At Christmas, I received from my sister’s redneck boyfriend a book with the helpful title, Coming Out Straight. I first thought of leaving it in the bathroom as emergency tissue paper. But, as it sat under the tree for a few days, it got me thinking: what if there was a way I could reverse the sexuality I had come to realize was part of my very being? What if I could free myself from the straitjacket – excuse me, the gayjacket (single-breasted in a smart charcoal gray three-season wool) – of our culture’s overwhelming expectations that to be straight was somehow pitiable, if not outright immoral?

One look at the handsome chap on the DVD edition of the book and I was convinced. I would become an ex-gay in 2010.

I consulted the “find a therapist” link on the website of the book’s publisher, “Global Healing Foundation,” and was put in touch with a local reorientation coach. I was surprised they had an opening so soon, in what I assumed would be the busy post-Christmas rush. Holidays with the family, listening to your mother talk about how she’ll never have grandkids, and hoping you won’t become a lonely old cat person. It’s enough to drive anyone straight

So I went down to the counseling center, in a nondescript strip mall, and entered the lobby. I never knew there were so many shades of beige! I knew I was completely at the mercy of the heterosexual agenda. Yet a remarkable calm enveloped me, like a towel wrapped around Ryan Reynolds’ chiseled, glistening abs. At that impure thought, I immediately pulled the rubber band wrapped around my wrist, and let it snap back – a helpful trick mentioned on the website to associate homosexual desire with pain, in order to more effectively heal my damaged psyche. That drew the attention of the receptionist.

“Can I help you?” a lean, middle-aged woman in a brown pantsuit asked from behind a desk. Her smile was almost as plastic as the floral arrangement on the coffee table.

“Yes,” I replied sheepishly. “I have an appointment for 10:15.”

“Oh…. yes, you’re our new client. Please sign in here,” she indicated a clipboard at the corner of the desk, “and while you’re waiting feel free to look at some of our literature on the table over there.”

My eye caught a picture of the same cute guy who was on the DVD, but this was on the front of a brochure. A woman was holding him from behind. So he’s a bottom, I thought, before instinctively snapping the rubber band again. The receptionist chuckled.

After signing in, sitting down, crossing my legs, and then self-consciously uncrossing them, I looked around the room. “I guess I was lucky to get an appointment on such short notice,” I casually offered.

“Well… it’s rather tragic,” she explained, “but a recent suicide of one of our clients freed up some time this morning. I guess when the Lord closes a door, he opens a window.” She smiled again, nervously, before returning to her dog-eared copy of Reparative Therapy for Dummies.

After that, I just kept quiet until my session with Dr. Bruce Wolfe. A cubbish-looking man, once a high school music teacher at the height of his depravity, he was personally saved by the founder of the Global Healing Foundation, Robert Cohen. Dr. Wolfe and I hit it off immediately. We coasted through Stage One (transitioning) of the healing process, whereby I cut myself off from sexual behavior, develop a support network, and experience value in relationship to God.

By my third visit, we were discussing the root causes of my homo-emotional wounds and working on the emotionally-draining process of healing my inner child. But in a weak moment, as I recalled my lack of hand-eye coordination in school, and how I never felt like “one of the guys,” I despaired.

“What’s wrong?” asked Dr. Wolfe, turning to me on the couch.

“Doctor, I know I should just trust in the Lord, but how do I know I’m really ready to come out straight?”

“Well, Chris. You know our founder, Robert Cohen, was born Jewish, and only after accepting Jesus was he able to put these homosexual demons to rest.” He could tell by the look in my eyes that I wasn’t buying any of it, so he continued. “Chris, we’ve had three sessions now. Can’t you feel God’s love working in your life? Can you feel Jesus inside you?”

“I want to feel him, I really do,” I answered. I felt a strange tingling sensation that I hadn’t felt for days, and closed my eyes. Yes, I felt him inside me. My pulse quickened, my face flushed ever-so-slightly, my skin got goose bumps, before I realized: Jesus wasn’t wearing a condom!

I jumped up and turned to Dr. Wolfe, who was quickly zipping up his pants. “I, uh, I was just embarking on Stage Four and helping you bond with same-sex peers,” he said with a straight face, which I realized then was the straightest thing about him.

But I had enough of reparative therapy. If God really wanted me to “come out straight, he would have chosen someone more my type to seduce me, someone who looked like Ryan Reynolds. And for God’s sake – and mine – he would have used a condom.

Author’s note: Yes, I’m trying to make light of a very painful and emotional issue for many people, but I hoped to reframe it to show its absurdity. The book, Coming Out Straight, is real; you can look it up and see for yourself if the real author’s program for conversion strikes a chord with you.