The other day, while digging through some years-ago writings, I came across a letter I wrote in 2012. It was raw and honest, meant for a guy I’d had a crush on for two years. Reading it again, I felt nostalgia – not for him, but for the version of myself who poured his heart onto that page.

I've been rereading "Unwanted" for therapy, and it continues to reveal my uncomfortable reflection – all of it, all of me. It often feels like fluorescent lights buzzing overhead at midnight. And yet Stringer's premise encourages me: sexual brokenness almost paradoxically revealing paths to healing.

To recognize Christ as fairer than the sons of men, maybe I must first recognize the fairness of men themselves. Not boil down and shy away from the patterns of fairness I behold in them, but simply say, "Hey, he is very beautiful."

Looking back on those bro cuddling blogs years later, after experiencing much more bro cuddling, how does it all hold up? Have any of my thoughts or feelings changed around the subject? Or have I perhaps received some new insights, especially after a lot of cuddle mileage?

I met a friend named Rick at my first meeting of the Christian Student Ministry. We talked briefly at the meeting, and then more the next morning over breakfast. From those earliest moments with Rick, I felt all the feelings of a crush – though I didn't realize it at the time. While I obviously felt a physical attraction to this guy, I also felt an emotional, mental, and spiritual attraction that even now is difficult to explain.

Even if all the sexual stuff with men is wrong in God's eyes, I still just want to be with a man physically from time to time. Is that wrong too? Does God really care if I share my bed with another guy, as long as there's no sex?

Looking back, I cringe at the sheer childishness of some of these entries. I may as well have been giggling and kicking my feet and drawing little hearts while writing them. There's no unifying "type" to these physically diverse male crushes beyond "he was nice to me for longer than 30 seconds and feels safe."

As we got started I began with, "Well, you know I'm same-sex attracted." He then interjected, "Actually, so am I." I only had about a million questions for him at this point, but I stayed quiet and let him talk.

She had recently broken up with her boyfriend, and she was about to move for a job opportunity in a couple of weeks. We were good friends, and we'd hung out a few times, both by ourselves and within groups. But there was just never a good time to talk about how I felt about her. If I didn't get to talk to her this morning, then I might never have another chance!

As a Side B Christian, it's obvious that I am attracted to other dudes; trust me, I wish it weren't so. As I consider my attractions to other men, what isn't so obvious is the fact that it's not always sexual. Of course, I do have sexual feelings toward other men, but that's only part of the story.

Although the teasing continued for the rest of the school year, I honestly learned to ignore it. I became a recluse at a very young age. This reclusiveness made the other kids – especially the other boys – a bit of a mystery to me. Particularly physically. Looking back, I realize I was in a bit of a paradox: I didn't want the other boys to see any of my body, but I also had somewhat of an interest in theirs.

How do I deal with unmet sexual desire? It's a question which led me to ask, what is my sexual desire? Of course, "sexual desire" is a category with a lot of things in it. "There's a lot of different fish in that bucket," I told myself. But let's not call it a bucket. Let's call it an aquarium so all the fish have plenty of room to swim around, and so we can get a good look at them.

For so many years I thought I was just dirty, lustful, and awful for thinking all these terrible sexual thoughts. I was filled with constant shame because the sexually intrusive thoughts kept coming. The realization that I can actually, with practice, redirect my own thoughts, is more freeing than I can write.

Phillip Henry died yesterday at 29 years of age. That was the short, somber text message on my phone. No! Not Phillip! I thought. He was such a close friend. That last thought was only a half-truth. My friendship with Phillip had only just begun, and I'd had such hopes for it. Now, he was gone.

He's the guy who has clarified my boundaries with cuddling and physical touch more than any other. The guy from whom I've sought comfort in touch more than any other. The guy who has made me feel seen and warm and laugh and cry like no other. He's the first (and to this point, only) guy I've fallen in love with.

I still have that Link costume somewhere in my closet. Perhaps it's the wandering through the woods that I love, the isolation, the music; or, perhaps it's something deeper that has stuck with me after all these years. Perhaps it's that I feel like the protagonist: adrift in time, unsure whether I'm a child or a man. This is how I feel as I move back into my childhood bedroom – the place where my sexual trauma occurred.

You're probably reading this thinking, "Oh boy, Eugene is going to settle this debate once and for all on which label is the right one to use!" Nope, that's not the case at all. The simple fact is that both sexuality labels have their benefits, but both are simultaneously problematic. I want to look at both labels and weigh the pros and cons of each.

Would I be able to reconnect with brothers I hadn't spoken to in months? How would I manage all the people I'd be meeting for the first time? What about the guys I found attractive? Would I even have the energy for this weekend?

When we talk about masculinity, we usually talk like it is something we need to become, instead of something we already are. I think we need to introduce a new masculine narrative: a new narrative that is actually an old one, formed by Scripture.

It's only human nature to ask these questions of nature vs. nurture. The seeming injustice and sheer unfairness of our sexualities can feel torturous. It seems cruel that we're so different in a way that society considers taboo and the church considers downright sinful.