A common theme I’ve noticed in male Side B spaces is that of the mythical “straight best friend.” Namely, that if we could only find a straight man who was the right mix of masculine, sensitive, and cuddly, we would be cured. Cured of what? Childhood traumas, daddy issues, feeling like an outsider, lack of masculinity, or even same-sex attraction itself?

How did we go from Jonathan and David to heaven and hell? What exactly happened between us?  I've replayed every variable in my head over and over: I was too obsessive, I was too much, I was never enough, he was never enough, it's all his fault, it’s all my fault, he caught feelings.

I pictured him crying in his bed when he woke up that morning, or even going to bed crying right after leaving me; knowing I'd hurt him, knowing I'd been the one to cross physical boundaries. It destroyed me, if I'm honest.

My issues with self-control go well beyond the typical desires of hunger, attraction, sleep, and so on. It goes into my struggle to pause before acting – at anything.

I actually find myself decreasingly needing — or even desiring — touch with other men. It's not completely gone, mind you. But the need/desire is considerably less. This is a fairly new development. I'm still unpacking the reasons, but I have some theories based on how my male friendships have transpired the last decade — many of them imploding.

My attraction for men tilts more toward the emotional and physical rather than anything sexual, and I've been wired this way my whole life. So, what does it mean to be physically but not sexually attracted to other men? It's a question I get a lot, a distinction worth clarifying.

A point came in our relationship when I realized just how dependent I was on him and just how one-sided our friendship was. For my own well-being, I needed to step away from the relationship. What follows is the lament and reflection I wrote in saying "goodbye" to our friendship.

I begged God for forgiveness. I asked for the wisdom and guidance to uproot the idols I had placed around my life, rooted firstly in my idolization of my friend.

I'm a sensitive man who feels things, feels things all the time, and no amount of oversleeping or overdrinking or pornography or promiscuity will turn me off.

My friend was not a physically affectionate guy. He showed his discomfort with my physical affection. I was aware and relented some. But I still tried to show him physical affection when I could. I believed it was healthy. I told myself that this physical affection was necessary for us as friends.

Whenever I struggled, I sent my friend a message and he encouraged me. By all accounts, I started doing better with my depression. But that's how codependency can look at the start -- a "healthy" accountability relationship.

A same-sex celibate partnership is an intimate coupling between two same-sex attracted or gay-identifying individuals. Bonded for life in a way similar to marriage but, of course, minus the sex. I have already seen a few celibate couplings form between guys. I've been mostly watching from a distance, but other times I've contacted those folks to ask questions. Sometimes I view them with a lot of envy.

It's no secret that I have written extensively on the joys and blessings of SSA, gay, or Side B friendships. Indeed, these particular friendships have been incredible and moving experiences that I would not trade for anything in the world. But at the same time, let me be clear: maintaining Side B friendships with other guys can be HARD.

When we give our hearts to people we are changed, even if they never give us their hearts in return. These effects aren't scars — they don't begin as wounds — and I wouldn't call them baggage. They're like paint splashes on our canvas hearts or imprints on our soft, clay souls.

My biggest fear was that my best friend was going to force our friendship to end all because of this girl, pushing me away from his life. It was the fear that whatever friendship we'd built in the past he was willing to tear down, trample to the ground, and pretend that I never existed at all.

He was never physically affectionate; we’d never even hugged. I wanted to touch him not out of a sexual desire but from a longing to connect with him as love with a brother. I dreamed of a day when we could embrace and confess our brotherly love for each other. I put my hand on his shoulder once. He brushed it off.

Some of the happiest periods of my life took place during college and grad school. I lived with a group of eight guys, and they were the greatest friends one could ask for. As their dating relationships grew more serious, I felt myself going down on their list of priorities. Some of those friends got married. And our friendships effectively ended.

I am not interested in a new machismo, finding a new way to be a man, a new way of determining what a real man is and isn’t.

I wanted to tell my new friend not to go. I wanted to tell him to stay at our church. To stay with me. I wanted to throw my arms around him and thank him.

"We want you to help us reach LGBT people," my pastor said. "It's our belief that this is your true calling. And we want to help you."