I've had at least a decade to process my sexuality, why certain men "do it" for me and why others do not. I've already written about what kinds of guys I'm attracted to and my cycles of physical and emotional same-sex attraction. But am I sexually attracted to men? The answer has become so clear over the last couple years: no.
I have a fetish, and I've had one for about as long as I can remember. I have a "thing" that, in itself, isn't quite sexual in nature. But I fetishize that thing. I idolize it a lot, fantasizing for this thing, turning what was never meant to be sexualized on a dial that was never meant to be dialed.
Just because I'm "out" doesn't mean I'm always going out of my way to talk about sexuality. Outside my closest friendships, I still don't feel comfortable sharing. I still feel ashamed of my sexuality. Even after all this time. All these stories, written or otherwise.
I recently returned from a men's retreat in which I came face-to-face with my biggest struggle: not anything regarding my sexuality or sexual addictions. But simply feeling like a man. Like a man among men, assembled on an equal playing field rather than somewhere on another field's sidelines.
When the call came, it wasn't that I couldn't hear it; it was that I had no interest in obeying. For Jonah, that call was Nineveh. For me? It was coming out. My "solution" for my sexuality was quite simple: I'd tell no one, become straight, and then move on with my life. A secret I'd die keeping rather than ever share; I could hardly admit it to myself, let alone another human.