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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.
My whole life I've wanted the love of a big brother. I've always wanted to press into someone bigger than me, someone stronger, someone wiser. A big brother to hold me, a big brother to comfort me, a big brother to tell me everything will be okay because he's right there and he's not going to let me go.
I don't get wet dreams when I masturbate regularly; they only happen when I don't. Like when it happened last week.
What if I did partake in male nudity in a non-sexual setting? What if I could make my nudist desires feel more normal and less of a sexual fantasy?
I would be coming out to my family over dinner. I told them that I wasn't planning on changing the course of my faith. I explained that I was telling them because I planned to tell even more people. I told them that if I wanted to talk about it again I’d be the one to bring it up, and I stood up and left.
Somewhere around seventh grade, I told my family I hated swimming. The real reason was just too silly and shameful. I hated having to take off my shirt.
It felt good to be close to another man. And yet, was it right (healthy, faithful, acceptable) to like this? Is this what acceptance in a physical sense felt like?
I know I'm a hypocrite, yet I embrace that term and the things it entails because it shows that God can use me despite my flaws.
Among myriad other losses I could mourn about, I consider how I'm almost 30 and ache over this lack-of-experience that I've never been kissed.