What started that night was three years of an unchecked porn addiction. I never felt guilty. I don't know why. Perhaps because I felt like I wasn't hurting anyone?
As my childhood entered a big transition phase, I started dealing with it through unhealthy self-reliance. This created a sort of double life.
Is it really acceptable for men to cry? American culture has told me and countless other boys and young men that crying is not manly.
This isn't about same-sex marriage. It's not even about Eugene Peterson or LifeWay. It's about a significant sliver of stories going untold.
I realized something while mowing my lawn: I was the only one pitying myself. The only person doubting my masculinity was me.
He reached for my hand and held it. It was the first time another guy had ever held my hand. His boldness caught me off-guard, and his touch sent energy rushes all over. I'd never felt this before: holding hands with another man. In public, no less.
I've never much desired sexual intercourse with men. Throughout my life, however, my erotic thoughts and desires have centered almost entirely on nudity.
Sometimes it’s as if "coming out" and getting rid of the wall between my same-sex attractions and the rest of me will somehow make my sexuality more real.
Growing up as a pastor's kid, I hid my homosexuality because I didn't want my father or my family to know that I was a "mistake."
It's not just that I never had a childhood best friend; it's that I'll never have a childhood best friend. That era has come and gone, that chapter closed.