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?
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 remember being envious of the other boys who seemed so free in their bodies, so free with their bodies. I remember being envious of their slenderness, and later on, their muscles. I remember lying in bed wishing so hard that I could wake up and be miraculously thin. I remember knowing that I shouldn't hate my body but having no idea how to stop.
College held the hope for a fresh start. Home meant the weight of my double-life: the pain of lying about porn and "everything is okay" all the time; the great friendships that never felt deep or authentic enough for my broken self.
It's no secret that I have written extensively on the joys and blessings of SSA, gay, or Side B friendships. Indeed, these particular friendships have been incredible and moving experiences that I would not trade for anything in the world. But at the same time, let me be clear: maintaining Side B friendships with other guys can be HARD.
When I was a kid, my dream was to grow up and get a wife and kids. A lot of kids. My family and church taught me to pray for my future spouse. So, I did. Everyday for years. I prayed for the girl I'd one day marry, that God would protect her and care for her, whoever she was.
These men, their stories showed me the courage to love. The courage to love family and friends, whether they understand, accept us, or not. The courage to love and trust God even in the midst of confusion and lies. The courage to love myself.
Most of my life, I've thought of faith mainly as a decision based on knowing some facts about God. Instead, faith is about coming to Jesus in such a way that the deepest hungers and thirsts of our souls are satisfied in him.
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.
As I entered into ministry, I knew my SSA could end it all in one swift move. I hoped that instead of being rejected I would be loved. I hoped that people would notice their prejudice and change once they met me. I spent much time in prayer -- but also smoking.