Gay celibate dating
The next day I would board an airplane for home, having managed, in some way I can’t now fathom, to finish my master’s-degree thesis while stumbling through a darkening depression that left me almost unable to read. We had once shared a house and talked sometimes about doing so again in the future.
The occasion of that darkness was my friend’s new romance, and my experience of it was almost entirely defined by a deepening jealousy. And so, fingering the cellphone in my pocket, I tried to forget for a moment that I wanted him single again, wanted him all for myself.
The next thing I did was look for a place where I could sob without being seen.
Gay schoolboys’ crushes on straight friends can pack such a devastating wallop, many go out of their way not to repeat them, looking for love from then on out with people who actually want to love them back. My friends have told me I’d make a good husband, and I confess that I think they’re right, but I decided years ago that to pursue the kind of marriage I feel suited for—to pursue marriage to a man—would violate my Christian faith in a way my conscience couldn’t tolerate.
I told myself that, like the early Christian renunciants I’d read about in Peter Brown, I didn’t want my mind to be ruled by lust.
I could practice what the evangelicals of my childhood called “custody of the eyes.”Still, I tried to befriend Spencer.
The year before I wept into my silent cellphone that night at the end of grad school, I had, in fact, written a manuscript that was eventually published with the title .
In that book I tried to articulate what are, by most contemporary measurements, my very strange theological convictions about gay love.
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Tonight would be our last time to see each other for a while, I told him when he answered. He and the woman he was now dating had already made plans, he said.