Northpark Mall in Ridgeland, MS was such the petri dish of maturation throughout my teenage years. I spent hours upon hours there from ages 15-19 frying chicken at Chick-A-Fil on the second floor (right down from Dillard's). The years were 1988-1991, and at that time, this particular MS mall was almost at its heyday.
Spencer Gifts was downstairs from the Chick during this initial Northpark era, and this is where I began to discreetly obtain a collection of sexy greeting cards / calendars. The photos therein were of muscular, handsome men posing / being photographed in order to capture / capitalize on their masculine beauty. It was these photos that served as Rob's sexual fantasy reserve.
Today, Spencer Gifts is located within an adjacent wing of Northpark Mall. I was reminded of this Wednesday, (8/21) whilst walking down memory lane (& returning some clothes to Dillard's).
On the Spencer Gifts' storefront was a T-shirt design that read "I Love Boobs!" (the word "Love" was a heart symbol).
I immediately was taken aback (which was the whole point of the display) for I couldn't imagine such a storefront during the late 1980s.
But hey, this is 2024.
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When I run, I almost always wear a tank top. I do this because it's a shirt that I wrestled mightily with wearing years prior. Mucho shame had to be overcome. But now, I find them to be my go-to for the gym, running. They're comfortable and a reminder of the importance of milestoning small victories.
Our 'hood is filled with retirees, and they're out and about constantly walking their dogs. One man (former runner) I encounter often (whilst exiting / re-entering our 'hood from a 5K run). Years ago, I noticed how subtlety taken aback this mid 60s retiree reacts whenever I raise one of my arms (as if to scratch my head / wipe my eyes / point at a bird passing over) if and when we've paused to chat. For when I do this, he can't help but be exposed to / get a clear view of the defined / sculpted muscle mass within my shoulders / upper arms.
My grandfather (dad's dad) died when my father was 9-years-old. He was a chain smoker and was dead in his early 40s from lung cancer. If you look at photos of the man, you can clearly see the broadness of his shoulders. Bizarrely, he was +/-20 years younger than his oldest brother, therefore all of his siblings (he had three older brothers) looked more like grey-templed uncles than siblings.
As I began to strength train during my mid-30s (I'm in my early 50s today), I would have guys comment to me regarding my shoulders / upper arms and how muscular they were becoming. I would immediately dismiss this affirmation on the surface, despite my knowing that it was absolutely in line with my Turner genetics.
My father's youngest brother (who was one of three of his brothers), being just one generation away from Joe Ware Turner, Sr. (my long since lung cancer deceased grandfather) absolutely received that same stocky upper-body build.
And now there's me (along with one of my cousins).
There's beauty there. Plain & simple. Not to everyone, mind you. But certainly, to some.
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At Lakeside Pres, Pastor Tyson has been slowly marching us through the gospel of Matthew Sunday after Sunday after Sunday. We're now close to wrapping it up, therefore he recently preached on Jesus being anointed via perfumed oil via his friendgirl Mary. If you've never read the passage (chapter 26), I'd encourage you to do so.
Never would a Protestant pastor insinuate the sensuousness of this tale, but if you read it from that point of view, it's undeniable.
Did Jesus appreciate the breasts of Mary as they brushed against him during this ritual? Was his reaction therein what perpetuated the callous criticism of the whole affair? Did he feel his cock getting erect as the liquid flowed from the alabaster flask?
He had to have been so very pleased with himself for creating breasts to begin with as her bosom brushed his upper body throughout this whole scandalous / selfless affair.
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(Some) Boobs really are beautiful.
We've been so pleased to see a tenured couple recently returned to our church, and both have lost substantial weight whilst away. As a result, the wife's breasts are decidedly smaller.
When they were members years prior, she'd often wear attire that "celebrated" her beautiful boobs. I can remember on several occasions being stunned by her Sunday morning look.
I knew her husband well enough to know that he was 100% onboard with her ecclesiastical seductiveness.
He maybe attended one or two Samson meetings overall (when I facilitated an in-person meeting there at the church).
It was eye opening to say the least.
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As Christian men who are looking for help with compulsive sexual sin, so many parachurch ministries decry: "Look Away! Look Away! Look Away!"
I'm not so sure this is truly the most reliable long-term solution.
Jesus loves boobs. He created each pair with utmost attention to detail. Can we not lean into his example by learning to appreciate sans capitulating to default lust?
