My friend Stormy: the equestrian, author, director, actor, producer, philanthropist, comedian, activist, and…

A couple of months ago, I sat down to watch a documentary. I didn’t have popcorn, as my stomach was churning from the first few moments. Usually, when we watch a documentary, we view subjects we are far removed from but want to know more about. In this particularly unique situation, I was very well aware of what was happening. Many of the stories exposed in this film might have been new information, but I had heard these stories from my friend as we shared our experiences taking on world powers.

Something I deeply appreciated about this piece was that, in typical Stormy fashion, she didn’t fight only to highlight her best traits.

As a talented writer, director, and producer, Stormy could have easily made a documentary about her own life and cleaned up the more complicated bits. Instead, she showed yet again how different she is from her adversary. The documentary shared parts of herself that most of us like to put filters on: she showed her flaws as a parent, where she failed in previous relationships; her anger, frustration, pain, tears, and laughter were all there for the world to see. This was an experiment in radical honesty as a weapon to fight disinformation, the typical artillery of those she has devoted this portion of her life to fighting.

Like many of us, this wasn’t how she envisioned her life going. Stormy had dreams, plans, and ambitions on her bucket list that were uprooted by 2016. Whereas many feared what our new president might do and how it would affect our lives, few were as close to the reality of that fear as Stormy Daniels.

I, too, know what it is like when the fight comes to you. Like Stormy, I was minding my business when politics invaded my life. The first time, I had been providing food for those who needed it in a park downtown when the police showed up to tell me I couldn’t do that anymore. That was when I went from a simple local priest “do-gooder” to a political activist. Engaging in politics wasn’t on my personal life goal bingo card, but it showed up at my doorstep. That set off a chain reaction that ultimately led me to face down powerful men in high positions. At my ordination, I could have never imagined that one day, as some nobody kid from the South, I would end up on Putin’s personal hit list.

When I finished the documentary, tears rolling down my face, I texted a friend of mine to say, “I tell you what, Stormy was more naked in that than she’s ever been in any other film she’s done. I can’t imagine how much courage that took.”

Few people would find that somber joke as funny as my friend Stormy.

***

The first conversation Stormy had I had was not about politics or sex work or her entanglements with the previous President of these United States; it was about mutual aid relief in New Orleans after Hurricane Ida ravaged the Gulf Coast. I had seen on instagram that she was driving around town passing out food, blankets, and necessities. I reached out with a quick message saying how proud I was of her for during all of this and asked if there were ways that I could help. This was the birth of our friendship, which soon turned into us sending each other silly memes or videos just as often as we would check in on each other whenever the respective world leaders we had become societally attached to would flash across the TV screens.

“Hey, I just saw the news; how are you doing?” Either one of us might send any given morning, noon, or night.

Honestly, it was refreshing to finally have a friend who understood the reality of the fear and anxiety that goes along with pissing off someone who has their finger on a nuclear button. I had never watched any of her work in porn; that wasn’t really how I thought about her. It’s not that I object to her profession; it’s just that I see her more as an activist than her career. If I’m honest, that’s how I view myself; my career is how I support my addiction to social justice. How I hope to be remembered is not as a priest, shelter director, or author but as someone who gave a fuck; always willing to risk it all for what I believe is right.

That is what I saw in her: camaraderie.

We built our friendship during the pandemic, which meant our interactions were through social media, text messages, or phone calls. The other thing it meant is that it became a genuine friendship because it didn’t form under the watchful eye of the media on a red carpet. Now, don’t get me wrong, I have also made friends with many folks that way too but there is something beautiful about getting to know someone the good ol’ fashioned way.

In the aftermath of the pandemic, insurrection, and the world feeling (for a brief moment) like it was returning to normal, I went on tour. Every show ended with a question and answer time that we called “the comment section.” During one of these times, I picked a hand at random as I had done every night before, “Yes, what’s your question?”

The woman looked sheepish as she formed her words, “You know Stormy, have you guys ever… well, you know?”

“Met?” I asked back.

“That’s a way to put it?” The questioner smirked.

I tried to brush the comment off with a joke and then move on. I found the question crass and bizarre. During the course of my career, I have stood down presidents, priests, and police, but you want to know where I’ve put my dick? Not to mention, what a rude thing to diminish my friend to nothing more than a sex object. I didn’t think the question deserved an actual answer, so I didn’t give one. I moved on to the next person.

“Next question, yes, you in the back.”

“Have you slept with Stormy Daniels?”

I was standing in a room full of fans who presumably read my books and essays; this is what they want to know. Frankly, I think I expected more from people than what I was getting at this moment. I brushed it off and moved on to the next venue, but the question followed me around. What I think shocked me so much about these interactions is that folks seemingly only saw her as a one-dimensional character: Stormy is someone who fucks. If I had been speaking to a hostile audience at a Republican Convention, then maybe I could have anticipated these things, but that’s not what was happening; I was in rooms crowded with alleged allies and liberal-minded folks, but they, too, didn’t seem to be able to look past the headlines that had been plastered across our newsfeeds for years: PORN STAR STORMY DANIELS

Over the years, as my writing career has taken off, this is something I’ve experienced more and more. As an outspoken sex-positive, non-monogamous, queer activists, people make a lot of assumptions. Whenever I’ve taken photos with my friends who happen to be of the opposite sex, someone always seems to make speculations in the comment section about the nature of our relationship. Sadly, I’ve reached a point where I have to warn my friends about this, and there are lots of folks I’ve met or have friendships with that we’ve chosen not to share photos on the internet because of it becoming scrutinized.

Do you know what’s more interesting than the question of whether Stormy and I have ever bumped uglies? We’ve cried together. We have talked about how all of this affects our kids. We often discussed how lucky we are to have found partners who understand our work and how similar Barrett and Tashina are. We’ve shared the projects we hope to work on next and ways that we can support each other in our efforts. You know, standard stuff that friends do. Of course, acknowledging that none of this is really normal.

No, we’ve never slept together, if you must know.

When I think of Stormy late at night, it’s not what you think when she crosses your mind before bed. I have wondered what I would say at her funeral if one of these conspiracy theorists decided to take her out because their fascist leader constantly puts a target on her back, or I’ve wondered what she would say about me if I were the one to go first. I have wished the world would calm down just a bit so we could both be off the road for a while and our kids could play with other kids whose parents are a little weird. The other day, my daughter was talking about getting a horse and learning horseback riding. Excitedly, I exclaimed, “Oh! I have a friend who does that. I bet she would love to tell you all about owning horses.” In another world, it would be the easiest thing to drop your kids off at your friend's house so they can teach them about the hobbies they both are interested in without fear of it ending up on TMZ. Instead, we are both just traveling the world, doing our best to save it from eating itself alive so that those kids we love so profoundly have a future in it.

A few months ago, my ten-year-old son entered the room while I read a book.

“Dad,” he said while I looked at him like an old man peering up from my spectacles, “Who is Stormy Daniels?”

“A friend of mine.” I said, “Why?”

“I heard them talking about her on the news.” He shrugged, “Does she know Trump? Is she famous?”

“I would say she is maybe one of the most famous people I know because she will be remembered forever; she will be in history books.”

“Wow!” He said, his eyes growing, “That’s so cool! What will she do that is historical?”

“Hopefully, saving our Republic.”

He paused momentarily, absorbing the information, and then smiled, “So, like, George Washington?”

“Yes,” I said.

Then, I went on tour, and I wasn’t so sure.

Not because what I said wasn’t true but because I think I had severely underestimated our side. Listen, I don’t expect anything less than what I have seen from the alt-right in their response to calling my friend everything under the sun in the world of derogatory terms for women. I’m afraid that this has become par for the course in our political discourse after society allowed “grab them by the pussy” to become disregarded as nothing more than locker room talk. Yet, can I say that those on the left are doing any better job in their discourse surrounding Stormy? I have to say that I believe we have failed the test.

I understand that the short-hand “porn star” makes for an easier punch line on late-night television when juxtaposing the behavior of the man making his third attempt at the white house, but can we collectively do a little better? Just because the bar has been set lower than hell doesn’t mean we need to all start playing limbo.

***

I was standing in line at a small strip club on the outskirts of Knoxville as men were exchanging their twenties for singles, and it was now my turn. I pay my fee and find a seat towards the back of the room. Stormy and her husband were running behind. I had brought a couple of indulgences with me as a gift, but security confiscated them at the door. A few moments after I sat down, a security guard walked over to me, handing them back with an apology, “I’m sorry, Mr. Monk. We thought they were religious pamphlets or something.” I chuckled as he handed them back to me. I lit a cigarette and waited. I look up just in time to see the security team ushering Stormy toward the stage entrance, “Wait!” She exclaimed as she ran into the crowd to hug me, “I can’t believe this is where we finally meet!”

“It’s perfect,” I laugh.

An intro begins to play before she walks on stage, listing her accomplishments. This is the Stormy that I know, the one being talked about over the intercom at the strip club. Frankly, this did a better job of introducing her than any headline or blurb on any news headline I’ve read: Stormy, the equestrian, author, director, actor, producer, philanthropist, comedian, activist, mother, friend, protector, and accidental hero.

Yes, she strips; yes, she had done porn. Nothing about that is shameful, and more so, it's not defining. It is just part of the many facets that make up the person that she is. Yet, it is the headline. Leaving us to wild speculations.

Then again, because of my previous job as a priest, someone else who sold an illusion of love before passing around a plate for singles, I am reminded that it’s often been sex workers who saved the day. Will my friend be remembered like Rahab or Moria Reynolds? I don’t know, but what I do know is that it's up to each of us to tell the story correctly.

One of the points that really stuck out to me in the documentary is that so many people assume that they know what happened between Stormy and the mushroom peddler. They act as if their tryst was prostitution or something. It wasn’t; the documentary makes that very clear. This was just two entertainers who met and thought they could mutually benefit each other's careers, and something happened. Something that, in my opinion, would have remained no one's business until he decided to seek the highest office in the land. Then, as he made himself out to be some moral man attempting to reshape America, the world had a right to know what kind of man he truly was. Stormy tried to expose that and instead was silenced. It was him, not her, who forced the hand for the truth finally coming out.

As our night at the strip club came to a close, I watched as most of the men who arrived didn’t stick around for Stormy to sign books or take photos. No, they had gotten what they, uh, came for; they saw the show and were content to either leave or stick around for round two. The line for the meet and greet was full of the local strippers wanting to meet their hero. I wasn’t surprised; we often talk about how representation matters, and this was a perfect example. For so many who are in the sex work industry, they also understand how society diminishes their work to folks who do nothing more than get naked for a living. Society ignores the artistry of the dance, the real work of listening to men sob in the champagne room. Strippers are part-sex workers and full-time therapists and hear plenty of confessions. It’s probably why I relate to their work so much. As a former priest, I, too, did all that before passing the plate asking for singles.

When the whole thing was done, Stormy, Barrett, and I retreated to their motorhome/tour bus, where she showed me the horse-face mask she purchased to mock the moniker the former president had given her. We laughed, shared stories, and drank bottles of water. You know, real rockstar shit.

***

The other day, I watched an interview with Stormy’s husband, Barrett. He shared his opinions about the court case, how it affected their family, and feelings about how folks perceived his wife. Toward the end of the interview, Barrett talked honestly about the pain they’ve felt that she fights so hard for everyone else and no one wants to fight for her. When asked to describe his wife on national television, he responded, “I want people to know that she is a brilliant mother and a great partner. She is very talented, a brilliant writer and director, the list goes on and on.” That is how the people who know her in real life think of her.

Those words compelled me to write this piece because I want my friend to know she isn’t alone and that there are those who are willing to fight for her, too.

I often think about the importance of the words that I write. Plenty of pages get left on the cutting room floor because I don’t ever want to be accused of being either an alarmist or a prophet. Hyperbole is a poison that has far too often ruined a good argument. It is with a great sacredness that I say this now: I believe when history looks back on this time of toil we are now when our Republic be saved, should it be, it will in large part be attributed to the courage of my friend Stormy.

Yes, we will each play our part with every protest, vote, placard, and donation, but when it is all said and done, much of what we know now, the thing that might stop us from becoming a dictatorship, will be that Stormy told the truth.

She has suffered nearly every embarrassment and betrayal that a person could experience in this lifetime. Her whole life has been splayed out for the world to see, even the parts most of us would want to remain hidden. Yet, so many think that this is what she deserves.

I will tell you what I hope for a world where none of this matters anymore. A world full of peace, where all these wars come to an end, and we collectively find ourselves again. I am not sure if I will see that in my lifetime, and the outlook is certainly bleak at the moment, but it is my earnest desire. I would love nothing more than to write stories that are silly and fun and that aren’t about a failing healthcare system, fascism rising, and unrest around the globe. I want to go on vacation and have my friend teach my kids how to ride horses.

That world might not exist for any of us; maybe it is nothing more than a hopeful man’s wish, but if that world does ever rise, it will be because of people like Stormy who are walking into courtrooms in bulletproof vest: not because she is a porn star but because she is an American hero who was willing to risk it all so that there might still be a hope for her kids, and mine, and yours.

Then again, that is all dependent on us telling the story the right way and not just resting on the easy way out. There are so many ways to describe Stormy; choose yours wisely.

Stormy and I will be on tour together at the end of July. Get your tickets here.