Picture this: a young, skinny, pale, little boy, dressed in baggy, light wash jeans and an oversized graphic t-shirt. This was the dress code of the 90s and early 2000s, and it was great for me as a kid: lots of fabric for comfort, as well as protection from scrapes and bruises, with the ability to hide much of my gangly awkwardness common to pre-pubescent boys.

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.

I was stoked to hear about the 2022 movie, "Close." After watching the trailer, I was instantly sold. Two boys are shown to be close friends, even physically affectionate with one another to the point that their classmates assume them to be gay.

I found myself constantly dealing with doubt, low self-esteem, loneliness, and feeling unloved. As I sat there looking around, I saw so many guys, including the newbies, hanging out with one another, playing games, laughing, and hugging. I felt like I was being avoided because of my stuttering.

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."

Once upon a time I wrote about five times I've felt like a man. As we wind down the theme of "Love Month" at YOB, I started thinking about some instances when my heart has swelled, or exploded, or some other symphonic verb meant to translate the depths of safety, care, and affection I've experienced with other men. This isn't a "top 5" or hardly exhaustive list, but these are five stories that come to mind...

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 I left, one of these guys thanked me for showing the group what a mother-son relationship should look like. That was definitely food for thought on my long drive home! So many thoughts ran through my head and heart.

Ah, body image. I suspect nearly all of us wrestle with it in some form or another, and in different ways – whether we’re gay/same-sex attracted or straight. These days for me, that wrestling with body image is around aging.

Perhaps it was the touch of melancholy in me that many other "Side B" Christians also feel, or simply being a disabled man, or maybe even a combination of the two – the fact that I have often felt both a physical and mental peace listening to classical music. Whatever it was, my soul felt ministered to in a previously unknown way.

I've thought a lot about writing a manifesto for Side B people. In fact, I've written multiple drafts of a manifesto for a few years now, but I've never been satisfied with the result. In the end, I figured I should get one of those drafts out there, so that people can imagine what Side B Gay people are advocating for. So, here it is...an incomplete rough draft of the Side B Manifesto.

YOB gave me hope, because even though I was 55 years old I had struggled accepting myself since my teen years. I had never seen myself as anything but subhuman, unworthy, and a complete reprobate because I had feelings and desires for other men.

"New growth" was the theme of this, my first YOB retreat; slightly ironic as fall was slowly putting the world to sleep. The sun felt defiantly hot that first day, beating down on tall trees that simultaneously clung to summer green while shedding autumn red and gold. I was exhausted from a stressful week and travel delays. Now I faced a weekend of interacting with virtual strangers. Literally. Aside from a handful whom I had met in person, my fellow YOBBERS were tiny faces on a screen. I had discovered YOB some months prior. I was desperate, starving for some kind of connection with other men who understood my journey.

I guess we're really doing this again, I thought, this whole retreat thing. Is this officially an annual event now? Can I handle that? Goodness, can I really put on a retreat every year for the rest of my life? Or need I only focus on this year's retreat, letting tomorrow's retreat worry for itself?

All the other gay films I'd watched were nice, but this was the first gay film I watched and thought: I wish I knew what it was like to be in a relationship. All the other men I've ended up with were only about sex. I didn't care about them or their feelings, much like the son at the beginning of this film. This film brought up feelings I never knew I even had or wanted, for that matter.

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.

I spent nearly three decades of my life sexually involved with other guys, and even longer than that attracted to them, and in all that time I never once considered Pride Month or attending any Pride parades or events. Part of that thinking is because I was raised in the South in the 60's and 70's, and in the Black community particularly acting like a homosexual was strictly taboo.

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.