This is a snippet from Lucas F.W. Wilson’s latest book, Shame-Sex Attraction, which features narratives from individuals who have survived conversion therapy. Released just last week by Jessica Kingsley Publishers, you can find it at Bookshop.org. The collection includes 17 personal essays, with this section detailing Wilson’s experiences in group conversion therapy at Liberty University.
“What do you think the guys in the group will be like?” I inquired while nudging my tray forward and finishing the last bite of my dinner.
“I’m really curious to see,” Thad replied, his cat-like eyes sparkling. He leaned back in his chair, stretching his veiny arms behind his head, with dark armpit hair peeking out from beneath his t-shirt. I couldn’t help but stare. Was he wearing deodorant? I found myself wondering if I could just bury my nose in his pits and take a deep breath.
Thad and I were seated in the cafeteria at Liberty. Liberty University, the evangelical institution that proudly called itself “the world’s most exciting university,” was where we both decided to pursue our studies. Like our fellow students, we aimed to get a Christian education so that we could, upon graduation, ignite the world for Jesus.
This was either the second or third time Thad and I had hung out. We first crossed paths when Steph, the girl I was somewhat interested in at the time, suggested we connect. When I confided in her about my stronger attraction to guys than to girls, I was surprised she didn’t run away. Instead, she thought I might find it helpful to talk to her friend Thad, who also grappled with same-sex attraction and might assist me in understanding my feelings for men. When she first mentioned him, I secretly hoped he’d be good-looking. Even though I was convinced I wanted to become straight—and sexually pure—my hormones were still all over the place. So, when I finally met Thad, I was thrilled to discover he was quite the catch.
Thad was among the few guys like me I knew personally on campus. Aside from one friend I had met early in my time at Liberty, there were only a couple of others I got to know who also dealt with same-sex attraction. One was a Spiritual Life Director in my freshman dorm, with whom I had a strange one-night stand, and he immediately cut off communication afterward.
My brief encounter with the Spiritual Life Director led me to seek out Pastor Dane Emerick, the campus figure who claimed he could help male students struggling with same-sex attraction and who was leading the group Thad and I were set to attend that evening. At the time of my hookup with the Spiritual Life Director, I felt isolated at a university that penalized students for acting on their same-sex attractions.
So, when Steph introduced Thad and me, I felt relieved to find someone else who shared my struggles. However, the flesh is weak, and I hoped he felt the same way. Thad, on the other hand, treated me like a younger brother. Although I was always up for some playful role play, it was evident that Thad wasn’t interested—at least not with me.
“I think I already have an idea of who most of the guys will be at tonight’s meeting,” I said as we counted down the minutes until it was time to head to the group not far from the cafeteria. The gathering was for those at Liberty like us—those who exchanged discreet glances with other guys when no one was watching, those who eyed the array of tight tank tops in the gym that revealed toned backs and sweaty pecs—in other words, those who were into men.
Both Thad and I had met individually with Pastor Dane for years. But after deciding we wanted insight into who else faced same-sex attraction on campus, we both requested to join the group—especially since we each argued we had made significant strides toward sexual purity. Pastor Dane agreed.
“Same here,” Thad replied. “But honestly, I’m not too thrilled about those guys—none have caught my interest.”
On Liberty’s campus, there were always familiar faces who subtly hinted at their orientation, sharing their secret with us daily without uttering a word. Some were attractive enough, but like Thad, I wasn’t particularly interested.
Thad continued, “But maybe there’ll be some surprises.”
I enjoyed hanging out with Thad because, although he was trying to suppress his same-sex desires, he was also a fellow mischievous soul—one who navigated both the Liberty bubble and “the outside world.” He had a realistic view of our situations regarding attraction to men, but sometimes he was almost too pragmatic. He mentioned plans to move to California after graduation to finally determine if God truly disapproved of being gay. While I wanted to do the same upon returning home to Toronto, the idea also filled me with dread. I constantly pondered, What if I’m wrong? I didn’t want to lose my relationship with God, nor did I want to end up in hell. So, I stayed within the confines of the faith and mostly adhered to the straight path, despite the occasional late-night escapade in my dorm with a jar of Vaseline and tissues, browsing French websites that slipped past Liberty’s anti-porn filters.
“Let’s pray,” I said, half-jokingly.
After we grabbed our backpacks and returned our trays, we exited the cafeteria and headed to the Music Hall, where our meeting was set to take place. While many Liberty students were aware of the group’s existence, only its members knew when or where Pastor Dane’s meetings occurred. We were a secret. As we walked, the cover of night provided us with a sense of anonymity. Yet, despite the darkness and the fact that no one knew our destination, I still felt as if I was being watched—a feeling I often experienced on campus. I was anxious about running into someone I knew and, without an excuse, having to explain my whereabouts. Thankfully, we traversed the hundred meters and entered the building unnoticed.
Wandering through the halls, we finally stood outside the meeting room door. My heart raced, not from anxiety about being seen but from eager anticipation of who awaited us on the other side. I turned to Thad and smiled before we stepped inside, one after the other. A group of guys was gathered, buzzing and chatting. They paused, turned to assess us, then resumed their conversations, glancing back occasionally. As we ventured further into the room, I could still feel their not-so-subtle stares. Scanning the dimly lit space, I realized Thad and I were right: it was mostly the guys we expected to see. But then I spotted him.
He was seated on the floor next to a couch, staring directly at me. This wasn’t unfamiliar territory, as I had seen him around campus often, and our eye contact had lingered just a bit too long on several occasions. I had always wondered if he faced the same struggles I did. However, seeing him in this meeting finally brought clarity. In my mind, I had dubbed him Phil, as he resembled Phil Diffy from Disney’s Phil of the Future. Now was my chance to introduce myself.
I glanced back at Thad, who was behind me, and he flashed a wide grin as if to say, We’re actually here, huh? I motioned for us to sit on the couch. As a few attendees moved aside for us, I suddenly recognized someone I had met through a friend. Although we were only acquaintances, he was on the couch next to my crush, giving me a perfect excuse to make a beeline in his direction.
“Oh, hey!” I exclaimed.
“Oh, hey, Luke! How’s it going?” my acquaintance replied, somewhat enthusiastically but unsurprised. I wondered if our mutual friend had mentioned me.
He stood up, embraced me, and pointed next to the couch, saying, “This is my friend Mac.”
I looked down at Mac, still seated on the floor—his gaze at the same level as my waist—and smiled. “Hi, Mac. I’m Luke.”
Mac smiled shyly and returned the greeting. It felt like he recognized me too. I introduced Thad to both of them, and the three of us who were standing squeezed onto the couch, close to Mac on the floor. We chatted for a few minutes before leaning back to observe the guys conversing in front of us.
“Hey, man!” one of them called to another.
“What’s up, dude?” the other replied.
“Bro, not much! Just living the dream!”
I sat there, red-faced and cringing. It sounded like they were trying to mimic some stereotypical locker-room banter. I wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of masculinity, but I never spoke in such an inauthentic manner. I consistently tried to present myself as the man God intended me to be—which Pastor Dane had advised if I wanted to develop attraction to women—but I refused to engage like this. I understood why the guys in this room acted as they did—they were simply following Dane’s instructions. But even for someone who performed daily like me, the atmosphere reeked of insincerity.
Pastor Dane soon kicked off the meeting, aided by a student who seemed to be his sidekick for the evening. They guided us through prayer, scripture, and an open discussion about our shared struggles that brought us together. We explored what it meant to be a man, a man of God, and what went awry for those of us who didn’t meet that standard. We exchanged strategies on resisting temptations, fending off Satan’s advances, and striving to be both godly and sexually pure. Pastor Dane reminded us that if we lived more fully in the realm of men, we could eventually find a woman to marry and lead fulfilling, happy lives. These promises fueled my hope for a brighter future, one that would finally allow me to be like my friends who were dating women and getting engaged.
“Doing what men do helps us become the men God calls us to be. That’s partly why we’ve planned a hike this weekend—to sweat it out! To connect with nature! And just to be men together!” Pastor Dane said with enthusiasm. “Who’s coming?”
Several hands shot up.
No way in hell, I thought. As much as I had wanted to meet other guys like me on campus, it became painfully clear as we entered this meeting that these weren’t the guys I wanted to hang out with. There had to be others like me on campus—those I’d prefer to get hot and sweaty with, who desired the same. Like, for instance, Mac.
We broke into small groups to discuss Pastor Dane’s message. His lesson wasn’t new; it was the same spiel he had given me in our one-on-one sessions—and I assumed it was the same for others in theirs. I appreciated the familiarity of his repeated messages—his consistency was reassuring. His instructions were straightforward, even if challenging to apply when trying to find attraction to any woman. But God never promised it would be easy, he reminded us.
The meeting concluded with a prayer, and several of us lingered afterward. As we chatted, Mac stood close to me. I had wanted to speak with him for months, so I seized this opportunity to keep the conversation going as long as I could.
“We should hang out sometime,” I suggested to Mac and the rest of the couch crew.
They all nodded, and Mac replied, “Oh yeah, definitely.”
I couldn’t help but smile.
