Nearly two years ago, Ingrid Michelle was leveled by the shocking truth. Her then-husband of 12 years revealed that he had engaged in oral sex with a young man they both knew. The problem? Apart from being her spouse at the time of the “incident” her husband had been a youth pastor at a thriving church. And the young man? A former member of the flock. After recovering from the initial shock, Ingrid would be confronted with mounting evidence and eyewitness testimony that she had married not only a man who had been living life on the down low, but who was also an accused pedophile. Shocked and disgusted to her core, Ingrid would have to pick up the pieces of a shattered life and begin again. It would get much worse before it got better.
Below is her story in her own words:
I’ll never forget May 27th 2007 for as long as I live. Maybe I should, but right now it sticks out like a sore thumb. Contrary to it being the day of the greatest catastrophe in my personal history, the Southern California morning sun was in rare form. It was perfectly warm with a delicious hint of a Sunday breeze. The day started off as any day would. We went to church and came home to enjoy a quiet relaxing afternoon while Bobby grilled ahi tuna, fresh green onions and garlic. The salad that would be birthed was one we had mastered and my mouth watered anticipating the taste. We grubbed as if the last supper and lay around the remainder of the day. Devan tuckered out long before our expected television marathon and Bobby and I nestled into our king sized bed on either side of him with remote in hand to watch our favorite line up – Desperate Housewives and Brothers and Sisters. Just after the credits rolled, Bobby turned the television off. My initial thought was to slide under the covers and turn the lights out but I heard him take a deep breath as if he wanted to say something. I thought nothing of it, but it was when he faced me that things felt a little weird. We had just finished chuckling and trying to figure out who did what on Wisteria Lane and suddenly the mood instantly became serious.
“Okay! I have something to tell you,” he said.
There was a pregnant pause. There was something slightly eerie about this particular silence. It wasn’t anything that I had ever felt. The once smile that graced my face became a little disconcerted. I carefully made eye contact with him. I could feel the palpitations of my heart. His stare was drenched with garden of Gethsemane typed anguish. I knew it was something bad.
“Okay!” He took a deep sigh. “So…I’ve been smoking weed for a while now and I exchanged oral sex with Elliott.”
There it was; a massive head on collision. In the spirit, I could see the carnage as it lay in wake and embarrassed for him, I could no longer gaze his way. My head instantly became a fog as I drifted. It felt like an out of body experience where my entire life seemed to flash before me. I kept thinking to myself, did he just say he and Elliott had sex? Elliott? Elliott? Is this the same Elliott that we once mentored in our youth ministry? The same Elliott who was molested as a young lad and then was subsequently emasculated by his domineering mother? Was this the Elliott that Bobby spoke of? The Elliott whose dancer’s body enticed a number of young girls and had adult women yearning? Was this the same person? ‘Please God!’ I pleaded within me. He was someone that Bobby was supposed to have been keeping accountable to his walk with Christ, particularly as it related to his sexual confusion. Was he saying to me that the very person he led as youth Pastor and mentored, he slept with?
As I tried to wrap my mind around what he had just disclosed about him and Elliott, I kept thinking, ‘damn it!’ This m’fer was in my house somewhere giving and receiving a blow job from a young man that was just shy of being a minor and I’m out in the hot ass sun selling hand-painted t-shirts trying to make a dollar out of fifteen cents while fulfilling our supposed dream. Was he serious? Elliott was supposed to have visited us for a collective visit to see the Dance Theatre, not to be in bed with my husband smoking marijuana together like some out of control high school sex fiend. My head was spinning. I couldn’t think. I stared at the wall for what felt like hours. I couldn’t really grasp what my “husband” had just revealed to me. Was this really happening to me? This was something that I would read about. This was an Ebony article, not my life an Oprah story, not my life. What in the hell was I to do with this…