Shortened leash

 

I've written that Covenant Eyes is no longer working on my pocket computer, and that my pocket computer has a screen that's larger and more vibrant than anything I've ever had prior (I "inherited" it from my oldest daughter earlier this year as a result of her purchasing her own, more up-to-date pocket computer).  

For years, I've kept my pocket computer on my bedside table whilst sleeping.  Hence, I was prone to browse the www late into the night and also whilst having short bouts of insomnia during the early morning.  

I'm a reader and curious to boot.  As a boy, whilst spending time at my grandparents' house in rural Humphreys County, I'd bide my time by devouring the 1970 edition of the World Book encyclopedia.  I vividly remember arbitrarily picking a volume (they were published by letter of the alphabet) prior to reading my heart out (for hours on end).  They also had some National Geographic tomes that featured subjects such as the oceans / deserts.  I loved perusing those too.  Especially for the fantastic photography.  

Today, msn.com and drudgereport.com are wonderful jumping off points for Rob, but sans Covenant Eyes (pocket computer only), there's also porn tube sites, porn blogs, porn, porn and more porn.

Consuming porn is cathartic.  Mindless.  Trance-inducing.  There's nothing to learn.  It's an alternate reality sort of experience that's a huge time waster.  

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Entertainment venues for Rob, particularly those involving video viewing, are restricted / nonexistent.  No streaming services, no CATV or Dish Network.  I do have a small collection of DVDs, but that's it.

And I'm okay with that.  I'd rather spend time using my eyeballs for something else.  

Nonetheless, the bedside pocket computer has been a guilty pleasure for too long.  Not anymore.  That all changed this week, and so far, I'm loving it.  

Compromises Made To Recovery Work Add Up Over Time / Place = Expected Behavior

My middle daughter and I were in AR last week and whilst there, we had dinner at a memorable Hot Springs sports bar.  The restaurant was tucked in the corner of a strip shopping center adjacent to our hotel which made it too convenient to not pass up.

The early evening was just beginning to see some drizzling rain as we brought our travel-weary / empty stomachs through the pair of storefront doors.  The sports bar was understandably dark inside but very clean and spacious.  Despite the fact that it was a weekday evening, there were a number of middle to upper-middle class patrons enjoying the friendly atmosphere.  With live music playing and sports channels supersized (projection) on most walls, there was plenty to take in / relax by.

We enjoyed dining on high sodium, high fat appetizers combined with homemade chili and pizza.  It was extremely satisfying and had we been drinkers (middle daughter isn't quite old enough to drink yet but bear with me), a cold beer(s) likely would have only made it that much more enjoyable.

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My first Silas (we cross pollinated; therefore, I served as his Silas in kind) was an alcoholic.  He'd unfortunately (fortunately?) received a DUI a few weeks prior to walking into his first Samson Society meeting back in the early fall of 2015.  This served as his primary motivator to move into recovery.  

Internet porn consumption was also, at the time, a big part of his life.  And most of this was occurring at his office.  Surprisingly, this behavior was unrelated to his alcohol abuse.  

He would tell me stories of how sports bars were his "second office" whilst out of town on business (he traveled 3-4 times a month).  Per the man:  Once he'd successfully located a familiar-looking one (early to mid-afternoon), he'd situate himself at the bar with his laptop / cellphone ON GO ready to down as many craft beers as conceivable.  This would go on 'till the wee hours of the morning.  From there, he'd oftentimes find himself so inebriated that he'd no idea how to find his way back to his hotel, therefore he'd simply black out along the perimeter of some random retail parking lot.  Therein, he'd sleep off the booze there amongst the freshly mulched Indian Hawthornes.   

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As a Christian, we're called to be imitators of Christ.  Also, I'm filled with the Holy Spirit, therefore in and through me my behavior should exude this.  And it does, yet I cannot deny that my flesh comes along for the ride.  My flesh has memory.  History, if you will, that reflects my past (recent / distant).

Over the past 8-9 months, there's been a newbie at the Y who bears a striking resemblance to a very popular, very handsome television star.  The defining attribute of this actor is his impressive, arduously sculpted frame.  

Let's just say you could take 1.5 Robs and pack them into this muscular 40-year-old dude.

I took the initiative to introduce myself to this newbie a month or so ago, and he's now reciprocating the cordialness when our paths cross, even going so far as to discreetly track my movements in and through my improvised strength training routines.

I don't feign the attention / interest, for I know it harkens to our now familiarity / newfound friendship.  Plus, all of this forecasts tighter connection / trust.  And who doesn't desire that?  I certainly do.

What's challenging though is how two-faced I feel.  Why?  I'm reminded constantly, whilst in his presence, of how awe-inspiringly attracted I am to him.  For there's truly not been another masculine archetype (of my own) within that space (during my lengthy tenure) who's appearance / presence wasn't on par with his own.

And unfortunately, me no longer politely ignoring him has indirectly exacerbated my desires.  Desires which aren't by any means not ruefully kept in check, but far less easy to reign in whilst dilly-dallying with gay porn lackadaisically.

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If I were my aforementioned Silas 1.0 (from 2015), eating dinner last week within a nondescript sports bar in Hot Springs, AR (even with my offspring) would have been woefully irresponsible in regard to my never-ending recovery.  As his Silas, had I found out about this stupidity, I would have questioned it outright.

Comfortable, familiar, private settings, I would argue, can be the driving force behind a mindset of permissiveness.  Place = expected behavior. 

I'm no theologian, but Jesus did embody his humanity at 100% combined with being God also at 100%.  Yet, according to Scripture, he did not Fall into sin.  

I believe much of this had to do with his eternal perspective.  A perspective that pitted his knowledge of all things up against the temporary bliss / novelty of sin.  

I am not of the opinion that he had any sort of God-enhanced humanity which positively impacted his senses, provided him with supernatural physical endurance, etc.  

His mind was the mind of God and therefore the outlook of God.  Heaven, no doubt, was his home.  And therein, he never allowed its address to ever be but a thoughtful heartbeat away.

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Presently, I use gay porn mostly at work, and this pays homage to the beginnings of me becoming captivated by it.  Work setting(s) represent familiarity in regard to this escape.  They're my version of a sports bar.

What's happening though is these casual gay porn interludes are eroding my ability to be Christ-like to the degree (actively but mostly internally) that I'm called to be.  Particularly within settings like the Y (where I've recently made my new friend).  And the resulting problem isn't the fragrant allure of the revolving door that wafts within my proverbial nostrils.  Not at all.  Instead, it's the reassurance of an IDENTITY that's sure to be re-accredidated within my mind.  An identity of compromiser.  Cheat.  Time-waster.  Fraud.  Even self-flagellator.  

You've seen these young people cut themselves to draw blood.  Seemingly, they do this within an oft mindless state of consciousness.  From there, the pain / woundedness therein from these small lacerations reset / solidify their IDENTITY amidst the soothe.  I can relate to this.  For what's occurring privately within my mind (w/ my newfound friend) at the Y represents the scarring I've received from my own poor choices.  Specifically, it decrees that you ARE A PHONY / FRAUD due to the undeniable dermis damage. 

Please pray for me.  Pray that I'll stop compromising.  It's hard enough to be Jesus-like without the negativity / aroma of shame off-gassing from every sanctified pore.  It's like smelling your own body odor with no readily available escape from one's own reek.  

It's so weird how I fall back to an IDENTITY that I know will only hurt me further.  It proves how much disdain I truly have for my own self.            

Jesus January - Mid Month Update

Back in December, we had an all-together lunch with some friends whose daughter and son are longstanding friends (former schoolmates) of our children.  Christmas was around the corner, therefore everyone was in the holiday spirit, anticipating the annual celebration with all its traditions and (inevitable) headaches.  This couple had surprisingly (to us) been visiting our church, and as such, once we realized this, saw fit to make a concerted effort to recognize this exciting move via breaking bread together.

Not long into our lunch, the husband of this fantastic couple "laid bare" / admitted to his deep admiration for the band KISS.  I was intrigued.  I'd only heard of one other middle-aged guy similarly enthralled by the "Knights In Satan's Service", and again he too was a parent of our daughters' friends.

I sat there between bites of my Italian entree peering at photos (on his pocket computer) of he and his wife posing alongside KISS' bandmembers (backstage).  He went on to proudly exclaim that he'd seen the band in concert almost 40 times over the decades.  And to top it off, his two KISS pinball machines and signed guitars were some of his most prized possessions.

I asked when and how his passion for KISS originated.  His detailed answer left me unsurprised.  For as I'd assumed, it had taken root smack dab in the middle of his teenage years.

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It's been 15+ days since I've self-pleasured (masturbated).  I'm elated that my "Jesus January" fast is holding steady.  

Why am I doing this?

Though sexual fantasy / gay porn has long since been banished from my self-pleasure routine (by God's grace), I felt deeply convicted to come up with some cadence to briefly pause an established bi- (if not more) weekly trend.  My thinking was as follows:  how else might I conveniently learn via abstinence if I didn't intentionally pull back?

What's struck me the most is how much LESS shame I feel overall.  It's as if boyRob (who exists within my mind) is so very proud of manRob for acting as he has over the past two weeks.  In other words, my boyhood self is who's been bearing the brunt of the shame fallout relative to self-pleasure.  Even if I'm NOT lusting whilst doing so, shame is still manifesting itself as a result.  Why?

As an aside, keep in mind that my wife isn't interested in nurturing the sexual side of our marriage, and she hasn't been since becoming disabled in May of '20.  This realization has never bothered me (& it still doesn't).  In fact, I've often been deeply grateful to have self-pleasure techniques (originating from my boyhood) to fall back on.

Nonetheless, I'm finding - via Jesus January - that the boy inside hasn't been justly served via this laissez faire approach to manRob pulling on his wiener.

Let me repeat that.

Nonetheless, I'm finding - via Jesus January - that the boy inside hasn't been justly served via this laissez faire approach to manRob pulling on his wiener.

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In closing let's discuss pragmatics.  For Rob, lust-free masturbation experiences aren't at all extemporaneous affairs.  Especially if there's been little down time since the previous experience.  

As such, precious time / energy is relegated, and when you take habitual sessions into account, a sizable amount of time / energy (which could be allocated elsewhere) is utilized.

Of course, boyRob is keenly aware of this.  Particularly from the standpoint of how he sees himself TODAY as a 51-year-old man.

Throughout this life, he adjudicates his older self constantly, taking into account where / how / how much energy / resources are allocated across the entire spectrum of my / his adult life.  As such, it's boyRob who's kept me from becoming fanatical (as an adult) regarding any and all childhood passions that weren't deemed appropriate relative to my maturity (physical / emotional age) as a man.  But the exception to all of this has been self-pleasure.  For it's the one thing manRob has rebelled with.

But I've never realized just how disrespectful this undisciplined habit has been to boyRob 'till this farcical "Jesus January" idea came to fruition.  

So, the question now comes down to this:  What does he need from me in order to establish the respect I absolutely do wish to earn from him in regards to self-pleasure?  

I have no intentions of stopping the physical act of masturbation outright, but I can, most certainly, be more intentional about how often and under what circumstances I do this going forward.

Lastly, can I actually successfully abstain from self-pleasure for another 16 days?

We'll just have to wait and see.

Join Me In Recognizing / Celebrating "Jesus January" - Starting In Three Days!

We're going to focus within this post on monks (an applicable subject, don't you think?).  Specifically, those who lived during the Middle Ages, long before Mr. Nate Larkin wrote his brilliant tome, Samson & The Pirate Monks.  Yes, you read that correctly.  Monks.  Those men of the religious order who resided (past tense) within monasteries, wearing those heavy (usually brown), drab, floor-length robes whilst sporting those gosh awful haircuts.  

Why?

Everyone knows that monks took great pride in their individual penises.  

Do what?  Why?

Well, as you can imagine, its God-given appearance effectively reflected each individual man as they went about their days doing whatever it was that monks do (did) there in those monasteries / in and around the grounds.  You do realize they all pretty much looked the same (whilst fully robed)?

Considering the Pirate Monks of 2023, this is a far cry.  Take, for example, the Neapolitan kaleidoscope of Pirate Monks on site at this past November's National Samson Society retreat in Van, Texas.

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Now you may be asking, how was it that these men of said religious order knew so much about individual penises there amongst the brotherhood?  I'll answer that with the perfect foundational prequel.

The same way Jesus and his disciples were privy to this noteworthy, male reproductive organ truth.

When you do (every aspect of) life together - literally - one's phallus (length, girth, overall shape / body) can easily become a calling card.  In jest firstly, but too, in accordance with the "rules of masculine adjudication" (rank & file).  And, of course, who wouldn't want their penis looking its very best whilst exposed to / up against other's / other's opinion?

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Monks were known to honor / recognize the first month of each calendar year as a season of "penis sabbath".  In other words, other than urinating, it was hands-off!  Too, during this entire month, they were charged to sleep buck naked in order to grant a full 1/3 of that 31-day period to their penises sans loincloths.  (Bringing about a proper genitalia "airing out" via the privacy of their individual bunks.) 

Where did this practice originate?

Historically, monks strongly believed Jesus and his disciples participated within the same January penis fast and did so out of respect for "what lay ahead" of them (February-December).  Having celebrated Christmas (Jesus' birthday) / New Year's with aplomb, Jesus encouraged his bros to be intentional with their genitalia at the outset of the New Year. 

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This practice lovingly became dubbed "Jesus January" sometime around the same time said month was christened "Dry January".  

So now you know.

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You may be asking yourself, "How can I possibly abstain from intercourse throughout the first month of 2024?"  

If you were to add up all of the calendar days your wife typically menstruates over the course of the calendar year, it would add up to +/- 30 days.  Obviously, that equates to one month.  These days of post-fertile menstrual flush provide time for her genitals to rest, resulting in renewed health (& beauty / vitality) going forward.  

Come February, after adhering to the "Jesus January" sabbatical, your wife will be pleasantly impressed to see her husband's toolset well rested / optimized for pleasure during the forth-coming (sorry) months.

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What can one specifically expect if we Pirate Monks adhere to this "Au Naturale" approach to our penises next month?   

I'm not going to provide any case studies here, but I will say that one of the greatest, if not the greatest collateral gain is one's intentional decoupling from known arousal devices.  Perhaps, for you, that's Internet porn.  And, if you make that choice for January, how might this decidedly intentional approach cascade into the remainder of the winter / spring of 2024?  Only good can come of it.  Don't you agree?  

Everyone wants their junk to look and perform at its very best.  Here's your chance to properly pamper yours alongside Rob.  

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One final heed.  Sleeping buck naked obviously demands a more regimented approach to bedsheet laundering, therefore ESPECIALLY IF you don't sleep alone, be considerately Cinderellaish about not allowing more than one week to pass before installing fresh linens.

Here's to a phenomenal NEW YEAR!  God bless.

Lagniappe

Hold The Line For The Man Who Can't Hold It Himself (It Takes Two To Tango).

A sizeable amount of my time each December goes to gifting clients with cookies and calendars out of appreciation for their patronage.  And I hand deliver many of these whilst road-tripping my way through various regions of the state of Mississippi.  It's an exhausting affair - both physically & emotionally, but an expected wrapping up of the year as a business owner (that was started by my parents, well in advance of me becoming affiliated with their company).

Northeast Mississippi is where I spent this past Thursday, (12/7).  Whilst making my way through Starkville, I was reminded of my college friend, Perry, and the last time we spent any time together. 

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I first met Perry in late summer of 1990 during my first summer (freshman year) of collegiate band camp.  He was in my assigned clarinet squad within the Mississippi State University Maroon Band.  Obviously, he too played a clarinet, and arguably, was far more adept at it than I was.  Perry had an older brother who played tuba (from what I recall), and as such, he seemed to know and be known by most everybody within the massive 300+ instrumentalist / flag-bearing group.  Perry was a brilliant guy who was one / two-year(s) my senior who always seemed distracted.  Always.  It was almost as if he were living a double-life (which he was).  

It's important to know that Perry and I stayed within the same assigned clarinet squad throughout our college careers (he took an additional year to graduate, having changed majors midstream), therefore we spent an awful lot of time together (fall semesters) relative to that nerdy troupe.  

Long after we'd both graduated from college (sometime around 2007), I awkwardly bumped into Perry in Clinton, MS at an (very poorly attended) ex-gay conference that a local church hosted one Saturday.  I don't recall how I came to know of said conference, but nonetheless, I was absolutely stunned to bump into my old friend.  Perry's countenance immediately reflected the explosion of emotions he was feeling therein.  For on the one hand, he was exposed whilst on the other opportunistically intrigued.

Nonetheless, as this incident attests, I didn't know this guy well at all (nor did he know me with any clarity).  And whilst looking back, I'm grateful that I didn't for such a time as that (college days).  For Perry maintained a devout Christian identity that nary a moment hinted at deviancy, yet his true nature had him constantly on the prowl for male partners to bed who were fellow students or otherwise.

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A year or so after losing my job at Delta State University, I reached out to Perry, asking to stay the evening there within his humble Starkville abode in advance of a CEU class (related to maintaining my architecture license) being hosted by MSU's School of Architecture.  Keep in mind that I'd only been involved in Samson Society for a short stint (I attended my first in-person meeting in August of 2014) with this overnighter having occurred sometime around 2015-2016.  

He agreed to this, and it was during our short time together that I finally had him cornered long enough for me to get some answers as to who he truly was, how he got there and where he was headed.  

Perry was hopeful we'd have sex that evening.  It was so apparent to me that it was almost laughable.  I vividly recall attempting to make conversation, suggest an activity like watching a DVD (he had an extensive film collection), 'till finally he agreed to openly dialogue about his past (which effectively extinguished his libido).  I vividly recall us sitting in the tiny den of his 2/2, with one lamp burning in the corner of the room, as he allowed me to interrogate.  

His answers didn't surprise me in the least except for his tales relative to cruising for gay sex during our parallel college careers.  Me not picking up on any hint of this activity during our time together at MSU during the early '90s did effectively stun.  For Perry never cussed, drank, and was always at church (with his parents who resided in Starkville, per my recollection) each and every Sunday.

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After we turned in that evening, sleeping through the night within separate bedrooms, Perry ferried me to a downtown cafe in anticipation of a sunrise men's breakfast Bible study that he regularly attended.  Once we arrived, he quickly began messaging folks regarding their absenteeism.  And it was then that he realized his error pertaining to which Saturday morning (of that particular month) had actually been calendared for this event.  

So, we sat in awkward silence whilst methodically downing our scrambled eggs and toast.  

For Perry had to have recalled that I hadn't had sex with another man ever, and in turn, that I'd not had any intentions of starting with him (relative to what had not gone down during the evening prior).

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There're an awful lot of men, Christian or otherwise, who categorize homosexual activity as discriminately sin-free.  And I believe the root of this adjudication has to do with it involving two consenting genders pleasuring each other outside of the bounds of sexual mechanistic cohesion (in other words - to them, it's not genuine sex sans a vagina).  And many, if not the majority of these dudes, had their first sexual experience (whether predatory or consensual) well before adulthood.  Hence, as adults, there's a harkening back to experiences which categorically feel more childishly rebellious than they truly should.

Most therapists who subscribe to counseling men who actively have sex with other men (& who're looking to pivot away from those behaviors) attempt to anchor their commentary in the notion of masculine maturation via growing up and into a form of manhood that leaves behind these types of behaviors.  The cultural blowback to this approach though is those select few men who radiate not one iota of masculine immaturity / pubescent reckless abandon yet who wholeheartedly embrace sex with other men as their preference.

What then?

It's a great question that I don't have an answer to.

I do know this though.  After finally coming to a point of understanding Perry's complete story, to the degree that I was granted, I saw a complex human being versus the smart-ass jokester / transparency dodger I'd always known.  And it was that complexity that I wanted to explore further versus his genitals or his ass or any other portion of his average Mississippi manbod.  For even if Perry had been an Adonis (which he most certainly was not), I don't believe I would have felt differently.

Give me a man's story, warts & all, any day of the week.  That's intimacy.  White hot intimacy.  For it's the one thing I've always longed to obtain from the gay porn models who boldly pose / perform under the watchful eye of the camera lens.  Why?  To instantaneously immunize myself from those seductive trappings.

Healthily Spotlighting The Intense Pleasure Of Youthful Masturbation

Friends of ours have an adolescent (homeschooled) son who's freaking them out via his interest in (compulsiveness regarding?) women's shoes.  

How did this come about?

They've unintentionally barged in on him wearing mom's stylish dress shoes (buck naked) whilst lying down on his bed, and they've taken note of his Internet search history (images of stylish women's shoes).  

This boy is the only biological child of this couple.  He does have an older half-sister, but she's college-age and therefore out of the house throughout most of the day.  

Their son isn't effeminate, but he has had a lot of trouble (sitting still / becoming distracted) excelling within a traditional (school) learning environment.  Hence, he's spent A LOT of his time under his mother's wing, at home, while his peers were being educated within a classroom setting.

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Years ago, a Samson brother described to me how he spent a portion of his adolescence covertly trying on his grandmother's stockings as a sensual ramp up to masturbating therein. 

As an adult, this man eventually ended up a convicted felon due to his penchant for voyeurism (Peeping Tom).  This unsettling behavior (I would argue totally unrelated to his short-lived stocking fetish) unfortunately did grow forward out of adolescence.  Being a schoolteacher at the time of his indictment, this criminal turn-on sent his educational career / family-life into a tailspin.  

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My father spied on his only son (when I was an adolescent) until he was successful in confirming that Rob was indeed masturbating. From there, he immediately confronted me as if he'd never been a horny adolescent boy himself.  As a result of this, I only redoubled my efforts to be covert whilst pleasuring myself.  All the while, I unfortunately lost a tremendous amount of respect for my dad.  For it was one of those critical moments where I was almost more ashamed for him relative to his ridiculously incompetent parenting skill (regarding this specific milestone) than actually how I came to feel relative to being singled out like some teenage pervert.  

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When Bill Clinton was POTUS, he appointed a black woman, Dr. Jocelyn Elders, to be Surgeon General.  She may have been the first black female to do this, but her appointment was short-lived due to her views on educating children regarding all forms of sex education (including masturbation).  

This occurred in 1994.  

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I had a Samson brother dismiss the notion of him being qualified to rear a son due to his fear that the boy's scheduled puberty would inevitably cause the dad to crater relative to becoming sexual with his son.  And this man had no history of either being molested or molestation.  

Nonetheless, he did rear two daughters and is now a grandfather (of an adolescent grandson).  

I'm convinced the gaping holes within this man's own upbringing, as it pertains to being respectfully educated regarding all manner of male sexuality, had left a sizable blind spot.  A blind spot that somehow put him on some sort of private, moral blacklist. Therefore, he'd convinced himself that ignorance via poor nurturing had carried forward into parental disqualification.  

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When a boy moves into puberty, a lot of frighteningly fast physical change is taking place, but the most shocking one is his penchant for experiencing sexual arousal.  And those experiences won't necessarily have a rhyme or reason.  

Let's remember too that adolescent sexual arousal is a whole-body experience.  In turn, traveling down that particular rabbit hole of pleasure (via masturbation) is also going to involve the entire body for the teen.  Hence, it is, by default, a nuclear-scaled experience.  

And this is why it is so important for adolescent boys to have an older, trusted male in their corner to help them put proper words to what they're experiencing and why (especially when unexpected bodily fluids start showing up).

And yes, even if they enjoy masturbating whilst wearing their mother's high heels.  

In closing, what's so very polarizing about Dr. Jocelyn Elders is that as a black female, she actually had the guts to address these topics - for the record - running headlong into political / societal controversy.  

Considering that, I have to wonder.

What if she had been a he (Dr. Jock Elders) and preferably white.  Would some semblance of a productive dialogue been kickstarted back in 1994?  

In closing, shouldn't it be influential men from their positions of power / authority doing this sort of heavy lifting?

For the majority of us had a youthful masturbation experience similar to the one I had with my own dad.  Hence, there're bound to be chronic blind spots throughout the manosphere that most of us can relate to.  

Why isn't this topic being addressed publicly with some needed care / respect?  Particularly considering the ridiculous ease of access to pornographic material that's been part of western culture for decades now. 

Enquiring minds want to know.

(& btw, whilst looking back, I wish I too had been wearing my mother's high heels when Robert, Sr. decided to spy, yet again, on me as the overly horny adolescent.)

Lagniappe

"Rob, I'm Concerned About Our Mutual Friend. It's Obvious That He's Setting Himself Up For Failure."

I've received two telephone calls regarding this.  And YES, my old friend's recent statements / position (via hearsay) do sound concerning, but I'm not going to spend any energy researching it for myself.  

Why?

Because I've seen this pattern with him numerous times before (we've known each other for over 15 years).  

And that's the differentiator.  Had there not been a precedent(s), I would immediately speak up.  

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When I was a boy, I distinctly remember my aunt regularly calling our house late into the evening to ask my father to go retrieve her husband (my dad's oldest brother / my uncle) from the local watering hole.  These calls would often come around 11 PM or after, and the next day, I would sometimes ask my mom about it.  Eventually though, I stopped asking due to the fact that they became so routine.

This happened for a number of years until my uncle became unemployed due to health issues.  From there, he'd drink at home during the day.  I distinctly recall stopping by his duplex back in 1993 in order to drop off a paperback copy of The Firm.  For the film by the same name had just been released, and I thought he might enjoy reading it.  When he came to the door, I could smell the alcohol on him.  Within just a few minutes, he passed out there in his small living room, falling to the carpeted floor like a sack of concrete mix.  Afterwards, I made a discreet exit after leaving the paperback on the coffee table.

I never returned to his abode until I was asked to assist in relocating he and his wife out and into an apartment not far from this location (decades into the future).  

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Past personal struggles with chronic sexual sin, particularly regarding pastors, can result in men like Mr. Nate Larkin.  Men who write tomes which serve foundationally as the cornerstones of recovery ministries.  

Sometimes therapists are borne out of this.  Take Mr. Jeff Schulte of Tin Man Ministries (Jeff served as a keynote speaker at the 2019 National Samson Society Retreat).

But these are exceptions.  Mostly, men with this story should simply move into personal recovery exclusively versus attempting to pivot their pastoral "calling" towards a public-facing attempt (either for or nonprofit) to assist others with their sexual sin.  

Why?

IT TAKES A MASSIVE AMOUNT OF HUMILITY, AND I WOULD ARGUE, MOST PASTORS DON'T HAVE A TRULY HUMBLE BONE IN THEIR BODIES.  

 Hence, they simply resort to pulling a Jim Bakker.  And that's so pathetically sad.     

Hamstring Yourself (For Your Own Good) While You're (Still) Young. This Will Best Prepare You To Re-Prioritize Entertainment Tech Well Into Middle-Age.

I broke my Californian Morman Silee's heart last night by bearing down on him for recently snapping up the latest & greatest pocket computer.

He couldn't answer logically why he'd justified the purchase.  Instead, he just laughed nervously as I continued to interrogate.  

So, why exactly should he be scorned for owning the latest, most advanced smartphone?

To make him think.  So few people actually do this anymore.

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This is why I'm a card-carrying Samson guy:

There is nothing on Earth I enjoy more than watching videos of gorgeous, hot guys having sex with each other.  Particularly hot guys who are really into each other's bodies.  All along, giving the impression, to the audience (me!), that they have a love for each other that's being expressed sexually.  Too, it's icing on the cake if these videos are well lit ("high" production values), and the set (where the sex is taking place) is seemingly well designed.  

To take it a step further, I like following certain gay porn models by watching video after video of them having sex with various other men or mens (or just themselves).  It's a way for me to privately "get to know" / form a "relationship" these men who're dedicated to their field.  Especially from the standpoint of how they specifically engage with their onscreen lovers.  

In all honesty, watching these muscled, hairy studs orgasm is the zenith of pleasurable experiences for Rob.  Seeing this is like winning the lottery!  Especially when the camera captures their countenance as they're climaxing.  Seeing their eyes roll back into their skulls as they hold their breath / moan in ecstasy...losing all semblance of respectable cool.  This is what I (my flesh) live to see!

And as you know, dear reader, the Internet is / was designed for PORN!

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The absolute first line of defense that I have against satiating my fleshly craving to consume videos of men having sex is to pull back far enough to attack the problem via access.

You cannot run if you're crippled.  It's as simple as that.

Hence, in order to properly advocate for myself, I had to willingly hamstring relative to tech.  And this approach has served me incredibly well.

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So, who am I exactly relative to tech?

The Turners don't own a television other than a 27" Sony CRT that I purchased back in 2000 ($549.99 at Best Buy) when I passed the Architectural Registration Exam.  It's in an entertainment cabinet at the foot of our bed in the master bedroom.  It isn't tied to CATV or an Internet streaming service.  All this behemoth is capable of doing is playing DVD video at 480i resolution (it does have a 16:9 widescreen viewing mode).

My wife, Angie, bought an Internet tablet years ago, but I don't have the passcode to unlock.  We do not subscribe to any Internet streaming service nor are we a member of Amazon Prime.

My smartphone is so antiquated that it's really only suited for calls, texting, and navigation.  It will take photos / videos, but it has so little memory that it won't hold too many.  I am not engaged in social media at all.  The notion of using my pocket computer to make video / photo selfies sounds about as interesting (& productive) as watching (or starring in) episodes of Teletubbies.  

I do not and would not ever own a computer watch.  

The laptop I have at home (to engage in the virtual Samson Society group, "Brain Changers", on Sunday afternoons) is a dinosaur.  Surfing the Internet is possible, but it's very laborious.  I often get the "High Memory Usage!" warning whilst having multiple tabs open within the browser.  

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I came to adjudicate early on as a young man (pre-Internet) that it would greatly benefit me to become a contrarian to westerner's passionate pursuit of media consumption if I wanted to live any form of a fulfilling, Christ-centric life.  Having been reared within a household where television broadcasting (CATV) was consumed nightly (weekdays & weekends), it didn't take me long to wake up to how much precious time I'd wasted staring at my parents' 20" Toshiba CRT television.  

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Be smart, dear reader.  If you enjoy lust as much as Rob does (& are as convicted as I am relative to its spiritual toxicity), put yourself on a very short (hardware / software) leash today.  It's your first line of defense against being normal.  

From there, use your time to read or write a book / poetry, play or compose a song on a musical instrument, exercise, volunteer, visit a friend, plant / tend to a garden, etc.

Anything is more respectable than staring at a screen, consuming mind-rotting content that will do you no good down the road.  

Lagniappe

Should Samson Society Intensive Attendees Remain In Their 3-Day Huddle - Bare Chested (Weather Permitting) - In An Effort To Optimize These Relationally Rich / Affirming Weekends?

I had a feeling that blogpost title would catch your attention!

Firstly, it's important to note that -

Another Samson Society Intensive Weekend is fast approaching!  You can find info regarding it here:  Mens Intensive — Lifeworks Counseling.  It is highly recommended, especially considering the fact that this Samson Society specific weekend has gained as much traction as it has.

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During Labor Day 2023, I found myself swimming in the Ross Barnett Reservoir (a sizable lake close to our home) with a new friend.  His family joined my youngest daughter and me mid-morning there at the manmade "beach", and from there, we very much enjoyed the cool water through mid-afternoon.  Throughout the majority of the day, he and I sat up on our knees beneath the muddy flow and chatted under the blazing sun.  This was the third time we'd had the opportunity to do so since meeting providentially during one of our church's annual daylong mission endeavors.  That early summer event required that we caravan to north Mississippi, and fortuitously, we ended up in the same vehicle for the +/-2-hour trek.  This, I felt, was the perfect opportunity to interrogate.

This new friend & his clan are officially visiting Lakeside Pres, having grown up Presbyterian (mostly) in small town Mississippi.  What I found to be so compelling about him initially was his selflessness.  For he volunteered to join in on the aforementioned daylong mission endeavor sans knowing ANY of us Presbyterians.  That, to me, was remarkably brave of him.

What stood out to me about our Labor Day at / in the Rez was how our bare-chested selves testified to the relaxed nature of our dialogue.  Now, mind you, we didn't delve into heavy topics (taking our surroundings / lack of privacy into account), but we did do our darndest to "fill each other in" as to what exactly we'd been up to prior to our friendship taking root.  Having come from very different backgrounds, this amounted to a sizable debriefing.

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Here in central Mississippi, the temperatures over the summer 2023 have been oppressively hot.  That combined with zero precipitation (particularly the Jackson Metro) has made for an unusual three months of misery.  To summarize, everything here has been thoroughly scorched / charred.  Unirrigated vegetation (turf, shrubs) has long since died from heat exhaustion, and many smaller, understory trees have also succumbed to the relentless, stifling heat.

Now, it's important to note that our climate is not TYPICALLY unlike that of a tropical rain forest.  Considering the amount of heavy precipitation we're accustomed to, combined with the lack of diverse topography / low elevations (we're relatively sea level), our forests are dense with towering / soaring conifers / hardwoods that aren't unlike God's own mid-rise skyline.  

Hence, shade (often deep) is thankfully prolific and therefore not too hard to find.  

As a twice-weekly runner, considering these 2023 brutal summer months, this shade has been my refuge.  

There's a lovely Botanical Garden that's 1.5 miles from our abode, and it's served - for well over a decade - as my halfway "cool down walking spot" relative to my 5K runs.  

This past Sunday (late afternoon), I found myself, once again, at this beautiful spot, having finished my initial 1.5-mile trek.  

It's important to note that throughout this hellaciously hot summer, whilst running, no matter the time of day, I've been going at it bare-chested.  And this is a big change for me.  For I just have never felt comfortable running - in broad daylight - semi-nude.

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If I could properly describe for you how uncomfortable I was as a teenager relative to being bare chested, I'd likely do by sharing the following middle school tale:

An out of the ordinary scoliosis screening happened at my private academy during my 7th grade year.  This consisted of our entire class of +/-45 students marching single file to the gymnasium for publicly executed physical examination of our spines.  

The girls went first (perhaps within a separate room), each having their spines briskly examined (through their shirts / blouses), one after the other, via a small group of "scoliosis pros".  From what I recall, there were no callbacks pertaining to them.  Afterwards, they were sent to reside within the wooden bleachers overlooking the bare-chested 13–14-year-old boys as we took our turn.  

And who might have been chosen for the only humiliating callback out of the 7th grade boys but Rob?

I recall walking past the middle school girls afterwards (I'd put my t-shirt back on at this point) and being asked by the sassiest of the bunch as to why I was called back.  

I quickly lied by saying that "They'd made a mistake".

Immediately, my interrogator snapped back with, "No they didn't.  You have scoliosis!"

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I wasn't an overweight or overly unattractive 7th grader.  No, the issue was I'd become captivated by male bodies that were muscular, tan, hairy, and typically older than mine.  Essentially, bodies of adult men who were professional-grade athletically built.  These bodies became my idols, and I bowed to their whims via my heady (& very private) sexual fantasies with them.  These private fantasies grew more and more ritualistic in light of their purveyance.  As a result, what little bit of healthy outlook your average 7th grade boy might have dramatically diminished within Rob until there was not one iota left.  

I don't recall anyone (peer or otherwise) ever labeling me negatively relative to my body, for we were all in the same awkward, middle school boat.  

In the end, it was me unfairly punishing / labeling myself for something ridiculously unimportant / irrelevant.  It's so unfortunate I had no one to step in and privately advocate on my behalf regarding this confusion.  But, then again, how would anyone have known I was under such emotional duress?

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In closing, I want to bring us back to the present by finishing out my aforementioned tales.

I felt equal to Bryan (my new Lakeside Pres friend) as he and I chatted, waist-deep in the Rez.  Though he's a decade or so younger than me, my 51-year-old athletic build didn't physically reflect that offset.  

Bryan talked a lot of his father-in-law and how he's about to "un-retire" due to boredom.  He described a man who's obsessed with looking / acting youthful (mostly via the younger company he keeps combined with a generous amount of hair dye).  

As I recall this, I have to laugh.

For there I was with my thick head of silvering wet hair amongst a plentiful amount of similarly colored chest hair on full display.  And I wasn't at all unwilling to own those physical attributes via appropriately putting them on display for both Bryan and anyone else within spitting distance to take note of / admire.

In fact, I would argue our bare-chestedness only solidified our friendship that much more effectively as we talked / threw the football, hung out there in redneck Rankin County on Labor Day 2023.

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Fast forward to last Sunday, (9/10) where I found myself, once again, at the Reservoir Botanical Gardens midday through my 5K run.  You'll recall that I was bare-chested and super sweaty on that sweltering afternoon.

And lo & behold, who might I encounter therein but one of Lakeside Pres' elders who was there to walk his pooch around the .6 mile, deeply shaded loop.

Awkward.

This man is close to my age.  He and his clan have paralleled ours through the years within our church.  

We ended up walking together, and by the time we were onto our second loop, he divulged some of the most heart-rending portions of his story to unsuspecting, semi-nude Rob.  It was uncanny.  For never in a million years would I have imagined this man trusting me with said tales.  Much less unannounced / requested.

When our walk concluded, we stood by his vehicle for a few additional minutes small talking.  I could tell that he was having a difficult time there with my hairy pecs on full display.  Hence, we affably parted ways, him driving away and me making a beeline to the adjacent fire station public restroom prior to my run home.  

Bare chested has its benefits, for sure.  Thanks be to God for how markedly different I feel about this as a middle-aged adult.

Lagniappe

Recommended Reading - Let's Discuss Buttplay Sans Shame

Study Claims More American Men Are Being Hospitalized For Having Foreign Objects Stuck Inside Their Rectum • Hollywood Unlocked

The reason men are into buttplay is not necessarily because they're homosexual / have same sex attraction.  That's a stereotypical generalization.  The reason lies in individual guy's relationship to their anus / rectum.

As we all know, this part of their body is only just a hair lower than a guy's scrotum.  Naturally, proximity to genitalia often results in experimentation - especially at adolescence (in tandem with discovering masturbation).  As such, that experimentation can result in discovering this "dirty" part isn't necessarily immune to tactile / erotic stimulation (inserting digits / objects).

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It was during a Samson Society intensive weekend a few years back when I first divulged (publicly) using anal sex toys unashamedly.  I mentioned it within a story (which I'd penned) that I was tasked with reading.  It was one of two tales (story of shame / story of blessing) that each man had been asked to write in advance of the weekend "share time".  I don't recall which of the two stories contained this particular detail (I certainly didn't expound on it).

A fellow Samson attendee and I were chatting later on (the following day), and he began weeping (tears of deep-seated shame) whilst privately acknowledging being able to relate to my buttplay travails.  I came away feeling conflicted as a result.  On the one hand, I was glad to have had the courage to share, but too, that particular detail, to me, wasn't meant as a bombshell confession.  

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I'll never forget Silas 1.0 blessing my admittance to using anal sex toys regularly.  We were en route back to Jackson from Lafayette, LA where I'd accompanied him to his DUI arraignment (June 2016).  I came away feeling seen and heard.  Soon thereafter, I gifted him a stainless steel buttplug with a thankful heart.

We never spoke of my interest in buttplay again, and that was absolutely fine by me.  Simply knowing that I'd had the courage to divulge this to someone I trusted so completely...that, by far was enough.

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Anatomically, the rectum isn't at all like the vagina.  It's not designed to be penetrated.  As such, it's very easy for men to injure themselves.  Sometimes to the degree that surgery is needed relative to correction / healing.

Years ago, I won a local essay contest, and as a result, had the privilege of befriending one of the other writers (at the awards ceremony).  I felt compelled to share my story (over a meal) with this young man, and as a result, he opened up similarly.  As a result, he was the first guy I had the privilege to meet who had the courage to admit to receiving a tear in his anal sphincter (due to being sodomized by a well-endowed man).  He went on to describe the ordeal in enough detail for me to realize just how unique the anus / rectum truly is.  What I mean by that is this:  It's certainly a pleasurable part of the body to stimulate, but again, as stated above, it's not at all like the vagina.

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Sodomy between men is sin (as is fellatio, mutual masturbation between men).  Women who enjoy being sodomized should no doubt reserve this activity for their husband, and hopefully, he's in agreement with her wishes.  I don't believe there're all that many husbands enamored with the notion of penetrating their wives in any other location than their vagina / mouth.  Nonetheless, no doubt, there're couples who make sodomy part of their bedroom routine.

Brokeback Mountain (2005) or "The Gay Cowboy Movie" starring Heath Ledger / Jake Gyllenhaal is a recommended film to screen.  It fully fleshes out the consequences of men crossing flesh lines (becoming sexual).  

There's a scene in that film where Heath Ledger's character, Ennis Del Mar, attempts to forcefully sodomize his wife whilst being intimate, and this is supposedly a consequence of his ongoing backwoods shenanigans with his close friend, Jack Twist (played by Gyllenhaal). 

What's interesting about both that scene as well as the (one) sex scene between the two men is how unnatural / forced it obviously is (pragmatically) for them to participate in.

I truly appreciated the filmmakers for realistically displaying this.

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Yes, there are women who experience pain / discomfort during vaginal intercourse.  Based on my understanding of this, many of these women are having a physiological response to being penetrated that's rooted in underlying emotional issues stemming from any number of culprits (anxiety, body issues, past abuse / assault, etc.)  Too, there're women who have physical issues that also can cause pain / discomfort.  

But the majority of women do not experience this.

The vagina is a self-lubricating, warm pleasure hole for a man's penis to repeatedly penetrate.  And though there're a small percentage of women who can actually be brought to orgasm via this repetitive experience, most need a little help from their clitoris.  Hence, the gentlemanly approach to vaginal intercourse is to allow her to orgasm FIRST.  

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For those of you who've never experienced dialoguing with your Silas / other Samson brothers regarding a personal topic like buttplay, my hope is that you'll someday take that leap.  Especially if you're participating therein, and simply know within your heart that you need to be heard / acknowledged regarding the matter.  Releasing that and not being judged for it is a massive gift.

I've heard so many stories involving everything from nipple play (self-stimulation) to "inflating one's belly" whilst masturbating, and all of these somehow get lumped together into dark, shame-filled corners of men's psyches (which oftentimes provoke ample tears).  Corners that can very well end up serving as jumping off points for risky, dangerous behaviors.  Behaviors that can lead to serious injury, if not death, because they tend to mutate within that darkness.

Be encouraged to bring everything into the light in due time.  Never forget that the men within this community are just as male as you are.

Is Lusting After (Social Media) Imagery Generated Via Artificial Intelligence Sin? Remember These Aren't Real Women. They Have No Parents & Cannot Be Your Neighbors. They Only Exist Via A Screen As A Result Of Soulless Software.

Is There Any More Hellacious Location To Consume Porn / Masturbate Than A Port-O-Potty In The Desert Sands Of The Middle East?

I can't think of any.

Every day at 5 PM CST, like clockwork, I hear from a young Samson guy who's been in deep seated bondage to lust for most of his life.  He and I have been chatting (telephone calls) for +/-1 year now.  And interestingly enough, we've only spent a handful of hours together face-to-face throughout that same period of time.  

We came to know each other via "Make Thursdays Great Again" which is the Price Is Right of virtual Samson Society meetings.  As such, like the TV show, not only is it high energy but it's easy to sit back and simply spectate (with a big grin on your face) amongst the throngs.

I moved away from that virtual group and haven't looked back, but my hope is he'll soon be reengaging therein (schedule permitting).  It's a perfectly comfortable landing spot for him for such a time as this.

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When he and I chat daily, we understandably never talk for too long.  His schedule is tight.  Plus, when you're as faithful as he is relative to communication (and twelve months has passed), an efficient routine / pattern develops.  

In this young man's past is active military duty.  Specifically, years spent deployed to the Middle East where he risked life and limb for not only our country but for those where he was stationed.  Since I've no experience as a soldier, I'm always fascinated to learn of his own (when he's comfortable divulging).  

A question arose yesterday, (7/26) regarding where exactly he chronically consumed porn whilst deployed in the Middle East, and he blithely stated, "in the port-o-potties".  

This admission gripped me as I tried to imagine doing this day after day there within that already bleak environment.

He went on to say that every soldier knew that the port-o-potties existed for such uses.  

!?!?!?

My head spun around five or six times when he divulged this to me, and in many ways, it's still spinning.

I cannot think of a more pathetic, hellacious location to consume porn / masturbate than a port-o-potty located within the god forsaken desert sands of the Middle East.  Yet, this was his everyday routine.  Particularly as it related to managing the emotional stress of being barely an adult combined with all the responsibilities of soldiering there within that complicated conflict.  

My young Samson friend lost his best friend within that environment too.  He rarely speaks of it, yet I know it haunts him and will likely do so throughout the remainder of his life.

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I mentioned in my previous post that bathroom stalls were my go-to in high school / college relative to masturbation.  I cannot over emphasize the amount of shame this routine imbued me with.  For is there anywhere on planet Earth more CLINICAL and more IMPERSONAL than a commercial bathroom stall?

There is.  It's a freestanding port-o-potty.

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As young men, my Samson brother and I chose to strip any semblance of dignity from our souls by taking part in this public restroom routine.  I clearly see / am reminded of that now.

What self-destructive, hyper-pathetic traps we so easily fall into within our youth, particularly as it related to our sexuality / libido / managing emotional pain.  Patterns that laid the groundwork for potentially so much more emotional anguish / regret to come (as we aged forward).

It is no wonder how easily deceived (internally / privately) we young men can become regarding the very expression of our sexual selves as males.  All due to the fact that this hugely important part of our lives - as young men / teenagers - may very well become relegated to settings designed for nothing more than filthiness and refuse.  

Desperation breeds ingenuity, yet ingenuity / creativity can at times be its own long-term undoing (just because you can doesn't mean you should).

Please pray for me as I continue to walk with this dear Samson brother, learning about myself (as much as he himself) along the way.  Eyes peeled.

(No Longer In) Bondage To The Thrust

I never would have known my local Samson friend was so spellbound by hot women 'till we had (a repeat) restaurant lunch.  As such, a troupe of high school girls traipsed in, and eventually sat adjacent to us.  These were pristine, rich, white girls wearing the latest designer clothes / hairstyles.  There was 6-8 of them, and they were all bubbly and giggly as they carried their sizable pocket computers like individual bars of gold.  These girls were undoubtedly students at the across-the-highway private academy, and they were there at this restaurant on "lunch break" (having driven their parents' BMWs and Mercedes-Benz across the way).  Likely many of them came from heady stock - CPAs, surgeons & prominent business owners, having been expectedly pampered throughout their short lives.

At the time, this friend was my Silas 3.0, and the tension he was experiencing due to the "availableness" of this troupe was impossible to miss.  I remember feeling powerless and a bit annoyed but altogether grateful as well that I wasn't in his intensive heterosexual shoes.  

All in all, I vividly recall him being visibly distraught as he forced himself to not glance their way.  It seemingly took all his strength in order to NOT capture / captivate / become spellbound by their sexual prowess.  As an aside, him wearing his work uniform likely only added to the intensity of this moment, serving as a reminder of his past, pre-conversion (Christianity) hedonism with many a similar lay.  

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Saturday, (7/1) my wife and I executed our typical weekend workout at the local Y.  Never before had I seen one particular mid to late 20s man in there prior.  His upper body was lean and svelte, but his legs - damn his legs - were stunningly beautiful.  

Stunningly beautiful legs = muscular, hairy, beautifully proportioned.  Bulky thighs / calves, seamless knees / ankles.  Tan flesh.  Either dark or blonde (leg) hair.  And they must be long, thick hairs that drape over the muscled flesh like a silk carpet.

This young man was no doubt athletic.  Perhaps he was a runner or a rock climber or both.  He could have been a varsity / collegiate (baseball) catcher.  Anything requiring that constant crouching down that builds lower body strength and the subsequent mass.  For that's where his strength lay.  Lower body.

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Well over a decade ago, I showed up to sing (routine Wednesday night rehearsal) in our church choir at Lakeside Pres, and the melodic tenor (who was a new guy to me and the church in general) sitting adjacent was wearing shorts (as I was).  He was around my age (late 30s at the time), and due to the stunning beauty of his long legs, I literally came close to creaming my shorts as we sang to the Lord - our austere Presbyterian tunes - over the course of that hour.

Let me repeat:  these were some stunningly beautiful legs, and they were close enough for me to (accidently?) rub up against.    

The owner of said legs was married (his wife too sang in the choir), and as a couple, were also new to the area.  Not long after this up close legebration, they decided to move away to greener pastures which resulted in him taking his stunningly beautiful legs (as well as his incredible voice) to the Pacific Northwest.  Not long after that, I stopped singing in the choir, covertly mourning my loss.

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The summer after I graduated high school (1990), I had to take College Algebra before entering into the freshman architecture school curriculum at Mississippi State University.  I took this course, along with English Composition I, at Holmes Community College's then newly opened Ridgeland campus.  

Upon entering the latter's classroom, I found myself sitting across from a handful of high school (Madison-Ridgeland Academy) peers (two girls and one guy), one of which was a varsity athlete (football, baseball, track) who I'd never once spoken to.  It's important to know that at our high school, the boys weren't allowed to wear shorts.  Hence, blue jeans were the norm.

To my delight, there was no such dress code here at community college.

"Trevor" was wearing athletic shorts during that first day of English Comp I and every day afterwards.  Our class met thrice weekly for +/-90 minutes, therefore I had a front and center view of his stunningly beautiful legs each and every day we met.  This entire experience served to both captivate and suffocate me simultaneously.  For it both enlightened and horrified Rob as to what he was primarily attracted to in certain other men.

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Masculine sexual activity is all about thrusting (movement of the erect penis in and out of the wet vagina).  There's no way around this.  That thrusting is done via the lower body.  The entire porn industry is built upon this animalistic movement.  This beautiful movement that powerfully personifies the act of intercourse.  

Interestingly enough, my Silas 2.0 masturbated by humping the couch / bed prior to ejaculating within his briefs.  I'd never met another guy who did this.  He refused to masturbate any other way, having "taught himself" this technique as a boy.  That dry humping, of course, is a thrusting movement that's lower body executed.  According to him, he only needed 60-90 seconds to climax therein via this technique (efficiency was first priority for this Samson guy - in everything).    

To summarize, this lower body thrusting is decidedly heterosexual intercourse anatomical vocabulary.  As such, the lower body of a man may very well equate to this visually.  And that is definitely the case for me.

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To circle back to the young man my wife and I encountered this past weekend at the Y, he not only had those aforementioned stunningly beautiful legs, but he also was very polite.  He and I spoke a couple of times, throughout our time there, as we crossed paths during our respective - 90-minute - strength training workouts.  

But what didn't occur - in the very least - was me becoming "in bondage to the thrust" as a result.  Instead, I simply acknowledged what I witnessed, and went on my way.

How did I accomplish this at this stage in my recovery?

I honestly don't know.  

Yesterday, during our "Brain Changers" virtual Samson Society meeting, the word was FREEDOM, and this narrative of mine (what I've encapsulated here) was front and center.  But, even having a full 24-hours to ruminate on this further, I still can't pinpoint what's specifically occurred to free me from these shackles.

Maybe it's simply that I've met my quota for stunningly beautiful legs.  I can tell you that I've been so very blessed to know enough men with tree trunks - as I've described here - that perhaps I've simply leveled up as a result.  It's as if that guy, "Trevor", from high school (who sat across from me for two summer months at HCC within English Comp I) has been sexual with me via the countless tree trunk brothers in Christ I've intimately (keyword) befriended since 1990.  

For I wanted nothing more than to be pursued by this guy.  That's what my sexual fantasies - involving him - revolved around.  Him befriending me prior to us having a homosexual relationship.  All throughout that summer - post high school.  

Let me be more specific.

All three of my Silases have been men who I've experienced intimacy with - on a level (I would argue) - that equates to a sexual relationship.  

To take that statement a step further...

Even without the exchange of bodily fluids, the mystique of their individual manhood(s) I've had the opportunity to observe / experience - up close and personal.  Besides these formal Silases, there've been countless other men (mostly within the framework of Samson Society) who've provided me with similar experiences.

Each of these experiences has uncovered more and more of what I longed to know and understand about men (including my own individual, reflected manhood) back in 1990.  

It's just taken a really long time to get to this point of me now knowing enough to properly level up.  

Relationships take time and SO MUCH WORK.  They're the exact opposite of sexual fantasy which are cheap and thereby overall worthless.  

I have been so blessed by Samson Society.  I realize it when I have experiences like I did this past weekend at the Y.

Lagniappe

How Might Chronic, Sexual Sin (Adultery) Impact A Man's Long-Term Physical Health?

Prologue:  I'm more interested in adultery here versus fornication because typically the latter is tied to younger men, and younger men are usually overall physically healthier.

Too, adultery (chronic or standalone event), if successful, requires a husband to be deceptive.  Deceiving one's spouse (in tandem with going against one's internal moral compass) takes coordination and a willingness to break vows.  This cheating will instigate a strong physiological response.  I believe, for some adulterers, they're (sickly) more drawn to this response than the sexual trysts themselves.  

Fornication typically represents a pattern of sexual sin that's in line with one's "youthful" paganism.  In other words, it's not at all out of sync with a bachelor's "culturally expected modus operandi" as a playa.

Adultery, within western culture, (thankfully) is still strongly frowned upon for spouses to participate within.  That, I believe, is what could make it all the more deadly (for both the marriage and the adulterer).

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Adultery being rooted in deception / lies relative to how a spouse is spending their "down" / free time cannot be underestimated in terms of its debauchery potency.  For not only does it, by definition, involve lies, but it loops in a third individual (by definition innocent) whose life is also being intimately affected.

So what does this do to a man's physical body when adultery, particularly chronic adultery, occurs?

Firstly, there's the obvious.  The potential to becoming infected with a sexually transmitted disease. 

Besides that, I'm really wanting to hone in on the moral dilemma / fallout / stress (& all the physical ramifications therein) that adultery brings to bear. 

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Russian husbands are culturally expected to be adulterous.  Mistresses = masculinity within that country alongside being inebriated via vodka (prolonged weekend binges).  In fact, I'd argue that it could be one of the latter's primary purposes - to chemically mask over the former's moral heartburn.

Based on my observations, regarding husbands residing on domestic soils, more often than not, they're quick to confess their moral failings (to their wives) in order to:

1.  Hopefully acquire immunity to becoming a repeat offender

2.  (Within their mind), most efficiently reckon with the overtly burdensome guilt / shame resulting from their actions.

Taking into account an American husband who's constantly repeating his sinful shenanigans, whether it's prostitutes, massage parlors, phone sex, anonymous hook-ups, and so forth, could his lifespan be tremendously shortened as a result?

I believe so.

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When the brain is rutted towards adulterous behavior, the culprit therein is a false identity that's taken hold of the husband.  An identity that's somehow feeding off of the man's need relative to identifying himself as worthwhile / valuable.  

If a husband's primary desire is respect, wouldn't that desire firstly be rooted in self-respect?  What more efficient (read:  fast), more masculine way is there to achieve that than via chronic adulterous behavior - especially taking into consideration the seduction dance, acknowledgement of attraction, and ultimate sexual experience (all of which can be successfully pulled off within a matter of hours)?

I realize it sounds animalistic, but the point here is to focus on the false identity.  

And it's this false identity (hypocrite) that's so polluting.  For when it's in control, it's hijacked the rationale of the husband.  Therein lies the high-risk to his health / well-being.  For it's grounded in counterintuitively misaligned values which then promulgate a roller coaster day-to-day existence (constantly being on the lookout for illicit sex opportunities).

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I have a divorced & remarried Samson friend who's in his mid-60s and his health is failing.  The majority of his life, he was the chronic adulterer, having had illicit sexual trysts with hundreds, if not thousands of women.  

The origin of this brain rut, for him, was a sexual relationship he developed (freshman year in college) with the mother of his then girlfriend (who also happened to be the wife of his pastor).  

The false identity (that I cited above) was borne out of this reprehensible amoral relationship (which took flight whilst he was a young man).  A sexual relationship that continued to thrive for close to a decade.  Hence, this false identity became Godzilla-like relative to deeply rutting this man's psyche.  

Could the damage done via this - Godzilla-like false identity - be what prematurely ushers him to his grave?

It's important to know too that the pastor's wife had many teenage young men suitors (similar to my friend).  

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This question comes down to the following:

Are our bodies negatively impacted via morally despicable behavior?  Particularly morally despicable sexual behavior?

The Bible speaks to this.  For it cites sexual sin as "sin against the body" which sets it apart.  It also mentions our bodies being vessels for the Holy Spirit.  

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If my retired Samson friend HAD NOT participated within those illicit adulterous sexual relationships as a result of him refusing the initial advances of his girlfriend's mother (his pastor's wife), would he today be a physical healthier man?

I'm convinced he would be.  Yes.  Absolutely.