Gay Confessions On Witness Stand

“You first encountered the defendant where, Mr. Philips?”
“At my gym. We were members of the same gym.”
I did not want to be here, in this courtroom. But the DA had intimidated me. He had said that they might delve deeper into why I was in Baltimore—why I had left San Diego. I really didn’t want them to do that. I had just fallen into it in San Diego. I didn’t know they were illegal immigrants. I was just working in a worker-placement office. Sure, I was dumb and nonobservant. But is that a crime? California thought it might be, it seems. But I hadn’t waited around to find out, and they hadn’t come after me. And the issue hadn’t come up again until the DA was looking for witnesses to help put Dr. Martin away.
“And did Dr. Martin make untoward advances to you in your gym, Mr. Philips? In the gym’s sauna?”
“I don’t understand.”
The prosecutor turned and looked at me over his glasses with his head tilted down—the “Oh really?” look. Done for the jury, I was sure. “You understand what this trial is about, don’t you, Mr. Philips? Dr. Martin stands accused of entrapment, holding his victims in captivity, and rape. You do understand that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I answered. I knew what the prosecutor wanted. I knew what might happen if I didn’t give it to him. But it would be skating on thin ice here. I tried to tell him how it really was, but he didn’t want to hear it. He told me to keep my answers short and right to the point of the questions he asked. But already he was making it difficult for me to give him the answers he wanted and not perjure myself—and even more important to me, not reveal what I...