One day, we finally grabbed lunch together, and I just poured out my heart to my best friend. I pleaded for him to take his relationship slowly and not to forget about me. While saying that, something just clicked in my brain. I started tearing up; right then and there, I asked my best friend to forgive me for being a jerk.

Several of our featured authors watched the film, Boy Erased. It's based on the real-life story of Garrard Conley who wrote a memoir of the same name. Boy Erased follows a young man's journey through reparative or conversion therapy, and it's also a story of a mother's and father's relationships with their gay son. It's a heavy film, and we debriefed it together in this extensive conversation.

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.

Being a stereotypical gay/SSA guy, I had no interest in sports or athletics. I seemed not to care very much about how my body looked either. However, my medical problems gave me a new perspective on how I treated my body. I was tired of being an awkward, flabby, doughy guy. So, I joined a gym. I definitely felt intimidated.

I reached a point of knowing I could trust God, and I was able to choose a more adventurous, challenging life to accomplish more of what really matters! I wouldn't trade the experiences in those three years of my midlife crisis for anything.

You might have heard there's a new Gillette commercial about "toxic masculinity." The commercial has garnered a lot of attention, both positive and negative. Since masculinity is a cornerstone topic in this community, we thought we'd enter the conversation, too. Did we like the Gillette commercial? Hate it? Want more of it? We had a conversation with several of our featured authors.

I didn't realize it at the time, but I'd made brotherhood my idol. Looking back, I see it so clearly now. So madly obvious. I made this pursuit of brotherhood and even ministry my idol. And I got the wind knocked out of me on the asinine climb.

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.

I hadn't wanted orientation change out of a desire to please God. I'd wanted to be straight because I simply wanted to be normal. I had been scared. I was internally homophobic, hating myself and especially other gay men.

The guilt was overwhelming. How would I tell anybody what I had done? What would they think of me? Beyond other people, how would these events impact my faith? Where was Jesus during all of this?

I don't wonder to myself: Have I, as an adult, ever embraced another man shirtless like this before? This isn't that kind of intimacy.

As I drove down the base of the mountain after listening to a sermon and enjoying some prayer, the thought once more popped into my head: "You like Annie!" I wanted to swipe away the thought again, but this time I actually considered it. Maybe I could like a girl?

My dad believed he needed to leave me free to live my own life. I had certainly been willing to be his full-time caregiver, but now that I knew his wishes, apparently God had other plans for me.

It felt good to be close to another man. And yet, was it right (healthy, faithful, acceptable) to like this? Is this what acceptance in a physical sense felt like?

God and I are going to have some time alone together at the beginning of the next life. For the wounds to heal, for the scars to fade, and for the tears to become mere memory. I used to think healing would happen in an instant, but I'm not sure that's how healing works anymore.

My daughter had been injured by an accident — something that had no one to blame or fault. And in that time, I needed to know that it was all going to be all right. I needed to know that it would work out. I needed hope. And I needed to restore my faith in that hope.

I didn't want to lose my best friend to this soon-to-be relationship. I already knew what it felt like to be left alone, tossed away like an old rag doll by a straight relationship, forgotten. I don't know how many times this had happened to me, and I wasn't ready to go through it again. Especially by someone I thought would be my best friend for a long time.

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.

I recently returned from a men's retreat in which I came face-to-face with my biggest struggle: not anything regarding my sexuality or sexual addictions. But simply feeling like a man. Like a man among men, assembled on an equal playing field rather than somewhere on another field's sidelines.