The other day a close friend, who has had trouble with relationships (twice divorced) asked me what it was like to really be in love. I told him that being in love with someone means that you would have a very difficult time living without them, that your life would be completely turned upside down if they left you and that you want to spend not only this life with them, but all eternity. For me, if I lost my wife through death or divorce, I would never recover from it and I would have little to live for that had real meaning, other than my children. If I lost both my wife and children, I don't think I could survive. Literally. Maybe that's why, when it really comes down to it, I have never been with another man, even with all the desire and close calls, I have always found a way out. I'm not saying that those who have fallen and been unfaithful to their spouse don't love them enough. We do stupid things in the heat of the moment and Satan has a way of clouding our judgement, even in the face of great love. But, for me, when I ask myself what love is, it means staying with my wife and family in the face of great odds. In the face of living a life of being attracted to the same sex and choosing a wife and family, as well as a religion that views homosexual acts (not desires) as a sin.

I love getting my hair cut, mostly because I crave the touch of another man. I don't even care that it's not a sexual touch, just an innocent touch, a closeness. It has little to do with any erotic thoughts, and instead, has to do with acceptance and love on a higher level. Getting my hair cut is one of the very few places I know of that I can go and be touched without feeling guilty, knowing that it's a "safe" touch. I'm not even attracted to the guy that cuts my hair, although I suspect he is gay.

Earlier today, I had another incidence of innocent touch where the guy helping me do something had to take my arm, hand and fingers and hold onto them for a good 20 minutes. It felt good - a warm fuzzy feeling, again not erotic. Both mine and his arms were bare, as we were both wearing short-sleeved shirts. He was focused on the work he was doing, intent on doing it right. I don't think he was aware of my focus on his touch. There was little conversation during our closeness (both of us total strangers). He made the comment that my hands were a little sweaty. I was nervous but he wasn't. This was part of his regular job. I wondered how many arms and hands he had held during his job...many I'm sure. Although I could tell that he didn't have to do this on a regular basis. I would disclose what it was we were doing, but it would give too much information about me. I know I have posted about touch a few times already, and some have said that there is no way that touch like this is not at least somewhat erotic. But, it's not. It's so much more than that.