymous night. The queens, unable to scram in their gold lame and tired of just surviving, stayed. They waited until boldness and fear made them resourceful. Then, armed with their handbags and their high heels, let out a collective shriek heard round the world and charged the men. The sound, one never heard before, unnerved the men long enough for the queens to get into the streets. And once on the streets, their turf, mayhem broke out. The word went out and from all over the devastated city, queens moved onto the streets, armed, to shout and fight. The faggots seeing smoke, cautiously came out of hiding and joyously could hardly believe what they saw. Elegant, fiery, exuberant queens were tearing up the street, building barricades, delivering insults, daring the men.

So they joined the queens and for three days and three nights the queens and their friends told the men, in every way they knew how, to fuck off.

(Larry Mitchell, The Faggots and Their Friends Between Revolutions, 1977. The book is long out of print but a few used copies can be found and a PDF version is available on line.)

Let’s not forget this Pride 2013 as Larry Mitchell so eloquently states in his book; “it’s been a long time since the last revolutions and the faggots and their friends are still not free.”

Denver, June 2013

About the Author

I was born in La Porte Indiana in 1949, raised on a farm and schooled by Holy Cross nuns. The bulk of my adult life, some 40 plus years, was spent in Denver, Colorado as a nurse, gardener and gay/AIDS activist. I am currently back in Denver after an extended sabbatical in San Francisco, California.



Gay Pride 

by Phillip Hoyle

Kalo sat cross legged watching the Gay Pride Parade on East Colfax as GLBT floats, dancers, marchers, banners, balloons, and bands made their way from Cheesman Park to the Civic Center. It was his third Gay Pride Parade, the event his dad claimed to be the best parade he’d ever seen, combining the intimacy of small-town acquaintance with the glitz of big-city resources. This time Kalo was alone with his grandpa and a few of his grandpa’s friends. It was a new adventure, the capstone to a week of art experiences in the big city. While making plans for the week I, his grandfather, told his mother we could include the gay parade. She said that was just fine. Kalo agreed, so he and I joined the crowd to see the spectacle and to visit the festival on the mall below the Colorado State Capitol building.

Ten-year-old-cool-man Kalo experienced a day of surprises that he watched with fascination, yet without alarm. His perfect visual memory recorded events and impressions that he seemed to treasure. When Kalo returned to Missouri, he told his parents a number of the highlights—the diverse crowd, the gathering of punk-rock lesbians, the woman who wasn’t wearing a shirt, the body painting, the drag queens, and more—but when his dad asked about the parade, Kalo said it wasn’t as good as the other ones he had seen.

“Why?” his dad asked.

“There were too many beer ads.”

Beer was there—everywhere—in the parade, along the route, and at the festival; everywhere folk slurping, swigging, sloshing, and spilling beer. Whether or not the kid saw all the full and quickly emptying cups I don’t know. He did notice the floats with fifteen-foot-high pitchers, enthusiastic dancers, beer banners, and loud music.

When my son relayed his son’s evaluation, I laughed and said, “He’s right. One of the main sponsors of the event is CoorsLight! They had several floats.” Of course, Coors looks at Gay Pride as effective advertising. They know how many gay bars, if not individuals, purchase their products across the West and value the important gay market. So they cooperate in order to stimulate corporate profits. They can also claim a liberal and open attitude.

I’m not proud of the alliance although I have no real objection to beer drinking. Archaeology clearly demonstrates that humans were brewing and drinking it thousands of years ago in the Middle East. They probably did so everywhere farmers raised grain. They still do, both where they have little advertising and where the market is hyped with the latest media technology combining pro-suds and pro-sports.

Yuck. I just spilled beer on my leg. The kid was right, at least to my sensibility; the Parade does have too many beer ads and way too much beer. Perhaps I am just not that much into the Dionysian revels, being too much Apollonian to simply laugh it off and lap it up. Of course, I too can down my beer even if I prefer another brand. But I don’t feel any pride over it; nor do I feel shame, guilt, or degradation.

Pride and lack of pride stem from a popularized psychology of minority concerns. I’m not into the slogans, but I do value gay pride. By contrast, I know many gay men and lesbians and others who are pleased as punch to be who and what they are but who want no identification with the rollicking groups of dancers, drag queens, leathermen, Dykes on Bikes, and such. But they do benefit from the hard work at The GLBT Community Service Center of Colorado where the festivities are planned, from the public profile of PFLAG members who proudly march for their kids and friends in this public display, and from the quiet work of lobbies for human rights within American law. We can be proud of that. I am. I’m happy to be at the festival drinking a beer or two, eating a sandwich, looking at the booths, watching performances, hearing music, and laughing with friends and acquaintances at this annual family reunion of sorts. It’s nice. I like it.

I’m proud to be here because I know at base it’s political. This mass of proud folk has a voice. Legislators and administrators admit it although sometimes with great reluctance due to their fears of not being reelected. Businesses recognize it with big buck grins. I’m not proud of the shenanigans of some of the revelers here, but I recognize the power Gay Pride represents and its balancing effects in Denver, in Colorado, and in the good ol’ USA. Show your colors, Denver; wave your rainbow flag, Colorado. Be proud enough, USA, to change a few more policies, even some in the military.

Dance, shout, celebrate. Okay, drink a few; even a few too many if you must. Take the bus home or stay over at the close-by apartment of a friend on Capitol Hill. I like our Gay Pride Festival and just hope all of us proud gays will get home safely, meaning without STDs, DUIs, ODs, or DTs.

Denver, 2010

About the Author

Phillip Hoyle lives in Denver and spends his time writing, painting, giving massages, and socializing. His massage practice funds his other activities that keep him busy with groups of writers and artists, and folk with pains. Following thirty-two years in church work, he now focuses on creating beauty and ministering to the clients in his practice. He volunteers at The Center leading “Telling Your Story.”
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What’s My Sign by Michael King


When
people ask me about my sign I tell them that I don’t have one.
I’ve
thought about stop signs, turn right signs or do not enter, but most people
think in terms of astrology which I think is a bunch of superstitious crap
where people don’t take responsibility for their lives and the decisions they
make.
I
do have a sign. It’s in my daughter’s garage so I guess it’s really hers. At
one point in my life I was in business. I leased a space in a mall and opened a
gift and flower shop. At the entrance which was the width of the shop into the
mall I put tree trunks with branches that were from the floor to the ceiling of
the area where the shop was located. From the top of my shop to the ceiling of
the mall interior was about ten feet. I painted a sign that fitted nicely in
that space. “The Enchanted Forest” under which was “Gifts and flowers”. The
tree trunks were elm given to me by my friend’s mother. I painted them blue.
Some months later they started leafing out.
I
was very successful for about a year. Many of my customers drove many miles to
get unusual greeting cards, gifts that weren’t available in other stores or
special floral arrangements that were personalized for the recipient. One of my
best customers was The Denver Dry Department Store, which was the finest
department store in Colorado. It was hard work but also very satisfying.
I
had been open a little less than a year when The May Company,  parent corporation of May D & F, another
department store bought The Denver Dry. They closed all The Denver Dry stores
and forced the malls where they were located to go out of business. They wanted
everyone to shop in the newly expanded Cherry Creek Shopping Center. Of course
there were law suits and in most cases The May Company lost, however in the
mall where I was located  there were over
30 small one owner shops that were forced out of business without the capital
to fight the giant corporation. I was wiped out along with the thirty some
neighbors and friends that had made that mall one of the most interesting and
diverse in the Denver area.
It
took some years to get back on my feet financially, and in a way, I never did
quite recover, but slowly I moved on and had numerous other valuable
experiences. In retrospect I learned a great deal in that year and the one that
followed when I did everything I could or knew to do so as to not leave loose
ends.
I’ve
had many difficult years in my life and realize that much was due to the risks
I have taken to achieve a goal or to try to honorably face difficulties. It is
a result of those successes and failures, challenges and dreams, insights and
growth that I feel so blessed.
I
don’t remember what arrangement I made with my daughter, but the sign ended up
in her garage and when she moved from the townhouse into the big house where
they still live, the sign moved there also. It has become a reminder of the
time when I was like the man from La Mancha and followed my dream.

Perhaps
the success was that I achieved putting together that dream. Would it have
succeeded if The Denver hadn’t been sold? I would like to think so, but maybe
not. I’m glad that I had those experiences and feel a sense of pride when I
visit my daughter, peek into the garage and see my sign. 
©
20 May 2013




About the Author


I go by the drag name, Queen Anne Tique. My real name is Michael King. I am a gay activist who finally came out of the closet at age 70. I live with my lover, Merlyn, in downtown Denver, Colorado. I was married twice, have 3 daughters, 5 grandchildren and a great grandson. Besides volunteering at the GLBT Center and doing the SAGE activities,” Telling your Story”,” Men’s Coffee” and the “Open Art Studio”. I am active in Prime Timers and Front Rangers. I now get to do many of the activities that I had hoped to do when I retired; traveling, writing, painting, doing sculpture, cooking and drag.


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Singing by Michael King

As with any group they are both unique and still have similar dynamics as other groups. Once in awhile there is that peculiar charm that you want to see what will come up next.

If nothing else the particular combination of this group is unusual. The leader, Crow, seems unlikely to be the one filling that spot. He is brash and not very musical and it seems strange that the others even put up with him. They don’t especially seem to mind his almost unpleasant guidance. Canary does most of the solos. He is somewhat conceited, but as far as talent goes he is considerably the best singer in the group. Bantam is not especially musical, quite cocky and if not a friend of Duck he probably wouldn’t be interested in the group. Of course Duck isn’t especially musical either but likes the friends he’s made there and since Bantam and He are a couple, Bantam tags along. They never do solos and usually contribute little to the music but their strutting and showmanship does contribute to the total feel of musical presentation. Pigeon has a hypnotizing coo. Meadow Lark, Quail, Robin and Finch round are the other singers and each has their own individual style.

When performing they put on quite a show and are very popular. They do a few concerts but mostly are invited to be the entertainment at conventions, special events and in church services. Crow gets most of the gigs. He seems somewhat in the background during performances and snoozes with the various leaders and Ministers and is able to keep the group fairly active.

In rehearsals, a very different situation exists. Of course Bantam and Duck are a group all by themselves. Meadow Lark, Robin, Pigeon and Quail are a clique. Finch and Canary are close and in performing often do a duet. The effect of the various combinations can be especially moving at times. In between the songs the squawking, shrieks, caws, crowing, honks and chirps are anything but musical.

Fortunately that only occurs at rehearsals. The performances are well presented and have both style and class as well as the surprising tonal and variations in the musical style that exists nowhere else.

It has been over 60 years since I heard The Musicians. They were a part of my childhood and I became very close to several of the members. My experience seems to me to be somewhat unusual. My older sister is five years older than me and my younger sister is four years younger. Alone on the farm with almost no contact with either or my brother that was seven years younger or the neighbors who were too far away, I spent my time with the farm animals, the wild birds and various wild animals from time to time. I don’t recall much music from the radio or records. I preferred to be outside when my health permitted and I learned to be with my own thoughts without language or culture. I was in awe of other kids when I went to school and didn’t learn to make friends until I went to College. The sights and sounds of the farm was my world and my friends and the visitors from the bird and animal kingdom were the entertainment. I enjoyed their performances and assume that they put on shows when I wasn’t around. Surly they had many audiences. They were The Musicians that influenced my life. After all who else would go to a bird concert and hear the songs and arias of the farm. It’s just something that the city folks missed out on.

About the Author

I go by the drag name, Queen Anne Tique. My real name is Michael King. I am a gay activist who finally came out of the closet at age 70. I live with my lover, Merlyn, in downtown Denver, Colorado. I was married twice, have 3 daughters, 5 grandchildren and a great grandson. Besides volunteering at the GLBT Center and doing the SAGE activities,” Telling your Story”,” Men’s Coffee” and the “Open Art Studio”. I am active in Prime Timers and Front Rangers. I now get to do many of the activities that I had hoped to do when I retired; traveling, writing, painting, doing sculpture, cooking and drag.

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The Party by Michael King

As a child my mother would make a two tiered angel food cake for my birthday. That was all I had ever known about birthday parties. Later when my children were growing up they got to have the dessert of their choice. It wasn’t until my oldest daughter’s eighteenth birthday that friends and guests were invited and fortunately by the time they arrived I had returned from the emergency room. As a finishing touch I had been blowing up balloons when one burst and sliced the front of my eye. It did heal and my vision was actually better afterwards.

Of course there are many kinds of parties and most that I went to was later in my life, however there had been a few while I was in the military. But the most memorable was a surprise birthday party on my 35th birthday.

I had never experienced a birthday with friends to celebrate it with. So I was totally surprised when people started showing up with gifts and cards. . We lived in Hawaii and had a nice house where we could entertain quite a few people, and did so occasionally. We had been somewhere and when we got home there was a long stemmed red rose and a birthday card from a friend of ours. Inside the card was a hundred dollar bill. I was practically in a state of shock, and had no idea what was to come. I just felt overwhelmed and laid on the bed clutching the rose and fell asleep.

When I woke up someone was at the door, then more and more. In all about 60 people arrived and never before having received a birthday present, I now received about 60. One of my daughters told me my face was going to crack from the big smile I had.

After that I valued birthday parties, entertaining and became quite the party giver. My realtor was so impressed when I gave a house colding party when I sold a condo, that they sold their large home with acreage, which was high maintenance and primarily for giving parties, and bought a townhouse. She figured that if I could give a nice party for 50 in a one bedroom condo, she could do it in a townhouse.

I used to love to entertain, have parties and numerous weddings at our house; however we had the space to do so. Now Merlyn and I seldom entertain more than one or two people, but we do go to events and parties fairly often.

About the Author

I go by the drag name, Queen Anne Tique. My real name is Michael King. I am a gay activist who finally came out of the closet at age 70. I live with my lover, Merlyn, in downtown Denver, Colorado. I was married twice, have 3 daughters, 5 grandchildren and a great grandson. Besides volunteering at the GLBT Center and doing the SAGE activities,” Telling your Story”,” Men’s Coffee” and the “Open Art Studio”. I am active in Prime Timers and Front Rangers. I now get to do many of the activities that I had hoped to do when I retired; traveling, writing, painting, doing sculpture, cooking and drag.

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Culture Shock by Michael King

I’ve had numerous experiences where I found myself in situations, environments or places that were so different than what I could have expected. The most profound was returning to the states after two years in Southeast Asia. I had thought that I was involved in an honorable and positive cause. Arriving in uniform as was required, my family and I came from the airport into San Francisco.

When I left the states no one wore long hair like we saw in downtown, nor dirty, ragged clothing, beads etc. What really surprised me were the anti-war and anti-military signs and attitudes. I think I remember being spit on. I still remained in the air force for another year during which time I was looking at my options for when I would return to civilian life. I was up for promotion to major, but knew that would mean a military career. I did well as an officer, however my heart wasn’t in the military and I had to get out and find a place where I could make a living for my family as well as somewhere that I could possibly feel comfortable.

I knew that to return to New Mexico or Kansas was not an option. Neither was anywhere else that I had been or even visited. Finally I decided on Hawaii as the only option. We moved there and entered a different world. I loved it. But in some ways it took some effort to adjust to that culture also. After about seven years with one of those living in Portland, having been a single father which was frowned on, I had remarried and realized it was again time to relocate. We ended up in Denver. Another culture shock, I had difficulty finding a job using the skills from the past until finally I got a job as an art therapist at the Children’s Asthma Research Institute and Hospital.

I had a degree in education focusing on childhood development and had another major in art with enough credits in psychology to have moved in that direction. The combination was perfect for this residential treatment center. I had another wonderful seven years there. It now seemed that six or seven years were how long it lasted with everything I did, each time becoming a part of a different culture. And since I never developed street smarts, I am always surprised with each new environment. I think that street smart people learn at a young age to see their surroundings more clearly without the glorious and wonderful expectations that soon become challenging disillusions. Otherwise it has been for me a series of continuing culture shocks in which I have to readjust my thinking and my dreams of a glorious and perfect life in a world of progress, hope and kindness.

Last evening we watched the movie “The Man from La Manchaca”. I have a different slant on things but the idealism, hope and glorious potentials for the human race is still in my thoughts and actions as I see the sad inhumanity to others in the homes, the workplace, the corporate greed, the national propaganda and lies, the aggression on the innocent, the helpless and those who don’t fit into the accepted molds of the culture that dominates where they are.

I am rather glad that I have been the dreamer and tried to live a perfect life in a perfect world. I see no good reason why my dream shouldn’t be the way things are, except that we probably need the experiences and challenges to grow, mature, learn tolerance, understanding, have causes to work for, perhaps a mission in life or an opportunity to be of service and gain the self-respect that brings about peace of mind and a sense of purpose.

I’ve owned my own business, worked in retail, volunteered, worked in retirement communities, traveled and have had loving relationships that for a while were quite excellent. I have also experienced failures and defeat, joy and depression, hope and hopelessness. Love and hate. I’ve had a lot of surprises and have been shocked many times in many cultures. Most times because seeing the surroundings and attitudes of those around me differed dramatically from my expectations and the amount of experience that I had at any given time.

I have been perpetually naïve, but I trust that the ideals and dreams are but the reality that will exist in eternity.

I choose to live as a loving and sincere dreamer, always thankful and willing to face the next culture shock.

© 24 November 2012

About the Author


I go by the drag name, Queen Anne Tique. My real name is Michael King. I am a gay activist who finally came out of the closet at age 70. I live with my lover, Merlyn, in downtown Denver, Colorado. I was married twice, have 3 daughters, 5 grandchildren and a great grandson. Besides volunteering at the GLBT Center and doing the SAGE activities,” Telling your Story”,” Men’s Coffee” and the “Open Art Studio”. I am active in Prime Timers and Front Rangers. I now get to do many of the activities that I had hoped to do when I retired; traveling, writing, painting, doing sculpture, cooking and drag.

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Goofy Tales by Michael King

It seems that many tales including goofy ones start with “Once upon a Time” Continuing “In a Land Far Away” Then “There Lived a —–“
In my goofy tale I’d like the characters to have detailed and explicit X rated interactions. Of course that’s not the goofy part. The goofy part is when the superhuman abilities and equipment leaves my personal imaginary participation feeling inadequate. And yes, I can be that insecure. Fortunately, I can accept being more average when I feel accepted by others.

Now, since my once upon a time fantasy is my experience on a regular basis, all the goofy parts of the tale that I am living are the fantasies that I never expected to come true. The goofy part is that two or more grown men can giggle, snicker and laugh uproariously over the introduction of silliness, childish humor and gross descriptive imaginary scenarios.

Now, why am I not telling about the details of these goofy tales? Simple, they could not be printed due to the sensuousness and XXX ratings that can finally be enjoyed without embarrassment or apology, but none-the-less censorable content.

Yet to occur is: “And They Lived Happily Ever After.” I’m still living in the wonderful, but really quite goofy present. It’s so nice to be retired, have no real obligations or commitments to preclude my being outrageous, silly, maybe a little funny and a lot eccentric.

I guess that if I were less subjective I’d look somewhere outside of my personal experience for the goofy tales, however I find that my own life is so exciting and spontaneous I don’t need to look elsewhere, I only need to appear to others as reasonably sane. That in itself is pretty goofy.

Writing a story about goofy tales is also pretty goofy. I’m glad I allow my imagination to explore all the juicy unmentionable and provocative details that I only dare to share with my closest friends and my companion until some porn magazine offers to pay me handsomely for disclosing how goofy a seventy-three year old sex symbol can really be.

1/3/13




About the Author

I go by the drag name, Queen Anne Tique. My real name is Michael King. I am a gay activist who finally came out of the closet at age 70. I live with my lover, Merlyn, in downtown Denver, Colorado. I was married twice, have 3 daughters, 5 grandchildren and a great grandson. Besides volunteering at the GLBT Center and doing the SAGE activities,” Telling your Story”,” Men’s Coffee” and the “Open Art Studio”. I am active in Prime Timers and Front Rangers. I now get to do many of the activities that I had hoped to do when I retired; traveling, writing, painting, doing sculpture, cooking, and drag.

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Mistaken Identity by Michael King

     There are numerous times I have been mistaken for someone else which I will disclose at the end of this story. I will in the meantime discuss my experiences with my own identity.

     Looking back, I believe that much of the way we think of ourselves comes from the way we think others see us. Early childhood expectations from those around us, the labels given to us, the comparisons we draw from observing other people and the successes and failures relating to our attempts to live up to being how we think we should be.
When I was in my thirties I changed my name. I don’t remember ever liking the one I was given at birth.

     I loved my grandfather but being named after him wasn’t what I would have wanted. My middle name was from a dead great, great uncle, I think. Somehow I never felt comfortable being George Albert King.

     My father’s name was Francis Frederick King and I felt uncomfortable that my younger brother was given that name with a roman numeral II after it. I felt that rightfully that should have been my name even though I didn’t like it either.

     In college I had a friend whose name was Michael. I couldn’t have let myself even think about my feelings for him. He was so stunningly beautiful that people would make strange sounds when seeing him; the girls especially. Not only was he good looking, he was a wonderful person. I felt so honored to be his best friend. I can see now that I was in love with him and probably he was with me. Our wives were also the best of friends. I had wished that I had been named Michael but the idea of changing my name didn’t occur to me for another dozen years. I did however name my son Michael.

     When I was 33 I had a vision that changed my life. As a result I changed my name. Two years later I went to court and officially became Michael Jon King. Almost immediately after I started calling myself Michael I became aware that people acted very differently to me than they had when I was George. I felt different about myself and it seemed like I was finally being who I really was. I also had a better sense of how I wanted to become and by now have actually changed myself into the person I feel I really am. I owe a lot to this to the “Telling your story” group as so much of my baggage, the pains of the past, the delusions I had created have been recognized and in recognizing this has brought about a clarity of being the who that I am and has given me a freedom and a peace of mind that I had never known before. I have self-respect. I didn’t know what was missing previously but felt something was. I was too burdened with trying to be what I thought I should be and wasn’t being who I am.

I’m glad that I had a family. I glad I had the failures that taught me so much, and, I’m glad I had successes. I created a mistaken identity for myself in many ways.

     The mistaken identity that I mentioned at the beginning of this story has been because I have received many calls from collectors mistaking me for some deadbeats with the same name as mine who don’t pay their bills.

About the Author

I go by the drag name, Queen Anne Tique. My real name is Michael King. I am a gay activist who finally came out of the closet at age 70. I live with my lover, Merlyn, in downtown Denver, Colorado. I was married twice, have 3 daughters, 5 grandchildren and a great grandson. Besides volunteering at the GLBT Center and doing the SAGE activities,” Telling your Story”,” Men’s Coffee” and the “Open Art Studio”. I am active in Prime Timers and Front Rangers. I now get to do many of the activities that I had hoped to do when I retired; traveling, writing, painting, doing sculpture, cooking and drag.

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Cooking by Michael King

     One of my favorite things is to fix a nice meal for Merlyn. I like assembling various ingredients to create a flavorful and satisfying and attractive as well as a nutritious and healthy meal. I suppose I have a general recipe idea but seldom measure or even use the same combination of ingredients in my concoctions.

     I often fix eggs, potatoes and toast for breakfast. One of my challenges is how many different ways can I cut up a potato so it has a different appearance and texture. It has a different flavor too. Do I add other ingredients such as onion, cut according to the way the potato is sliced or diced or julienned, green or red or orange or yellow peppers or all the above cut to blend with the potato and onion shapes? Do I add chili flakes or dill with salt and pepper? Maybe I’ll add no other ingredients, just plain potatoes. Maybe I’ll fix a scramlet where I add bacon bits, toast cut in small squares, onions, peppers, add the eggs, stir and top with cheese and maybe parsley flakes; each time fixing a slightly different meal with a little difference in taste.

     If done just right it should be beautiful, delicious and presented on a plate with colors and patterns that shows it off perfectly. On days that I’m not fixing an egg breakfast, about half the time, I usually fix oatmeal or granola. Of course I have to add walnuts, dried cranberries, with one or more fruits, bananas, peaches, pears, apricots, apple, dates, figs, kiwi, etc. I once put thinly sliced celery and apple with the walnuts and oatmeal. Since the celery leaves were on the stalk I added them too. It was very attractive and I thought delicious. Merlyn said he didn’t eat lettuce with oatmeal so I’ve never fixed that again. The only other time he complained was when I fixed oyster stew. He informed me he didn’t eat oysters. Considering that I’ve only had two complaints in aproxamently the 1100 meals that I’ve fixed since we met,

     I feel OK with my food fixing obsession which gets even more complex with lunches and dinners.

     When we invite people over which is rare, but does happen occasionally, I like to make sure it’s a memorable event.

     We once invited our friends Jack and Glenn over. I fixed Cornish hens with an orange sauce, dressing and vegetables on a bed of sliced romaine and tomato pieces on red patterned Chinese plates. The table looked beautiful and Jack and Glenn wouldn’t let us eat until they had taken photos. Then they raved about everything. A couple of days later we receive a nice card with the comment that they felt like they had been transported to another time and space of magic and wonder. I like it when a meal comes off like that, a real ego boost. As with a lot of people who really like to cook, I can go on for hours discussing food preparation, ingredients and techniques.

     When my daughter was diagnosed with terminal cancer she was told that if she didn’t have a hysterectomy immediately she would only have about three months to live. She said no.

     She then went to a healing center where they told her she had a gluten allergy which had caused the tumors. She was given a very strict diet, nothing with gluten which is added to most prepared foods to improve the texture and smoothness and to prevent separation of the ingredients, no eggs or dairy products, no meats except for turkey which is anti-carcinogenic, and no fruit and vegetables like corn and I forget all the other forbidden foods. I got a call for help. Neither she nor her husband knew where to start with fixing foods she could eat. I was also at a loss, but since I was retired and had the time I started studying the problem. With a list of what she could eat I fixed her a variety of dishes like vegetarian split pea soup, vegetable and turkey stew, etc. 

     About a week or so later I was told that she now could have nothing cooked except the turkey. My concept of food preparation had always been to cook everything except for salads and a few fruits and vegetables, and starting with what meat was being served. Now what’s with this raw foodist diet? I had never heard of that and was completely at a loss as to where to begin. Everything had to be completely “natural” and “organic.” I got a few books on raw foodist food preparation which then required a dehydrator and all sorts of possible gadgets for grinding, slicing, processing, etc. To my surprise the best book on preparing a raw food diet with recipes was written by someone I had known for 30 years. I then fixed an assortment of meals that got us through the first couple of months. The tumors started to diminish in size and my daughter was feeling better. She was now allowed to add some fruit and more vegetables. After five months she was completely tumor free and by now could fix her own diet. Shortly after that they moved to Africa. She then got pregnant, had her first daughter, moved back and is due with the second around the first of the year. Had she not listened to her inner voice and had followed the medical advice; she would be living a very different life. Instead she took control of her health and her future.

     I had the opportunity to fix uncooked meals which was at the time a totally foreign concept. Now I get to cook whatever I want to. I can plan and shop and spend hours in the kitchen. I get help cutting and chopping. I get to do what I really enjoy doing and the greatest reward is to be able to do that for someone I love.

About the Author

I go by the drag name, Queen Anne Tique. My real name is Michael King. I am a gay activist who finally came out of the closet at age 70. I live with my lover, Merlyn, in downtown Denver, Colorado. I was married twice, have 3 daughters, 5 grandchildren and a great grandson. Besides volunteering at the GLBT Center and doing the SAGE activities,” Telling your Story”,” Men’s Coffee” and the “Open Art Studio”. I am active in Prime Timers and Front Rangers. I now get to do many of the activities that I had hoped to do when I retired; traveling, writing, painting, doing sculpture, cooking and drag.