I’ve written about touch before. It’s a topic that I loathe frankly because it’s a difficult one for me to wrap my brain around since there’s little chance of thinking through it rationally without a lot of emotional baggage attached.
Over the past six or seven months, God’s given me opportunity to reach into the lives of men who I knew little of prior. In each case, I was pursued as a counselor which was flattering. I’m not sure why they chose me, but I’ve invested / am beginning to invest myself with a purpose. And that purpose was to serve. Serve, serve, serve.
Then this occurred. I was bleeding profusely. And at the time, because of our situation at home with kidlet three, it didn’t take much for this to happen. So here I was trying to serve other men all the while needing to be served. A sense of finality had come between myself and my Tim. I was still meeting with him on occasion, but I felt certain that I’d done all that I could do. He wasn’t about to let go of his precious YouPorn and his marriage wasn’t improving, at least based on what I could see.
Then the unexpected happened.
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Yesterday evening, I attended a Vacation Bible School preparation meeting. At the rear of the property, the church has a volleyball court, sand base and all, for anyone to use. As I was coming and going from my meeting, I could see in the distance a large group of shirtless teen boys playing. The majority of them were probably in our youth group. They looked like they were having a ball.
Whenever I witness something like this, I cringe. In this case, it wasn’t because something was illegal or immoral. It was because that boy living inside of me bowed up, feeling shunned, feeling ashamed. Not necessarily because I’m gay and frankly enjoy seeing shirtless men, but because I LONG to have memories of experiences like these that these children were making right before my eyes. Memories of being together in the same space as young men, at peace enough with their bodies to do so, and feeling accepted.
Those last two words are important.
To be able to have that would be one of the greatest gifts I could ever attain. I know that, but alas, I cannot return to my youth. I cannot relive the past.
Not to mention that I refuse to partake in gay sex in the present which would serve as the ultimate Band-Aid. So, I’m stuck, right?
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I stepped out in faith with my Tim. He’d stated repeatedly that he wasn’t afraid of me or any gay man for that matter. So on two occasions, upon my request, we touched. It wasn’t sexual touch. Just touch. Get your mind out of the gutter, it wasn’t below the belt!
Two things occurred as far as I can tell.
1. I felt a tinge of my sexuality make an attempt to validate itself through those few moments. This was similar to having a gay sex fantasy / masturbating, but much more potent.
2. I felt fear. Fear that I was hurting my Tim.
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Gay men who come out and start having sex with other men speak of the freedom they feel and the sense of wholeness they experience. I can only imagine this to be true since touch is obviously a huge part of any sexual experience. But……………………………..
what happens when you’re not in bed? What kind of life can you make for yourself and your partner? I’m blessed to be in a straight marriage. I’m blessed to have children from that marriage. I’m blessed to be able to live the beauty of God-breathed compatibility that, I believe, can only be experienced this way.
To not have my wife to protect and to cherish, to not have my place in my family as the husband and father would result in too much being lost. To have a gay partner would be like pretending to be something that cannot be despite the feelings and the sex and the adopted children and the pets and all the other things that I would use to furnish my dollhouse.
Thanks be to God that I chose not to pursue this despite the fact that I am gay.
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So, did I make a mistake with my Tim? I don’t think so. I will cherish those moments forever. They have forced me to face the fact that I can no longer deny this issue of touch. It must be dealt with, but it must be done in a Christ-honoring way.
Will I ever hear from my Tim again? Probably not. I’m fairly certain that though he would never admit to it, he’s also struggling somewhat with his sexual identity. I’m not saying he’s gay. I’m just saying that’s he’s keeping an open mind. And that’s okay. My hope is that he’ll reach out to me again, just not for any more counsel.
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Gay men have needs that are so very specific. Needs that relate to something that is missing from their past. Something that was taken from them forcibly or otherwise. My need for appropriate touch and acceptance by other men is simply part of who I am.
That is so fucking easy to write, yet so difficult to even begin to approach with a ten foot pole.
A few years back, I made an attempt to start embracing my Dad whenever we’d meet up. This was unexpected and it made him very uncomfortable, but being the obstinate son, I pressed on until the day when he physically flinched when he saw me coming as if to say “Whoa there pardner!”. Ouch. And there I was bleeding again. And this was my own father, for goodness sake!
Ouch indeed.
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So, as you can imagine, I’m rather conflicted about the whole idea of touching another man for any reason other than perhaps moving a fresh corpse off railroad tracks or some such. Not one that’s been hit by a train mind you, but maybe a dude that was simply walking along the tracks contemplating his life and BAM, he has a heart attack and drops dead right there. If I were to just happen to come along and see that, I’d definitely take the time to move the body, and check his i.d., etc.
As a man, A MAN, there’s definitely a part of me that wants to be like every other man. Not to need much touch is one of those parts. I don’t want to have these special needs. They make me feel disabled. Who wants that? Not me.
But……………………………..they’re part of who I am. No denying it.
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I believe my experience with Tim was so new and fresh that it simply short circuited a part of my brain for a short while because it represented so much for me and him both. For me, it was the beginning of facing something that terrifies me. For him? I'd love to know.
It’s time to be served.
