Gay No More

Many also are facing tremendous problems, including alcoholism, drug abuse, sexual abuse and parental violence or rejection. Mike Jones, 44, remembers that his first sexual contact in adolescence involved mutual masturbation with his father. "That was the first time that my reaching out to my father was received by him," says Jones, who runs the Corduroy Stone ministry in Lansing, Michigan. Through his involvement in Exodus International, says Jones, he has learned how to live a celibate life, though he continues to fantasize about men when he masturbates. He finds himself attracted to about a quarter of the men who pass through his ministry. (When those feelings surface, he says, he channels them into platonic friendship.)

Dena Westcott of Orlando, an Eleutheros graduate who grappled with suicidal tendencies and her own explosive temper, voices a similar experience. The ministry has helped her confront childhood sexual abuse and her relationship with a hateful mother. It also taught her to cultivate close platonic friendships with other women, particularly when she feels her lesbian attractions intensifying.

It should come as no surprise, then, when ex-gays express satisfaction about getting their homosexuality "under control." Faced with a panoply of problems, many have acted out sexually, seeking encounters to ease their pain. By dealing with core issues, conversion programs put the brakes on destructive sexual and social behavior. But, as psychologists point out, this has nothing inherently to do with homosexuality.

For every person who claims a conversion to heterosexuality, there are several others who fail in their efforts. Two of the founders of Exodus International, Michael Bussee and Gary Cooper, left the organization after falling in love, and more than a dozen Christian ministries have closed down after their leaders reverted back to homosexuality. There is now an informal network of "ex-ex-gays," people who tried unsuccessfully to change their orientations, and instead have learned to live as gay men and lesbians. "Sexuality is an incredible part of life. But it's not the aspect, and I needed to get on with living," says Jallen Rix, a Christian music singer.

The product of a strict Southern Baptist upbringing, Rix wanted badly to be accepted by his family and community, but found that men excited him sexually. There were "doctor" games with male cousins, encounters with strangers in the woods near his home, and at the Christian college he attended, a physical friendship with a male student. To ward off suspicions, Rix became a "semi-compulsive liar," adept at deflecting any query that would reveal his homosexuality.

When the dissonance became too great, Rix began attending the California-based ministry Desert Stream where worship and pep talks were allied with "dives into our past," he recalls. "They'd have all this outdated therapy that because of an absent or passive father, I have identified more with my mother and I'm attracted to men." Rix became suspicious of the ministry's techniques. Young men and older male mentors, who were supposed to serve as surrogate fathers, sometimes began living together in relationships that were essentially gay, except that there was no sex.

More important, the program didn't work for Rix. "I went home and I was still horny for men." After a year and half and still desperate for help, Rix drove to another charismatic church where a woman promised to exorcise his homosexuality She laid hands on his head, anointed his forehead with oil and started praying. "I wanted this to work so bad," he recalls. "I granted and squeezed and tried to shove this homosexuality out of me. I remember afterwards, going out for fast food and trying to coach myself, 'It's gone. Yeah, it's gone.' But it wasn't."

Disillusioned, Rix started coming to terms with being gay. He continued to perform Christian music for conservative churches and private schools, but by his early 30s realized he couldn't hide his sexual orientation. Now 35, he still performs, but generally for liberal and gay churches. Rix doesn't regret his time in the ministry. But he worries that others are being pressured into conformity and denial, rather than learning how to lead authentic lives. "When people say they're happy being married, they're really saying, 'I am acceptable to myself and to the people around me.' I don't think they'll feel that way in the long run."