you end there by saying sex with those we love most - and I think I would agree though I cannot do this myself for heaps of reasons. I still think the problem for the Christian is the fact that society does not understand (and perhaps cannot ever understand) the idea of a God who loves but does not have sex . . . the closest we can get to it from the secular point of view is the love of a parent for his children . . .which is why we call God Father I think . . . because it does, at least, get us a tiny bit closer to understanding the nature of God's love for mankind. . .
I have come to see my own attraction to boys as a curious mix-up between sexual love and the overwhelming desire to be a father myself . . it's clear to me that I was attracted (emotionally) most to boys who were suffering either from neglect at home or who had lost one or both of their parents. The boy who I loved most in my life I was never really able to get to know properly. he lived in the village where I was teaching but he was in a different class and our paths hardly crossed. He used to get chucked out of his class a lot and I remember coming across him one day in the toilets. He was crouched in the corner hugging his knees. He got up when I came in and muttered a courteous but unsmiling greeting (this was in a country foreign to my own and I had scarcely more than two hundred words so I found it hard to communicate. I did my best though and I asked him what he was doing there and a little about his background. When he told me that his parents had been burnt I thought I had misunderstood him so asked around the village later and, yes, they had. Both his parents had died in a fire (both drunk I am sorry to say) along with a brother I believe. He was being brought up by his grandfather who was also a renowned drinker.
This boy had a terrible reputation amongst the villagers - tempered with compassion. he was known as a thief - though i didnt find this out for about two years. I had always left my front door unlocked until warned gently by the headmaster at the school that this might be unwise. When I asked why he tentatively mentioned this boys' name. Sure enough, a few days later, I came home to find him in my kitchen covered in confusion.
He had probably visited several times before that day: looking back I realised that tiny amounts of money had gone missing. The worst thing about this was that I could have helped him so much more if he had been able to communicate better - I dont mean the foreign language I mean that this was his terrible problem: he neither understood what his real problem was and therefore had no way of communicating about it. He couldnt ask for help.
So I wasnt able to engage him in conversation that day in my kitchen. He fled the scene as soon as I stood away from the door for him to leave.
Shortly afterwards he moved away. I did see him again, in this other town, and now I can read about him on the net because his country has details of court proceedings. This boy never stood a chance.
It was as though his own isolation and problems spoke directly to mine The fact that I am middle-class and able to communicate fairly well with people has meant that I am better at covering up than he has been. We both fell in the end though.
I still remember this person in my prayers each day and he figures very strongly in my emotional life such as it is . . .
He was also stunningly goodlooking of course . . . to my mind anyway - but he carried his secrets with him in his eyes.
I would like to write more but must finish now. It's way past my bedtime. Thanks for your post: it's been thought-provoking!