------------------------------------------------------ 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. ------------------------------------------------------
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.