How does this "normal boy" turned "normal man" feel about his naked body? His penis? I'm still unsure of many of the answers to these questions. From the inside out, I've struggled to feel normal (comfortable) in my own skin. This masculine body. Starting with that particular appendage.

I honestly didn't think I'd write anything else about my mom, basically feeling as if I'd said it all the first time around. But turns out I was wrong. I've had some health issues through the years, including six strokes. I had a session with a psychiatrist, telling her how my mom and sisters are the direct cause of my stress, making my catatonic episodes worse each time.

I always feel this nervousness attached to holding hands in public. If I want to hold hands with a friend, what will others think of me? What will they think of us? Will they assume we are a couple? Will they say something? Will they be aggressive, or will they ignore us?

How was this past Christmas reinvigorated for me? Well, this song helped clarify the good parts of my sexuality related to human touch, deeply rooted in the natural instinct common to all humans since birth. I was born with a longing to be comforted, to be held, to be swaddled, to be cuddled. As I've aged, those same good touch instincts were partially absorbed by my sexuality, and now they're muddled.

When I finally acknowledged my sexuality as something God could use for His glory and my good, it became something that endeared me to others rather than only alienate me from them. Sexuality was no longer just a source of shame; it became a catalyst for connection.

I was just about to graduate and launch out into the world, and I couldn't hide from the truth any longer. I'm homosexual. That was the only language I had for it at the time. There was no way I could have used the word gay, because I sure wasn't happy; quite the opposite, in fact. I was devastated.

I found myself getting sucked into a world of fantasy. Porn was way better than watching some blockbuster: I could still be with guys without actually being with them. After all, I never cared about those guys anyway. It was all about me and getting off. The more I watched porn, the more I was hooked.

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.

You know, after fifteen years of blogging about gay things and masculine things and all the other intermingled, messy faith things, I often feel like I've run out of stories to tell here. Gay kisses, wet dreams, fetishes – what on earth is there left to say?? Ah, but then I wake up one day and suddenly remember that time another "Side B" guy from a Facebook group asked if he could do something to my genitals. Ah, yes – a new story to tell. Glory be.

I spent most of my twenties trying my best to be straight. I dated women and watched ESPN and prayed and prayed for the gay to go away. I don't suppose there was anything wrong with all that. But at some point I had to acknowledge the reality that God doesn't always remove challenges. He always works through them, though.

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!

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.

I'd already been with German guys, so I thought it was a good idea see what guys from other countries were like. I figured the chances of ever again being with other guys from that many countries would be slim. The sad part about having sex with all these men was that I never once gave thought to my relationship with God. It was all about me and those European men.

How I wish there could be someone here, of a similar position in life, with whom I could fully relate. Someone with whom I could bare my soul, with whom I could freely express brotherly intimacy – a soul brother, one could say. That is what I crave.

The "honeymoon phase" of coming out to Todd was certainly short-lived. Over the weeks meeting with him at Bible Study, I shared a few more details about my ongoing struggle. One night while I shared, he rather bluntly said, "Well, you can't be gay and be a Christian."

Like most of you reading I begged, cried, yelled, and tried to "pray the gay away," only to have it all go ignored. For years I thought God ignored me. And if He didn't care about me, why should I acknowledge Him and His Son?

I'm not sure the "vulnerability hangover" has ever hit me as strongly with a blog as it did that one. It's been one thing to confess I'm attracted to men as a sort of "blanket confession" for all the world to see; it's another to invite people into the specific workings of my sexuality. Particularly with something as personal and hardly-talked-about as masturbation.

I had sex for the first time on May 3, 1979. Funny how you always remember your first. It was with my sister's best friend. I was 17; she was 16. Everyone in the neighborhood swore we were already having sex, but we weren't. I really wasn't interested in her or any other girl for that matter; even if I was, I wouldn't have known what to do anyway.