It was clear that [my mother] had not comprehension of the reality that homosexual love, exactly like the love she felt for my father, isn't just about sexual organs, that it is also about the spritual strength and the support one person draws mysteriously from another. I can't explain why the comfort I fellin in a gay man's arms is greater than I could find in those of a heterosexual woman. It's not an act of sex. It's an act of love. It's not about sexual gratification. It's about spritual survival.

Mel White, Stranger at the Gate

hat? He's tired of sex? I thought that would get your attention. No. I am not tired of sex. I enjoy sex very much. I am, however, getting tired of hearing about sex. I'm generally a low key person, who is not easily riled, but the next time a person tries to tell me that homosexuality is a sexual preference I think my head will explode. Hopefully my spirit will linger long enough to appreciate the mess I will have made and the look of horror on the unlucky individual who will have to wipe my brains off his face.

One of the first things my last bishop said to me was, "Homosexuality is a sexual preference that can turn into an obsession." I knew then I was dealing with someone who had no idea what he was talking about. I spent five years talking to a counselor about homosexuality. In all that time, my counselor was never able to explain to me how sex was at the center of homosexuality, at least not in a way that I could accept. Counseling seemed to revolve around the same theory, namely, my attraction to men was a preference, much as one prefers chocolate ice cream to vanilla, and all that had to be done was teach me to like vanilla. At the heart of this "retraining" was teaching me to see men as individuals and not sex objects. That is where he lost me.

First of all, I didn't and don't see men as sex objects. One of my gay friends once asked me if, when I saw a guy I thought was good looking, I tried to imagine his equipment. With my best you've-got-to-be-kidding look, I told him, "No." I don't see a good looking guy walking down the street and think, "Oooo, I'd like a piece of that ass." I see a good looking guy and think, "Wow. He's cute. I'd like to meet him. I wonder if he'd be interested in meeting me." I've seen men good looking enough to make my stomach feel like it's suddenly sagging around my knees. Even then I was not imagining what it would be like to get him into bed. I do confess, however, that I sometimes wonder how he kisses.

But what about your friend's question? Wasn't he objectifying men? Of course he was. And here is my second problem with this idea of sex as the focus of homosexuality. I have yet to find anyone who can explain to me what objectifying individuals as mere sex objects has to do with being gay. No rational human being can suggest that only gay men objectify those upon whom their desires are focused. Have you ever heard of Sports Illustrated? What about park bathrooms, gay bars and bathhouses, usually among the first things that comes to the mind of many "God fearing" individuals when they hear the word gay? Fair enough, but then let's also talk about prostitution, singles bars and exotic dance clubs. Again, someone please explain to me how lasciviousness, promiscuity and sexual addiction are the hallmarks of homosexuality.

Evergreen was no different. Three times I listened to conversations that can be summed up like this: "I just can't imagine living together with a guy. That's so gay." Finally the third time I stopped them and said, "Guys, I wouldn't do it any other way. I don't want sex. I want to fall in love. I want to settle down. I want to find a mate." I didn't ask them why living with a life partner was somehow more gay than cruising for your next lay, or why it was somehow worse. I already knew that answer. You see as long as the sex is meaningless you can justify your behavior as "a phase," an aberrant predilection for a type of sex. In so doing you also marginalize and diminish what you are feeling. You don't have to face the fact that your feelings are much deeper than mere desire or lust. You can convince yourself that it and you are wicked, evil and wrong.

We are not in Baskin Robins. I am not sampling flavors of ice cream and deciding which is my favorite. As someone who has had sex with a man and sex with a woman, I'll let you in on a little secret. Aside from obvious differences in mechanics and execution, physical pleasure is physical pleasure. Sex is sex. What makes the difference is how you feel about who you are with. It is not about the act of sex. It is about who makes you twitterpated, who makes your stomach fall to your knees, who makes your heart beat faster, and who makes it skip a beat. It's about finding peace wrapped in the arms of another. It's about trust, love and companionship.

The last conversation I had with my last bishop is blurry to me now. I remember very little of what was said, probably because I was fuming mad. I can't even remember now what he said to me that inspired the following angry response, which I bit back. "Let me ask you something. How would you feel if I spoke about your relationship with your wife as just someplace you like to put your dick?" Sometimes I wish I had said it, hoping it would have shocked him enough into bringing more than a few brain cells to bear the issue. In my more quiet moments, however, there is something that tells me it wouldn't have done any good.

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