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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.
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 don't get wet dreams when I masturbate regularly; they only happen when I don't. Like when it happened last week.
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.
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.
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?
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.
He was never physically affectionate; we’d never even hugged. I wanted to touch him not out of a sexual desire but from a longing to connect with him as love with a brother. I dreamed of a day when we could embrace and confess our brotherly love for each other. I put my hand on his shoulder once. He brushed it off.
I've written before about having never been kissed. But that doesn't mean someone's never tried to kiss me.