Longing for a Brother, Not a Boyfriend

Some of you may be like me — wrestling with desires, faith, and the ache for connection in a world that doesn’t always make space for the in-between. I’m not here to preach or pretend I’ve got it all figured out. I’m just a guy in his 60s, reflecting on a life that’s taken some wild turns.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about what it might look like to share my last days with another man. Sharing my life with him in a way that’s pure, platonic, and rooted in Christ — not the romantic, physical stuff that’s everywhere on social media, but something deeper. A lifelong companionship without crossing lines that my faith tells me are off-limits.

If this desire resonates with even one person, it’s worth putting out there.

This same-sex longing didn’t come out of nowhere. It started building a couple years ago, around another lonely Valentine’s Day.

I’ve only ever “celebrated” Valentine’s Day twice, back when I was engaged to my first fiancée. It involved nothing more than a 50-cent card with some sappy, generic message that I thought she’d like.

I didn't even bother writing anything personal inside. I gave her the card reluctantly in our first year together, and never bothered celebrating the day again after that. It just wasn't me. The whole flowers-and-dinner routine also felt forced, not to mention expensive.

My second fiancée and I broke up the week before Valentine’s Day, so I was off the hook entirely. Ironically, she was the only one I even sort of liked kissing. My other fiancées? Rare and awkward — two kisses in three years with my first fiancée, and once each with the other two.

I proposed to each of these women because I wanted to look like a “normal” man, fitting in with what society expected. But they weren’t real relationships. We didn’t cuddle, hold hands, or share secrets — except my confessing I was gay, which usually led to talks about how they could “fix” me.

I decided not to get married to any of these women because I didn’t love them and figured we would be miserable.

My last actual Valentine’s Day memory is from 1984. For decades, the holiday has passed without a thought. But these past few years, it’s lingered in my mind, not because I miss those old engagements (been there, done that), but because the loneliness has grown heavier.

That loneliness opened the door to something new last spring. I was flipping channels one evening and landed on an episode of The Amazing Race Australia. Two gay guys were competing as a team, and they started talking about their friendship. They’d known each other for just over a decade. They met as teenagers at a wedding, came out to each other that same day, and became instant best friends.

One referred to the other as his “platonic life partner” — a term I’d never heard before. He said they’ve done just about everything together since that wedding: traveling, supporting each other through tough times, and building lives side by side. In all those years, they’d only had one real argument.

Watching these two gay men laugh and strategize together, I felt this pull in my chest. What would it be like to have that kind of steady, deep companionship? Someone to share the everyday stuff with, without all the complications?

Around the same time, social media started hitting me harder. Over the past year and a half, I’ve watched at least five people — four men and one woman — go from sharing my Side B theology to changing course suddenly. These folks were solidly Side B for years; then, one by one, they flipped after meeting that special person.

Their feeds are now filled with photos of holding hands on walks, heads resting on shoulders, cuddling on couches, walking dogs together, vacationing at beaches or in cities, eating dinner out, and attending concerts and plays. They look genuinely happy.

Yes, I know people only post the highlights on social media, not the fights or mundane moments, but it’s still stirred something in me — deep jealousy, if I’m honest. I’ve never experienced that kind of visible closeness with anyone. Not beyond casual friendships or family, like my best friend and my brother.

I started fantasizing: what if I had another man to do life with like that? Share a home, laugh over coffee in the morning, pray together at night? I don’t know if it could last years or decades, but even imagining something like that with another guy felt warm, comforting.

Of course, reality crashes in quickly. There are big hurdles to overcome — the first one is my mom. She’s still alive. We’ve never been very close, but I think seeing me in any kind of committed relationship with a man would give her a heart attack or stroke. She might even cut me off completely, though I’m not sure that would really bother me.

Then there’s the deeper issue: conviction from the Holy Spirit. I know myself. If I pursued such a relationship with another man, even remaining strictly celibate, He’d gently but persistently show me where it crosses lines. Believers and non-believers alike would assume the relationship romantic or sexual anyway — appearance matters. We’re supposed to be an example to the world.

I’ve started doubting myself, catching those thoughts while scrolling through all of those enticing, coupled photos — is this really okay?

I know a guy, though he’s not in a relationship with another man, who went on a 10-day gay cruise with a group of guys from his church. I told him I’d never go on one because I’d probably spend the whole trip feeling tempted to hook up. He laughed and said there were so many activities, shows, and other things to do that hooking up never even crossed his mind. I didn’t tell him this, but I think his being with a group of friends also helped him.

It’s interesting how every person I've seen flip views theologically had, at some point, attended or joined an affirming church. None of them are where they were now. What shifted for them? Was it because of something they heard in an affirming message? Or because they met their new partner? Both reasons, or something completely different?

My own history makes all this even more tangled.

I lived the gay life for 29 years, but ironically, I never had a real relationship. It was all physical — bars, clubs, random hookups. No emotions, even no names sometimes; just fleeting encounters. I didn’t care about those other men’s feelings or stories.

My last gay hookup was March 2007. I walked away after that, and for years I didn't miss sex or crave intimacy with men at all. Celibacy felt natural, even freeing.

Then, out of nowhere last year, these new thoughts surfaced — not about sex, but about a committed, non-sexual partnership.

So, why this specific longing now? There’s no doubt that loneliness plays a part, especially as I get older and think more about practical things: someone to split chores, share a house, laugh at bad movies, help with doctor visits, or just sit quietly together on tough days.

But it’s also more than utility. God created us for connection — deep, soul-level bonds that mirror His relational nature. I picture a celibate partnership as two brothers in Christ: praying together daily, digging into Scripture, encouraging each other’s faith, traveling for faith conferences or spiritual retreats (definitely not cruises).

I see them supporting one another’s dreams, holding each other accountable on hard days, modeling what holy, committed friendship can look like in a world that only understands romance or solitude.

The Bible gives us glimpses of such bonds. Think David and Jonathan — their souls were “knit” together in a covenant love that was fierce, loyal, and God-centered. Jonathan risked everything to protect David, and David mourned him like no other person. No hint of anything sexual — just profound brotherhood that strengthened each of them for God’s purposes.

Still, it’s not all idealistic. Society often misunderstands deep same-sex friendships, slapping labels on them that aren’t true. Family reactions could sting; Mom is my biggest concern. And practically? Finding another guy on the same page — Side B convictions with platonic commitment and compatible personalities — is a rarity, especially at my age. Not everyone navigating same-sex attraction chooses lifelong celibacy, let alone a shared life setup without romance.

Yet I am not without hope. I pray from time to time; selfishly, I desire this to happen. But deep down, I know that God wants me to fix my eyes on Him. In the meantime, I’m connecting with online Side B communities like YOB, making sure not to push boundaries with other men.

Ultimately, my deepest longing for companionship is met in God. He’s the Friend who sticks closer than a brother, the one who never leaves, never misunderstands, never grows tired of me.

Whether this notion of a celibate partnership ever becomes a reality for my life, leaning harder into His love is changing me. It’s helping me release the jealousy over those coupled photos, forgive my younger self for the empty hookups with men and pretend engagements with women, and trust that God’s story for my life is richer than anything I could script.

Loneliness still visits me, especially on quiet evenings or holidays like Valentine’s Day. But God’s peace washes over me in waves, too. And honestly? That's more than enough.

After David had finished talking with Saul, the soul of Jonathan was knit to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul. And Saul took him that day and would not let him return to his father’s house. Then Jonathan made a covenant with David, because he loved him as his own soul.

— 1 Samuel 18:1–3 (ESV)

How does Valentine’s Day hit you each year? Do you also long for a committed same-sex friendship or partnership?