The Wanderings and Delusions of a Gay Mormon Boy

I suppose I've been meaning to sit down and do this for a while, but I often feel like I have to have a special occasion or some other excuse to start something and keep to it. Nonsensical, I know, but I can't help it. My neuroses show quite often.

The special occasion of starting all of this is an anniversary of sorts. One year ago I had my first kiss.

It wasn't like I'd imagined. It wasn't with my best friend growing up or the girl who wrote me throughout my mission or over an alter. (Yes, I was that naïve). It was the simplest of dates—dinner and a movie—overlooking the Salt Lake Valley. The major discrepancy here doesn't lie in the where or the what, but in the who. His name was Mark and he made me happy to know I wasn't the only one.

I wasn't the only Mormon boy who didn't understand why he had no desire to go out with girls. The only one who wondered why he wasn't interested in the girls. The only one who wanted to continue in the church without ignoring the emotions I'd just come to understand. Both of us had decided we were going to live our lives on that metaphorical fence between the gay world and the church world. And, finally, both of us were obedient, but only as much as we felt was right or fair.