Date: Tue, 13 Nov 2001 12:39:37 -0700
From: L
Subject: Companions (no sex)

------------------------------------------------------
NOTE: While this story is purely fictional, it draws
on my actual experience as a former LDS missionary.
(There's a story there, of course, but it's not the
story you're about to read.)

For conscience's sake, I should say that my decision
to submit this story to the Nifty Archive does not
necessarily mean that I approve of the content of
other stories in the archive. However, I applaud the
archive's goal of collecting "the diverse hopes,
dreams, aspirations, fantasies, and experiences of the
Queer Community." Gay Mormon experience--and fantasy--
is one piece of that diversity.
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COMPANIONS

The mission rules said that we weren't supposed to be
out later than 9:30 PM. But we'd gotten a lot
accomplished that day, so Elder Ralston and I rewarded
ourselves by stopping at my favorite hotdog stand on
the way home. We'd never introduced ourselves formally
to the vendor, but the missionaries had been regular
customers for a long time, so the vendor called out
"iLos mormones!" in greeting as we pulled up on our
bicycles.

We talked about the day as we ate our hot dogs--the
new families and individuals we'd contacted during our
proselyting, the progress our current investigators
were making towards baptism. "It was great that the
Corrales family committed to come to church," Elder
Ralston commented.

I looked at him quizzically. Elder Ralston knew as
well as I did that investigators often agreed to do
things they had no intention of doing; it was part of
the culture. Going to church was one of the hardest
commitments to get people to keep.

"Sure it's great," I said carefully. "I don't really
know how sincere they were being, though. I mean, they
haven't been doing much Book of Mormon reading. I
guess we'll just have to see what happens Sunday."

"You're right," Elder Ralston conceded. He munched his
hot dog pensively. "I want to believe they're sincere,
though. So that's what I'm going to believe."

I felt a warm tingling inside the back of my head. I
often had this reaction when Elder Ralston did or said
something that struck me as endearing. Almost as if he
could sense what I was feeling, Elder Ralston smiled
at me, reached over, and squeezed the back of my neck
affectionately. A thrill ran through me, and I looked
away from his face for fear of somehow revealing the
effect his touch had on me.

*	*	*

Elder Ralston was my first junior companion. I had
been in the mission field for about eight months now.
I spoke the language well; I knew the teaching
techniques in the Missionary Guide in and out and
backwards; I'd helped bring about several convert
baptisms. My most recent companion, Elder Niederman,
had confided to me that during his monthly interview
with the mission president, he'd told President
Ingersoll that he thought I was ready to be made
senior companion, and President Ingersoll had agreed.
So when the zone leaders called us to say that Elder
Niederman was being transferred to a different area,
we knew that my new companion--whoever he turned out
to be--would be my junior, not my senior.

Elder Ralston was my junior because he had less time
in the mission field, but he was three years older
than I was, which was unusual. He was a recent convert
to the Church, so he was serving his mission somewhat
later than those of us who had been raised in the
Church and started our missions at the customary age
of nineteen. The zone leaders brought him to the
apartment on the morning of the day of transfers. As
soon as I saw him, I felt as if the hairs on the back
of my neck were standing up in response to an electric
charge. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with biceps
plainly visible under his short-sleeved white shirt. I
learned later that before his mission he had worked
for a construction company, building houses. Even in a
tie and dress slacks, he gave the impression of being
comfortable in his body. I immediately felt pangs of
envy--and of that other something which by now I'd
admitted to myself was desire.

He gave me a firm and hearty handshake, not the quick,
automatic handshake customary among missionaries. He
seemed genuinely pleased to meet me. "Elder Ralston,
reporting for duty," he boomed.

Normally it grated on my nerves when missionaries used
military metaphors, but coming from him it seemed
charming. Also, I sensed he was trying to let me know
from the outset that he recognized my role as senior
companion, even though he was older--not to mention
larger--than I was. I appreciated that.

The zone leaders left. Elder Ralston scratched the
back of his head in a kind of helpless way, his bags
piled at his feet. "I'm going to be direct and up
front with you, Elder McKinney," he told me. "I don't
know what you have planned for this morning. But they
picked me up at five to drive me in from San Felipe,
and I haven't even had time to shower yet. If it's
possible, I'd like to take a shower, get settled in,
and maybe take a nap before we go out in the
afternoon."

"No problem," I said. "I wasn't sure when you'd get
here, so I didn't schedule any appointments for this
morning."

Our apartment consisted of a front room, which doubled
as a place to hang the laundry, a small kitchen, a
bedroom with two identical beds and desks, and a tiny
bathroom off of that. Elder Ralston deposited his bags
in the bedroom and sprawled out on his unmade bed with
a loud sigh. I sat at my desk to study while he did
whatever he needed to. After a while, Elder Ralston
sat up and began to undress. I lifted my hand as if to
support my head while I read, so that I wouldn't be
able to see him out of the corner of my eye. Soon I
heard him the bathroom, behind me, pouring water over
himself from the plastic garbage cans we filled up
during the few hours each day when the plumbing came
on.

When he emerged from the bathroom, he walked back over
to his bed and sat down. "So where are you from, Elder
McKinney?"

I turned to face him; it seemed the only polite thing
to do. He had his towel wrapped around his waist and
was clipping his toenails. There was a very attractive
mat of hair on his chest I forced myself not to look
at directly. "Provo," I replied.

"Did you go to BYU, then?"

"For a year. I got most of my generals done before my
mission. What about you? Where are you from?"

"Orange County, California."

We kept talking. He told me about his conversion to
the Church a year before. He hadn't attended college
before his mission (he'd gone straight to work out of
high school), but he hoped to apply to a local
community college when his mission was over. He was
the only person in his family who was LDS, so he was
supporting himself through his mission with money he'd
saved while working constructing houses, along with
some financial help from the Church.

While he talked, Elder Ralston finished clipping his
toenails and pulled on the upper half of his temple
garment. With his towel still wrapped around his
waist, he pulled on the lower garment. Only then did
he set aside the towel. This was how most missionaries
dressed, as a way of preserving their modesty in front
of each other; but my previous companions had always
done this with their backs to me for extra privacy.
I'd never had a companion dress in front of me like
this. I found it uncomfortable. However, since Elder
Ralston kept talking the whole time, I didn't feel I
could simply turn away. Plus, I was afraid to show I
was uncomfortable, since I knew that my discomfort had
to do entirely with my own abnormal feelings.

Elder Ralston pulled a pair of shorts on over his
temple garment for additional modesty and began
unpacking. We kept chatting while he worked, getting
to know one another, talking about previous areas we'd
served in and other missionaries we both knew. The
conversation flowed easily. I had a feeling Elder
Ralston and I were going to get along well. We were
obviously very different: me, the quiet studious type;
him, the out-going athletic type. I didn't imagine
we'd have much in common outside missionary work. But
he seemed like a very decent, affable person, and I
didn't get the sense that he was put off by my
bookishness the way other missionaries were. I didn't
feel awkward like I usually did when getting to know a
new companion. We'd known each other for less than an
hour, but I already felt like we were friends.

When his side of the room was looking lived in again,
Elder Ralston took a nap, and I went back to studying.
I glanced over at him a couple of times while he
slept. Somehow he looked both manly and boyish at the
same time. Something stirred in my groin, and I turned
my attention back to the scriptures, feeling guilty.

After lunch, I unfolded the weekly planner I kept in
my breast pocket so Elder Ralston could make a copy
for himself. I filled him on the work Elder Niederman
and I had been doing with each family or individual on
the planner. He listened attentively, his brow
furrowed a little as if he were working hard to
remember everything I was telling him.

"Sounds like we have a big teaching pool," he said
after I finished running through our list of current
investigators.

Proceed carefully, I warned myself. "Well, that's
maybe a little deceptive," I said aloud. "We need to
sit down and have a frank talk with some of these
people in the next few days, and we may end up
dropping several of them depending on how that goes."

"What do you mean?"

Several of the people Elder Niederman and I had been
teaching were friendly and insisted that their door
was always open to us, but otherwise they showed
little interest in learning about the Church. They
didn't complete reading assignments in the Book of
Mormon, for example, and would promise to attend
church meetings but then not show up. I'd tried to
convince Elder Niederman that we ought to find out for
once and for all whether these investigators were
genuinely interested or just being polite. But Elder
Niederman had the theory--common among missionaries,
I'd discovered--that if we just kept visiting the
investigators, the Spirit would eventually get through
to them and they'd convert. I suspected Elder
Niederman's chief concern was that if we stopped
visiting these investigators before finding new ones,
our weekly number of discussions taught would drop,
which would make us look bad. I hadn't pushed the
issue. But I promised myself that when I became senior
companion, I'd do things differently.

I expected Elder Ralston to put up some resistance
when I explained all this. But he just leaned back in
his chair, looking pensive. "So...you want to try to
'Identify the Concern,' like in the Missionary Guide."

"Yes. Exactly."

He laughed--not as if he thought my idea was silly,
but as if he were tickled by it. "I think that's
great. You know, back in San Felipe we had this family
that the missionaries had been visiting for something
like six months, and I always thought it was weird
that we kept counting our visits to them as
discussions. I mean, it was obvious they had no
interest in joining the Church; they just really liked
the missionaries. So yeah, I think sitting down with
these people and having a frank discussion sounds like
the right thing to do. I'm behind you one hundred
percent."

We went on to talk about member-missionary work,
another of my pet peeves. Missionaries disliked going
door-to-door, so they often tried to pressure local
Church members to arrange meetings with their friends
and relatives. In my experience, these meetings
generally resulted in people meeting with us out of
courtesy but with no real interest. I explained to
Elder Ralston some new ideas for more effective
member-missionary work I wanted to try. Again, he was
enthusiastic.

When Elder Ralston asked about our monthly baptismal
goal, I told him I didn't want to set one yet.
According to the Missionary Guide, baptismal goals
were supposed to correspond to the number of
investigators currently programmed for baptism. I
didn't know a single missionary companionship who
actually set their baptismal goals that way; instead,
everyone chose as their goal some figure they wanted
to work towards but rarely achieved. I told Elder
Ralston that I'd rather set our baptismal goals by the
book; since we didn't have anyone programmed for
baptism yet, that would make our baptismal goal for
the month zero. He asked me to show him where in the
Missionary Guide it told how to set baptismal goals. I
showed him. He read it over a few times, slowly.
"Hunh," he said, then added, "I have a feeling this
isn't going to go over too well with Elder Billings."

Elder Billings was our district leader. We had to
report our monthly goals and weekly statistics to him.
The higher those numbers, the more impressed President
Ingersoll would be and the more likely that Elder
Billings would be promoted to zone leader. "Probably
not," I admitted.

"You think he'll make a stink?"

"Probably."

"Well, it's in the book. So I say, let's do it, stink
or no stink. I'll back you up."

I suddenly felt a little like I wanted to cry. "I
really appreciate your support, Elder Ralston," I
said.

He smiled at me. Then, as if on a sudden impulse, he
reached across the table, gave my arm a friendly
punch, and tousled my hair. "That's what companions
are for," he said. "Now, there is one thing I need to
let you know. I like to be direct and up front with
people." I remembered he had used that same phrase
earlier. "If I ever say, 'Elder McKinney, I want to do
such-and-such,' I'm not trying to call the shots. I'm
just letting you know, direct and up front, what I'm
interested in doing. You're senior, you've got more
experience, so if there's some reason we shouldn't do
what I want, or if there's something else you think
would be better to do instead, just say so. And we'll
do whatever you decide is best."

I nodded. There was a strange tingling sensation in
the back of my head. I love this guy, I thought. If it
hadn't been for the other feelings his touch had
aroused in me, I would have been able to say it was a
pure love.

*	*	*

We worked well together. After our first couple of
meetings with investigators, Elder Ralston told me
that I had a different teaching style than he'd ever
seen, but that he thought the way I did things made a
lot of sense. For my part, I was impressed with how
well Elder Ralston connected with people (I tended to
be more formal and stand-offish) and with how simply
but powerfully he bore his testimony while we were
teaching. The frank discussions with our investigators
went well--meaning that most of them admitted they
weren't really interested, but that we left them
feeling we had parted on good terms and had had the
Spirit with us.

We worked hard. We knew we needed to find new people
to teach, so we set at it with a will, talking to
people on the streets. We quickly settled into a
comfortable routine: Elder Ralston was good at
approaching people and striking up a conversation,
which I would then turn to the Book of Mormon or
eternal families or whatever other gospel topic seemed
appropriate to the circumstance. As we expected, the
vast majority of these conversations with strangers
didn't go anywhere. Still, it felt good to return to
the apartment at the end of the day, exhausted,
knowing we'd put forth our best effort.

And it felt good to be working with someone with whom
I felt such an easy give-and-take. With some of my
previous companions, teamwork had been harder to
achieve. I'd found it harder to mesh my style with
that of my companion. With Elder Ralston, the teamwork
seemed almost effortless. Whether that was because he
was content to adapt to me, or whether it was because
our approaches to missionary work just happened to
coincide, I didn't know. But I thanked God for it each
night in my personal prayers, and it was a common
theme in our companionship prayers as well. We felt
that we were one and that this made us more effective
instruments in God's hands.

True to his warning that first day, Elder Ralston was
"direct and up front" about what he was thinking or
what he felt like doing. If he hadn't already told me
that he wasn't trying to call the shots, I might have
been offended by his bluntness. I always gave his
proposals careful consideration; sometimes we did what
he'd proposed, sometimes we didn't. But this free
interchange of ideas--not having to worry about
whether the other person would get defensive--was one
more thing that made me love this companionship.

I loved simply being with Elder Ralston. We would be
studying the scriptures at our respective desks, or
eating at the kitchen table, or riding our bicycles
side-by-side down the street, or standing in a corner
store taking a soda break, and I would realize how
good it felt just being in this man's presence.
Helping him practice his Spanish, or studying with him
in the mornings from the Missionary Guide, I would get
that tingling sensation in the back of my head and
think to myself: This is what a companionship is
supposed to be.

I had to be careful, of course, not to let the other
feelings, the impure feelings, interfere. It was
difficult. We would be sitting at the table, studying
from the Missionary Guide, and suddenly I would find
myself wondering what it would be like to run my lips
through the hairs on his arm. Or I would find myself
covertly tracing the shape of his legs with my eyes
while he walked around the apartment in his garments
and shorts. Or I would look over at him while he was
teaching his part of a discussion and find my gaze
drawn towards the line where the flesh of his neck
disappeared under his collar. Sometimes he would
notice me watching him and smile back, and I would
feel a prickling sensation in my nipples, or I would
start to get hard, and have to look away.

It was particularly difficult because Elder Ralston
liked to touch. He insisted on exchanging a hug after
every companionship prayer. He would come up behind me
while I was reading and give my shoulders a squeeze,
or put his foot up on the edge of my seat while we
were studying at the table, or rest his arm on the
back of the pew at church so that it almost felt as if
he had his arm around me. I realized, of course, that
he didn't mean anything by this--that the physical
contact didn't have the same erotic charge for him
that it did for me. But there was a part of my mind
that wanted to fantasize otherwise, and I had to
consciously turn my thoughts back from running in that
direction.

*	*	*

Occasionally, though, I had to wonder if there might
not be some truth to my fantasies.

Mondays were the day set aside in our mission for
errands not related to missionary work, like shopping
or writing home to our families. It was also the day
on which we were allowed to engage in certain approved
recreational activities. On the first Monday after
Elder Ralston and I became companions, all the
missionaries in our district met at one of the local
meetinghouses to play basketball. Everyone showed up
in shorts, except for me; I was wearing blue jeans.
I'd never been good at sports, and I had no intention
of humiliating myself. I'd brought a book to read
while Elder Ralston and the others played.

Elder Billings was annoyed. He was already ticked off
at me because I'd reported such low weekly statistics
the night before. "We need you to play, Elder
McKinney," he told me irritably from the court. "We
can't make teams if we don't have an even number of
people."

"Leave him alone, Billings," Elder Ralston said.
"We're doing what we enjoy; he's doing what he enjoys.
Besides..." He issued a challenge he knew Elder
Billings couldn't back down from. "I can whip your
butt even with one man less on my team."

During a break in the game, Elder Ralston flopped down
next to me, where I was sitting in the shade of the
building. "So," I said, "are you whipping his butt?"

He shrugged. "I haven't been keeping score."

"I'm sure Elder Billings has," I said drily.

He threw back his head and laughed. "No doubt." As he
said this, he laid his arm casually around my neck.
With his other hand, he tugged at the fabric of my
jeans. "How can you stand to wear these in this heat?
Why don't you ever wear shorts?"

"Not all of us have legs worth showing off," I
replied.

I had meant to sound self-deprecating. But his touch
made me nervous, and my voice came out sounding husky
and therefore unintentionally seductive. There was a
very tense silence. Elder Ralston's arm felt heavy on
my neck. What's going on here? I thought anxiously.

Without warning, Elder Ralston's hand shot up under my
pants leg to grip my calf. I yelped and jerked my leg
back.

"Your legs aren't anything to be ashamed of," Elder
Ralston said. His tone was serious, and he was looking
me straight in the eyes. Then he winked, slapped me
playfully on the stomach, and jumped up to rejoin the
game.

The incident made me uneasy.

*	*	*

A couple nights later, I sat at my desk in my garments
and my bathrobe. Elder Ralston was moving through the
apartment in his garments, shorts, and flip-flops,
putting away his laundry, which the maid had hung up
to dry earlier that day. I was writing in my journal.

"Today we taught the 3rd discussion to the Corrales
family. They accepted the commitment to come to
church--of course. I have my doubts as to whether
they'll actually show up. Elder Ralston, ever the
optimist, is willing himself to believe they'll follow
through. Actually, I should probably be showing more
of that kind of faith myself."

Elder Ralston seemed to be done putting his clothes
away. He was in the front room, but I couldn't hear
what he was doing.

"Elder Ralston is such an incredible companion. He's
so many things I wish I was. Friendly, out-going,
good-looking, popular, humble, teachable, but at the
same time confident and easy-going. I feel really
lucky that we were made companions. I suppose luck
doesn't have anything to do with it, though. God
inspired Pres. Ingersoll to make us companions because
he knew we'd work well together. I'm sure there's
something important we're supposed to get done during
our time together."

I stopped, chewed on the end of my pen for a minute,
then continued.

"I love him so much, it's overpowering sometimes. I
feel like I understand a little better now what Jesus
meant when he talked about his bowels being moved with
compassion. Some of my companions have been hard for
me to love--and I suspect I didn't make it very easy
for them to love me, either--but with Elder Ralston it
comes naturally.

"I have to be careful, though. Satan's working hard on
me. I have to be absolutely clear about the difference
between Christlike love and abnormal passions. I can't
drop my defenses for a second. I can't let myself
tolerate impure thoughts or wishful thinking. Because
if I do, this amazing companionship will turn into
something ugly and sinful. That's my cross right now,
and I have to bear it well. I know the Lord can help
me, if I'm really committed to rising above the
natural man."

Elder Ralston came up behind me. I quickly shut the
journal so he couldn't see what I'd written. He placed
his hands on my shoulders, and as always, a thrill ran
through me.

"Hey," he said. From his tone of voice, I took it to
be a greeting.

"Hey," I replied. His hands on my shoulders were
creating a tension in my groin. I was acutely aware of
the fact that I'd left the lap of my bathrobe open for
comfort. Underneath, I was wearing only my temple
garment; unlike Elder Ralston, and most other
missionaries, I didn't wear shorts over my garments
when I was undressed.

He eased my bathrobe away from my shoulders a little,
leaving the upper garment exposed. "What are you
doing?" I asked, a little sharply.

"Just relax." He started to massage my shoulders and
neck. I grunted. "Feel good?" he asked.

"Yeah." I didn't mean to sound grudging; the massage
felt very good on my tense muscles. But of course,
that wasn't the only reason this felt good.

"You're really tight. Close your eyes. Just imagine
all the tension flowing out of your back."

I shouldn't let him do this, I thought. I was starting
to get hard. I knew I should tell him to stop, but I
didn't want him to. I closed my eyes and leaned in
closer to the desk, so that he wouldn't be able to see
what was going on in my lap.

The room was very quiet. The sound of my breathing
seemed very loud. I tried to take softer, shallower
breaths, lest I betray how excited the massage was
making me--and hoping, too, that this might make my
erection go away. I was getting hard enough now that
my prick was moving inside my garment, pushing forward
and up, the fabric of the garment too light and loose
to restrain my erection the way a pair of briefs might
have.

The massage ended, but Elder Ralston kept his hands on
my shoulders. "Better?"

I had to clear my throat a little before I could
answer. "Yes."

He patted my upper arms as if to say, "All done," but
then, instead of backing away, he continued to loom
over me. I kept my upper body as close as I could to
the desk, knowing that from where he was standing he
would be able to see the bulge in my lap if he leaned
forward far enough. "Let's pray," he said.

I tried to close my bathrobe over my lap
unobtrusively, but I was sitting on too much of the
bathrobe to pull off this maneuver. Stall, I told
myself desperately. "I need to finish writing in my
journal," I said, stammering a little despite my best
efforts.

There was a pause. His hands were still resting on my
shoulders. "If you're embarrassed about your hard-on,"
he said finally, "don't be. I've got one, too." He
patted my upper arms again. "Let's pray," he repeated.

I swallowed hard. My face was burning, and my head
felt light. Things had taken a completely unexpected
turn. I could feel my heart racing, though I wasn't
sure whether it was desire or terror.

Elder Ralston knelt in his usual spot, waiting for me.
I got up, closing my bathrobe as I did so, though this
did nothing to make my erection less noticeable. I
scrupulously avoided looking at Elder Ralston's lap as
I knelt next to him. Before I could remember whose
turn it was to pray, Elder Ralston began.

"Heavenly Father, we're thankful for everything we
were able to get done today." He began to work his way
down a list of the people we'd worked with in the
course of the day, giving thanks for what had gone
well and making appropriate requests on each person's
behalf. It was no different from the way he'd prayed
any other night. How can he do this? I thought. My
erection was subsiding, but my heart was still beating
unusually fast.

He had reached the point where I would have expected
him to conclude the prayer. But now he was doing
something new. "Heavenly Father, we're thankful for
the opportunity you've given us to be companions.
We're thankful that our companionship is so strong.
We're thankful for the love we feel for one another,
and for the joy that it gives us to be together. We
pray that our love will keep on growing. We pray that
the people we work with will be able to feel the love
we have for each other and the Spirit that we're able
to carry with us because of it." He hesitated. "We
pray that we will know what we should do to keep
growing closer, and to share with one another and
strengthen one another, and..." Another pause. "And to
find the joy you sent us to this earth to find. In the
name of Jesus Christ, amen."

I opened my eyes but kept them glued to the floor.
Through my peripheral vision, I could see Elder
Ralston reaching over to put his arm around me. I
scrambled to my feet before he could touch me. "Good
night," I said. It sounded brusquer than I'd intended,
but I felt that something dangerous was about to
overtake me. I hung up my robe and crawled under the
sheets with my back to Elder Ralston. He was still
kneeling on the floor. There was a long silence.
Finally I heard him getting up. He shut off the light,
and then I heard him climbing under his mosquito
netting.

I suddenly became aware that I was breathing rapidly
and intensely, as if I were angry, or as if I'd just
been exercising. I held very still, not wanting to
make any sound. Elder Ralston seemed to be doing the
same thing, because there was no sound coming from his
side of the room either.

I don't know how long we stayed like that. But then I
heard a sound as if Elder Ralston had sat up in bed,
and then a minute or so later I heard him climb out
from under the mosquito netting and cross the room. He
stopped near my bed, just standing there. I swallowed
hard and willed myself to stay calm. A loud noise made
me start; he had pulled my chair away from my desk.
"Elder McKinney," he said, his voice at normal volume,
"we need to talk."

I sat up warily. There was enough light coming in
through the windows that I could see he was sitting
akimbo in my chair. "All right," I said. My throat was
tight, so my voice came out sounding froggy

"I'm going to be direct and up front with you, Elder
McKinney. I am head-over-heels in love with you."

I was stunned. It had been obvious he was going to
talk about the sexual tension between us, but I would
never have guessed that he'd talk about it as "being
in love." I was frightened, but also, at some level,
immensely flattered.

"I had a lot of...experience before I joined the
Church," he continued. "I dated girls in high school
and then while I was working, and I really enjoyed it.
But I'd known for a long time that I was also
attracted to guys. So there was a time when I decided
to explore that side of things for a while. I went to
gay bars, and went home with different guys, and had
really great sex, I have to say." He laughed a little
as he said this. "I even dated one guy regularly for a
while. But I really, really disliked a lot of what I
saw going on in the gay scene: a lot of attitude, and
posing, and mind games, and a lot of drugs and alcohol
and promiscuity--not that I'm really in a good
position to criticize that, I guess. But finally I
realized that this wasn't a good place for me to be.
So I pulled back and didn't date anyone for a while,
guys or girls. And then I met the missionaries, and I
was really impressed with how together their lives
were and how they knew where they were going in life.
So I took the discussions, and prayed about it, and
decided to get baptized...but you know that part
already."

His words were tumbling out, as if he'd started
something that now he couldn't stop. "The point is,
after I got baptized, I figured that the gay stuff was
all in the past now, and that when the time was right
I'd fall in love with someone--a girl, a mean--and get
married in the temple and have kids and all the rest
of it. I mean, I don't think of myself as gay, because
I am attracted to women; maybe I'm bisexual or
something, I don't know.

"The point is," he said again, and suddenly he was
speaking more slowly and emphatically, "I have never
in my whole life been as attracted to anyone as I am
to you. And it's not just physical. I mean, don't take
this the wrong way, but physically you're not really
my type. It's not like you're bad-looking or anything.
But your body isn't the kind that would make me turn
my head if I were walking down the street or checking
out people in a bar. Still, though--" Again, he was
talking slowly, driving the point home. "You are far
and away the most attractive person I have ever met.
From the moment I saw you, I thought: There's
something different about this guy. And then we turned
out to have so many of the same ideas about how
missionary work should be done, and we work so well
together, and I feel the Spirit so strongly when we're
studying together or teaching people. It just feels so
good being with you that I want to put my arm around
you when we're walking down the street, or hold your
hand when we're sitting at the kitchen table, studying
or eating or whatever.

"It's like... " He was groping for words. "I look at
missionary couples, like President and Sister
Ingersoll, or the Lunds down in the mission office. I
look at them and think it must be so incredible to be
in a missionary companionship where your companion is
also your lover. You can't get closer to your
companion than that. They must work so much better
together, knowing each other as intimately well as
they do. It has to be the greatest thing. And then I
realize: that's the kind of companionship you and I
have. Or could have."

"What are you saying?" I asked, though I already knew
perfectly well what he was saying.

"I'm saying I want us to be lovers, Elder McKinney."
(Thinking about this conversation later, I would
reflect on how strange it was that he would call me by
my missionary title, instead of my first name, at the
moment he was offering to become my lover. At the
time, though, it would never have occurred to us to
call each other by our first names. I'm not sure we
had ever exchanged first names.)

"I want us to be lovers, Elder McKinney," he said. "I
want to come back to the apartment after a long, hard
day of spiritually intense missionary work. I want to
write in my journal and get ready for bed. I want to
have companionship prayer. And then I want to kiss
you, and take off your clothes, and run my hands over
your body, and do things to you that will make you
feel better than you ever knew you could feel. And
then I want to fall asleep with you lying naked in my
arms. And in the morning I want to get up, and do my
daily Book of Mormon reading, and study the Missionary
Guide together, and go out for another long hard day
of spiritually intense missionary work. That's what I
want."

There was a long, very tense silence, which he finally
broke by saying, "Sorry. I didn't mean to get so hot
and heavy at the end there."

"That's OK," I said automatically. But then I thought,
Like hell it's OK. So I said, "This is insane."

He waited.

"We can't...be lovers." The word had sounded natural
when he used it, but I had a hard time spitting it
out, and it sounded silly as soon as I did. "It's...
it's wrong. It's one of the worst things we could do.
It's one thing to have these feelings for each other;
it's not like we choose to have them. But if we act on
them, we won't have the Spirit anymore, and we won't
be able to do the Lord's work, and if anyone finds
out, we'll both be sent home, and we'll probably get
excommunicated. It's...it's..." I was so upset I could
hardly speak. "No. No. How can you even be thinking
about this? You know the law of chastity. You've
taught it to investigators, for heaven's sake. If we
did this, it would go against everything we're here to
do."

Another long silence. When Elder Ralston spoke, I
could tell he was choosing his words carefully. "I
don't want to argue with you, Elder McKinney. If
that's how you feel, then that's how you feel. But I
want to make clear where I'm coming from on this, and
maybe suggest that there's another way to think about
it."

I listened.

"You know I have a testimony of the restored gospel. I
prayed about the things the missionaries taught me
back when I was an investigator. And I felt the Spirit
telling me that this Church was where I needed to be.
But that doesn't mean I necessarily agree with
everything the Church teaches or does. When I had my
baptismal interview, for instance, the guy asked me if
I was committed to keeping the law of chastity, and he
ran down the whole list of things that I wasn't
supposed to do, and when he said "masturbation," I
almost bust out laughing. I thought, You can't be
serious. I mean, it's one thing to say, 'People
shouldn't commit adultery,' or, 'People should wait
until they're married to have sex.' But masturbation?
Give me a break. It's no one's business if I
masturbate--not the bishop's, not the mission
president's, not even the Prophet's. The Church has no
business asking about that."

"But wait a minute," I said, eager to jump on a
contradiction. "If you don't think people should have
sex without being married, then how can you possibly
justify what you're asking me to do?"

"Well, let me finish. And first of all, I'm not asking
you to do anything. I'm offering to share something
with you. If you don't want it, or if it's something
you're not comfortable with, that's fine. I'm not
trying to push you into anything. I'm just trying to
be--"

"Direct and up front with me," I finished for him, a
bit testily. "Fine."

"So like I was saying, I don't agree with everything
the Church teaches or does. I don't believe for a
second that God cares if people masturbate. I think he
wants couples to be faithful to each other. And I
think he wants people to be responsible. And as I see
it, that's what the law of chastity is really about. I
mean, I don't have a problem with the Church teaching
that people shouldn't have sex before marriage. I
figure, that's what churches are supposed to teach.
And if that's the Church's teaching, and if I'm going
to be a missionary for this Church, then that's what
I'm going to have to teach. So I teach it. And
certainly I've met plenty of guys who needed to hear
that teaching--guys who screwed around just to screw
around and who treated the person they were screwing
like dirt. That's wrong. And if teaching someone that
he shouldn't have sex before marriage gets him to be
more responsible about sex and to treat women with
more respect, then great. But what people actually do
in their bedrooms is their business. It's between them
and God."

"Right. And what God says is: No sex before marriage.
And certainly not..." I couldn't bring myself to say
"homosexuality."

"OK. Fine. That's the commandment. That's the 'rule,'
we could say." In the dim light, I could see him
visually putting the word "rule" in quotation marks
with his fingers. "But people still have to decide
whether or not the rule fits in their situation. It's
like in the Book of Mormon, when Nephi killed Laban to
get the brass plates. Nephi broke a commandment: 'Thou
shalt not kill.' The Spirit told him to break that
commandment, because that's what he needed to do in
that particular situation. It's the same thing with
missionary work. We have rules that tell us when we're
supposed to leave the apartment and when we're
supposed to come back, and that we shouldn't eat on
the streets, and that we shouldn't talk with the lady
of the house if her husband isn't home. And they're
good rules. There's a reason for them. But if we know
that the rule doesn't really apply in our particular
situation--if that's what the Spirit is telling us--
then we do what the Spirit tells us."

"But this...thing between you and me isn't about the
Spirit. This is about our having...impure feelings for
each other."

"Again, I'm not trying to argue with you. But I have
to say that I don't see it that way. What I feel when
I'm studying with you, or teaching with you, or
praying with you, is the same thing I feel when I
touch you or when I think about making love to you.
It's what I recognize as the Spirit." He paused. I
started to say something in protest, but he continued
over me. "I think President Ingersoll was inspired in
putting us together as companions. I think God brought
us together, because God knew that we could be one
with each other in a way most companions can never be,
because that's not who they are as individuals. But
because of who we are, we can love each other in a way
that goes to a whole different level. Which can make
us all the stronger and can make us better instruments
of the Spirit."

I couldn't remember what I had been going to say a few
moments earlier, before he'd cut me off. I sat
thinking about what he had just said.

"I know this probably sounds like some kind of
rationalization," he continued. "In case you're
wondering, I've never...fooled around with any of my
companions. For one thing, I wasn't interested, and
they weren't interested. But even if we had been, it
wouldn't have been right. Because it wouldn't have
been love. It would have just been the two of us using
each other to get off. I mean, I loved my other
companions, but the way that most guys love their
companions. Not the way I love you."

"Even if..." I abandoned my thought in mid-sentence.
My thoughts were moving in a new direction, one that
felt extremely unsafe.

"Even if what?"

I took the plunge. "Even if we did this, I don't
understand how it could work. I mean, what? We're...
lovers for a month or however long President Ingersoll
keeps us together, and then we just go our separate
ways and that's that? That doesn't...How can that be
real love?"

"I've wondered that, too," he admitted. "And I don't
really know what to say. I imagined that when I fell
in love with someone the way I've fallen in love with
you, it would be the beginning of, you know, a
marriage. But maybe we're not meant to have that.
Maybe we're just being brought together for a time
because we're going to affect each other in some way
that will be important for each of us later on.
Maybe..."

He tried a different tack. "I don't know what God has
in mind. There are all kinds of things that I've
thought might happen. It might be that we do this, and
it turns out to be a big mistake after all, and we end
up hating each other's guts and ruining the
companionship. Or it might be that one of us ends up
feeling really guilty and confessing to President
Ingersoll; and then the other, or both of us, end up
being sent home. Or it might be that we do this and
it's wonderful; and then when one of us gets
transferred we can't handle being separated, and we
end up being miserable for the rest of our missions.
Or it might be that we'll do this and it'll be
wonderful; and then it'll end, and we'll go our
separate ways, and finish our missions, and get
married, and have kids, and look back on this as a
really unusual but really important time in our lives.
Or it might be that we'll finish our missions and then
look each other up again and become, you know, a gay
couple. I don't know. I have no idea what this means
in the long term. All I know is what I feel for you,
and what I feel the Spirit is telling me would be
right for us, at least for now."

"It's like Eve," I said.

"What do you mean?"

I myself wasn't sure what I meant. "It's like...when
she was in the Garden, and Lucifer told her that she
needed to do something that went against what she'd
always understood God wanted her to do. You know, eat
the forbidden fruit. And Lucifer was right: she did
need to do it. But it meant taking this huge step into
the unknown, and running the risk that she would have
to..." I quoted the words from the temple ceremony:
"That she would have to walk through sorrow. Because
that was the only way she could know joy. It was the
only way she could know for herself what's good and
what's evil. She had to take the chance that she might
make the wrong choice."

I thought some more. Or rather, I felt rather than
thought. I felt jealous of Elder Ralston--jealous of
how at ease he was with his sexual feelings. I was
jealous, too, of his certainty, his simple trust in
his own feelings about what was right. I wished I had
that kind of ease and certainty and simplicity. I
wished I had that kind of freedom from guilt. And...I
wanted him. I wanted badly what he was offering.

"We shouldn't do this if you're not sure," Elder
Ralston said after a while. "We both have to be
certain that this is what the Spirit is telling us."

"Right."

"You don't have to make a decision right now. But I do
need to say--and I'm not trying to pressure you, I
just want to be up front about where I'm coming from--
if you decide that you don't think it's right, or if
you can't decide soon, then I'm going to have tell
President Ingersoll that I need to be transferred.
I'll come up with some reason, and I'll kick and
holler until he agrees to transfer me. Because I can't
go on like this, feeling what I feel for you and not
being able to take it all the way. I can't just be
your companion."

"I understand," I said.

"Well," he said after another long pause. "We should
get to sleep. We've got a busy day tomorrow."

"Right."

"Good night, Elder McKinney." He pushed my chair
neatly back up against my desk, where he knew I liked
to keep it.

"Good night."

"I love you."

Automatically, I opened my mouth to say it back. But I
couldn't say it, knowing that it meant one thing to
him and not being certain if it meant the same thing
to me.

He crawled back into his own bed. I lay back down and
closed my eyes. I felt the blood vessels on the sides
of my forehead pounding. A tremendous impulse was
building up inside of me. It was like the feeling I
got during testimony meetings, when I felt that I
ought to stand up and speak but was hesitant to
actually do it for fear I'd make a fool of myself in
front of everyone. I tried to will the impulse to
subside, but it got stronger. I wasn't getting an
erection, but I felt flushed. Heavenly Father, I
prayed silently, show me what I should do...

I pushed back the sheet and sat up with my legs
hanging over the side of the bed. There was no sound
from Elder Ralston's bed. Had he fallen asleep? I
waited, building up courage, wondering whether to
retreat. Abruptly I pushed aside the mosquito netting
and stood up. I felt very naked, standing there in my
garments. Again, I waited.

At last I crossed the room. That final plunge had been
the hardest, but now everything seemed to be moving
very quickly. It was as if I was only half-conscious
of what I was doing. I crawled under Elder Ralston's
mosquito net. He rolled over to face me. At the same
time, he scooted back towards the wall, making room
for me. I climbed under the sheet and lay on my side,
feeling the warmth of his body, mere inches away. I
could dimly make out his face in front of me.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked softly.

"Yes," I lied. And as soon as I said it, I knew two
things. First, that he couldn't possibly believe I was
telling the truth. And second, that because he
desperately wanted me to be telling the truth, he was
going to convince himself that he believed it. It's
just like with the Corrales family, I thought.

So I knew from the beginning that we were making a
disastrous mistake. But then he kissed me in a way I
had never been kissed before, and touched me in a way
I had never been touched before, and after that it was
easy not to think about anything else.