Amazing Reunion

I spoke with my freshman roommate (Mississippi State University) yesterday, (2/17) for the first time since last seeing him in '91 (we didn't part ways amiably).  Having acquired his cell phone # from our aforementioned rental neighbors, I placed a call on Valentine's Day (don't read anything into that one, please), leaving Chad a detailed voicemail.

Later that night, he text messaged the following response:  "Rob, got your message.  It made my day.  Looking forward to catching up...I'll text tomorrow, and we can talk?"

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Chad was / is from South MS.  Very small-town South MS.  He was outgoing and kind but also terribly homesick throughout our freshman year.  He'd leave Starkville early every Friday (if not Thursday evening) and return late Sunday evening religiously in order to maintain as close contact with his family as possible.  As such, I was left alone every weekend, and since I had zero friends, it resulted in some depressing interludes (especially during Spring semester when there were no football games to attend).  

Everyone on our dorm hall liked / respected Chad.  He was affable and confident.  Athletically built and driven.  Plus, he had this beautiful smile that could diffuse anyone / any situation effortlessly (& he was almost always smiling).  

I, on the other hand, being the architecture student / Maroon Band member, in many ways, was the complete opposite of Chad.  First and foremost, I was hard pressed to succeed academically without putting in the work required (I was by no means a gifted student).  Architecture school catapults its students into the curriculum thereby making very little room for error.  And that's on top of a higher-level math + Physics I & II (Year One).  Freehand drawing too was a consistent drain, for drawing well (for Rob) takes lots of time / shouldn't be rushed.  As such, each week, we had another detailed drawing assignment to turn in for critique (in front of the entire class).  

Chad gave me a lot of space to buckle down, but often I'd use any "I'm too busy" excuse to simply avoid having to interact with him socially (going out to eat, having any semblance of fun).  And it wasn't like he was a hellraiser by any means (he couldn't afford to be for he was an engineering major).  As a result, eventually, he simply stopped making any effort to include me.

Chad knew I had a quick wit.  Plus, he was very curious to know me from the standpoint of being a city slicker.  And he saw too that I desperately needed friends (like every student) yet wouldn't admit to it (& therefore try / make time for it).  

Therefore, there was this tension or barrier between us.  A barrier that I silently, pridefully reinforced throughout our time together.  Yet, despite this immature tension, he never hesitated to take a stab at pushing through.  Never, 'till the very end of that year, did he completely give up on a potential breakthrough.   

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There were a couple of guys on our dorm hall that had unsurprisingly singled me out as a target for ridicule.  And, whilst looking back, I made it easy for them.  My choice of music (as well as the volume I played it) was so very gay.  

I realize now that Chad's sincere respect towards me worked as a shield from far more severe ridicule than I received.  Specifically, he never acknowledged my uncomfortableness with my body / voice or choose to exploit that in any way (there was never even a hint of mockery).  Instead, he simply chose to be polite / respectful / gentlemanly even.  

I think too that he knew deep down that if I seemed agitated (which was commonplace), it was due to my frustration with myself / the workload more than anyone / anything else. 

He was a very emotionally mature young man.  In fact, he was by far the most emotionally mature male, who happened to be my age, that I'd ever encountered at that stage of my life (late teens).

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Yesterday, Chad and I could have chatted for hours.  We did text message after dinner repeatedly, swapping stories to jointly reminiscence.  There were a lot of lol moments. 

Chad's life, beyond our freshman year, mirrors my own in so many ways. He married right after graduating college, has three kidlets (one of which was a happy surprise), and he resides too within his hometown near his beloved family.  

In closing, I can tell you that he's not given up on breaking through.  I could sense that yesterday throughout our talk.  Chad understandably knows me well.  And he's absolutely ready for me to corroborate his intuition.  That being said, it's brought back a lot of fear as I wonder what might become of this renewed friendship spark if I'm completely transparent as to who I was then / what I've become today.

2025 is going to be an interesting year as it pertains to this unexpected reconnection.  I owe this guy a lot.  Please pray for God's timing as we continue forward for such a time as this as middle-aged men.  

  

I'm Just Another Man. Or Am I?

Years ago, during the pandemic, I wrote a letter to my Silas' (then) boss, asking for permission to "surprisingly visit" their workplace (in light of the lockdowns).  If I'm remembering correctly, I was attempting to gain permission to do this on my Silas' birthday.  What I didn't realize at the time was his boss (along with his beautiful family) were visiting our church.  Once he did eventually respond to me (letter), via email, he informed me of that (in line with an apology related to not being able to honor my surprise visit request).

My Silas' boss is now a formalized leader therein and loved / respected by the majority of the Presbyterian throngs (within our relatively small community church), and (I'm assuming) he and my (now former) Silas are still close friends.  This man is a VERY NICE, no doubt godly, All-American male.

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I've been doing a lot of unconventional recovery work ever since the '24 Samson Summit.  Blame it on Dr. Andrew Bauman, the shaman.

Recently, I've been listening to a long-form podcast that's shed an intense light on the actual men (day to day / historically) who participate in creating gay porn.  It's been a most deconstructing experience for Rob as I've now been given the opportunity to see "up the skirt" of these fellows.

The best way to describe it is disconcertingly healing / disarming / disenfranchising.  

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A business owner (same business as my father and I are in) approached me last year regarding his intent of formally acknowledging me as his heir apparent (he'd recently, prior to that dialogue, had begun realigning his book of business in anticipation of this).  

This notion of me being identified as his successor took me off guard.  For I'd only spoken a few sentences to this man over the previous decade (despite the fact that we worked four of those years within the same suite within our building).  

From that point, we chatted casually a handful of times more as '24 progressed, and then, last week, we finally had our first sit down discussion pertaining to laying out a roadmap.  As a takeaway, it was as if we'd known each other most of our lives (in spite of the 30-year age gap).  I'd never experienced anything like it.  

What possibly could have motivated him to choose me?  I likely will never know.

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My former Silas' (former) boss is a longstanding neighbor and friend of our church's Senior Pastor.  Arguably, it was that friendship that laid the groundwork for him and his clan to begin visiting our church all those years ago.  Our pastor knows my story well, and so do numerous other men (in leadership roles) at Lakeside Pres, but what (obviously) stands out is the part about my (homo)sexual identity.

I remember well my former Silas mustering up the courage to divulge to me that "your sexuality doesn't matter to me" out of the blue.  We were driving back from Laurel, MS, having spent most of the day at a CrossFit Box where I supported him therein during an all-day competition (he & his old friend won!).  I wasn't sure what prompted him to say that to me and didn't feel so moved to ask.

Today, at the Y, I ran into my former Silas' (former) boss.  I'm in that particular facility twice weekly and have been for years and years.  Never had this unexpected collision happened before.  Perhaps he was attempting to fulfill a New Years's resolution.

Man, was it awkward.

Nonetheless, I could feel the truth in the air:  "Your sexuality does matter to me.  Keep your distance, you (& your family) freak."

I'm willing to bet a dollar that he'll never step foot back into that facility.

What a week of contrasting adjudications.        

Combating Mundanity (Loosening The Grip Of The Private, Self-Destructive Novelty)

When I worked for the State of MS ('06-'12), there were two sides to our team.  The opposing side (opposite the "employee team" I belonged to) were mostly smokers and all males.  And though their ages were varied, these white men (who were usually only in the office - for the full day - on Mondays & Fridays) made a point to take a smoke break - at least twice a day - in order to break up the mundanity of the government job.

I'll never forget naively discovering this routine via happenstance, and literally being shocked seeing most of them huddled up within the "designated smoking area" there on the north side of the Woolfolk building (basement level of the attached garage). 

What was great about this routine was the community it built amongst those men (in spite of the inhaled carcinogens).

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When I was in architecture school (+/-43 students were in my class of '95), I vividly recall two fellow students (one of which died a few years back) who smoked cigarettes regularly right outside the architecture school building.  One or the other of the two young men would initiate this ritual by moving within view of the other (their desks were on opposing sides of our assigned studio space).  From there, a cig would be raised high to signal what was to come next.

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What's the takeaway here?

Men get bored with routine.  It's the reason men / fathers aren't typically small children's (infants / toddlers) primary caregivers.  

We long for adventure and newfound experience(s).  And usually, a brotherhood component exists as part of that.    

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Privately consuming Internet porn is the antithesis of this.  No camaraderie.  No brotherhood.  Not to mention supporting an industry that's debased as a result.  Its digital toxicity running amuck with a reach & influence that's almost completely unchecked. 

I read an article earlier this week (I can't provide a link since it's behind a journalistic paywall) that featured a family with three adult sons, all three of which are floundering.  Two of the three young men dropped out of their collegiate studies and are now living at home whilst working for the family business.  Disillusionment was the theme.  The boys' parents were exasperated and losing hope.

There was no mention of video games, social media or Internet porn consumption being suspect in exacerbating the problem for this stagnated family.  This shocked me because it was so obvious (these were obviously rich, white people).

Instead, it indirectly blamed women gaining the educational / vocational upper hand and therefore outmaneuvering their male counterparts.  

Please.

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I'm almost an empty-nester (one to go!).  My wife works most evenings.  I love to exercise, but I do also covet my downtime.  

Nonetheless, I must be intentional about interrupting the mundanity of my existence sans self-destructive novelty (Internet porn consumption).  

Samson Society's brotherhood provides THE EASIEST fallback.  Whether it's attending meetings or being intentional about connecting with a brother one-on-one, there's an instantaneous isolation antidote.

If you haven't taken the plunge, I encourage you to do so today.

  

Recommended Reading / Rob's Cycle of Porn

The Cycle of Pornography | Evidence Unseen

My first encounter with porn (late elementary school) occurred at my uncle's apartment.  I was around 4-5th grade, and it was my cousin (my uncle's son - an only child like me) who exposed me to his father's Penthouse magazines. Even then, it was the male models that I was drawn to the most.  Nonetheless, I was so curious as to what sex / sensuality was.  These soft-lensed, exquisitely photographed pictorials fueled my desire to learn more.  I remember masturbating in the hall bathroom after my cousin and I had "had our fill".  I loved the powerful arousal that occurred via these photos (tied to the clandestine investigation) which in turn made the climaxes that much moreso unbelievable.  

Looking back, I had no idea what was truly going on due to being brought up in such a vacuum-of-sexual-information-household.  Nonetheless, what I did know was I too (as a human being) was "wired for sex", therefore it felt imperative that I take these opportunities to learn / feel as much as possible in this regard.

In a nutshell, this was simply prepubescent curiosity mixed with availability of explicit sexual material.  Did it lay groundwork for being captivated (in bondage) outright down the road?  I don't believe so.  That all grew out of the shame / loneliness I was experiencing as a targeted middle school faggot / loner.

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7th and 8th grade were tremendously difficult for Rob.  I was miserable and as a result, had to lay low at school.  I began fantasizing regularly about being pursued by older men (sexual relationships), and the most shame-filled fantasies of them all involved my youth pastor.  There was no precedent for this.  I'd not been molested outright, though in so many ways, the abject void of masculine affirmation qualified in and of itself.  

Young men must have the masculine affirming they deserve to develop into healthy men.

I had no older (or younger) brothers.  There wasn't a dad (Robert, Sr.) that had any semblance as to what healthy, customized masculine affirming looked like (much less a desire to participate therein).  I loathed team sports and scouting.  All of this added up to me literally being on my own.

In light of this, I stuck to comic books and music, eventually joining the poor excuse of a marching band (clarinet & later drum major) that was available to me at Madison-Ridgeland Academy.  Our entourage was a sad joke, but thanks be to God, there was some semblance of a loser community for me to fall back on.  

As my secondary education marched forward, I couldn't help but observe select other young men become hardened, successful athletes.  As such, I took the step of including them within my sexual fantasies.  This made things more personal and far more lowbrow within my mind (considering their relational closeness to me).  

As such, these homosexual fantasies became my go-to daily elixir for how inept I felt as Rob.  Rinse & repeat.  Rinse & repeat.

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During high school, I had no problem making friendgirls, and many, if not most, were interested in pursuing a romantic relationship.  But, at this point, I was now using salacious print material to homofantasize (in the form of wall calendars, greeting cards, men's exercise mags).  All of this material, I consistently looked to catalog privately as I became more and more captivated by masculine beauty.  By far, it was the most compelling visual find of my young existence (exponentially accelerated in potency relative to my ongoing private self-loathing).

Again, there was such the void of knowledge pertaining to what was out there regarding this seemingly intangible subject.  And I craved for more and more of that knowledge.  This too cannot be discounted.

If I've ever been addicted to anything, it was during this stage of my life, and my addiction was to what I perceived as masculine.

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Strength training was key to me putting a toe in the water of masculine self-affirmation.  It was during my last year of college.  I was living with Bob & Darlene as I was completing my 5th year of architecture school (in Jackson) at Mississippi State University.  I'd asked my parents to purchase me a beginner's (youth) strength training set in high school from Service Merchandise.  It consisted of a cushion bench (w/ a bolted on leg lift attachment), one barbell and one dumbbell.  The plastic weights were sand-filled.  A tri-fold instruction booklet, printed in black-&-white accompanied this '80s novice exercise kit-of-parts.  

Four months of using this rudimentary equipment (thrice weekly) along with sit-ups and pushups - down on the cut pile carpeted floor of my bedroom worked wonders.  It truly was miraculous.

Why?  Because it consisted of personal, private affirming at its finest.  All in tandem with me myself gaining muscle mass steadily.  For once in my young man life, I felt some semblance of pride whilst seeing my reflection in the mirror.  

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At this same time, I began dating my future wife.  Not long after our engagement, I confessed to having a serious "interest" in pornography, but the hardest part was divulging my homofantasy life (to both her and my parents) and how it had sprung out of a deep-seated loathing of my masculine self (this had not been difficult to figure out).

What was super convenient for me was how similarly crippled my future father-in-law (girlfriend's dad) was.  Hence, my fiancé had been reared by a father who was not all that much different - intrinsically - than I was.  This served (along with my commitment to therapy), I believe, as a bridge that moved us confidently towards marriage.  

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Not long after our wedding day, the Internet came on the scene.  

Oh.  My.  Gosh.  What a nightmare that was.

It was like moving a drunk (me) into a liquor store.  And not any liquor store but one where any and all forms of liquor could be conjured up on demand.  For free.  And placed in the palm of your / my hand.

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The adult (explicit) - content now available via the Internet should have been sequestered.  Adult (explicit) - content allowed over here / no adult (explicit) - content allowed over here.  But no one asked Rob.  

Instead, it was one big free-for-all.  Everything and anything you could imagine, readily available, so long as you had an Internet capable device / browser.  And this was how the adult content producers wanted it.  For they knew that the more (& younger) eyes they exposed to their explicit smut, the more deeply entrenched their wares would become within the viewers' psyches. This, of course, would then drive demand for more as the captivation concretized. 

Before long, so many (mostly men) were absolutely epidemically infected by this newfound ease-of-access-to digital smut.  Including me.  For it tapped into (& subsequently reanimated) my childhood coping mechanism.  A mechanism that in so many ways was no longer needed or wanted at this stage of my young adult life.

Therefore, this was its true wretchedness:  the monumentally tremendous unneeded / unwanted / unwarranted stress on me / my young marriage for such a time as this.

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Curiosity also played a sizable role in my steady return to gay porn.  The Internet served me well in this capacity.  For there was an endless supply of new photos / videos.  All I had to do was search for "hairy muscle men" & voila!

Who knew there was so much historical smut out there for consumption!  Colt Studio Group was my instant go-to.  Especially in regard to "vintage" Colt.  Seeing gay porn from the '80s was especially profound.  For this was the decade of my youth.  How unusual it was to reckon with the fact that all of this smut was being created on the west coast throughout my adolescence in Mississippi.  Who'd a thunk?

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I sat down with a therapist at First Baptist Church Jackson in the early '00s, spilling my story and asking for help as it pertained to my being captivated by online gay porn.

I'd known this therapist / pastor since I was a boy.  He poured his encouragement into me, and for a while, I felt immensely strengthened.  But his words weren't enough.  

What made the first distinct difference in my battle was connecting intimately with another man who pursued me for who I was outright.  

Let me repeat that.

What made the first distinct difference in my battle was connecting intimately with another man who pursued me for who I was outright.  

Who was I exactly?

1.  Christian

2.  Husband

3.  Father

4.  Same-sex attracted

5.  Intelligent

6.  Athletic

7.  Articulate

8.  Loyal

And so forth.

This man amounted to being my first Silas.  And he was perfectly suited to Rob back in 2009.  

He allowed me to healthily bask in the love of masculine affirmation.  He did so via words and touch and so much steadfastness (listening ear).

During the core 10-months of that friendship, I consumed not one iota of gay porn.  This was a monumental achievement / breakthrough for me.  I had found my antidote.

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Fast forward to my inclusion into Samson Society in 2014.

My first (official) Silas (1.0) had so many similarities to this aforementioned, pre-Samson Society friend.  And though the pursuit was short-lived, it confirmed my suspicions.

If gay porn's grip was to be permanently loosened, I had to find men who'd affirm my individualistic masculinity.  And preferably, I needed it to occur in-person.  For their physical energy / aura was needed for me to receive the healing I so desired.

I became then a vigilante advocate for myself.  Any opportunity to receive, I gravitated towards.  So often men would believe they were simply being pursued (by Rob) in relation to their need(s), when in reality, it had nothing to do therein.  It was all about me and my needs.  For me to be friendly was easy.  But before long, when the stars aligned, intimate connection would occur.  Perhaps via a gesture or touch.  Maybe a short exchange of verbiage - heated or gentle.  But, in the end, I was exposed to that soft underbelly that so few were / are given the opportunity to see.  And it was that emotional energy that I drank down like dilithium crystals powering a warp core. 

This resulted in an instant leveling up for Rob.  For I was keenly aware of how privileged I was to experience those delicious, etched-in-my-long-term memory relational moments.

As such, my mantra eventually became (within Samson Society) to serve oneself wholeheartedly.  

In closing, make this place about you and your needs being met.  All in tandem with your deep desire to tamp down (& ultimately defeat) the morally bankrupt captivation (sexually explicit material, chemical, etc.) that's established / hardened itself within your mind.  

This is my personal rallying cry.  Because it's worked wonders for me.  

In closing, I will forever be on the prowl.  Hunting my next opportunity to be seen by men who are willing to take the time to know me outright.  Warts & all.

As a Christian, You're Going To Get Hurt Within Samson Society. Why Expect This? Because You're Called To Serve Firstly & Feel Secondly.

Prior to losing my Campus Architect / Facilities Director position at Delta State University in 2013, I was surrounded by men day in and day out via the demands of / setup within my vocational role.  I did my darndest to treat everyone fairly, but since I was only there one year prior to my termination (thanks to me violating their IT policy), I really only had time to grow close to a handful of these blue-collar blokes.  Overall, though, I felt this experience was literally the zenith of my career as an architect.  And I felt this at day one.  It truly had all the makings of a dream job.

My leadership approach was as follows: open-door, listen and try to help without in any way pretending to know better than they did (because I usually didn't).  My predecessor had taken the exact opposite approach, therefore the change in leadership style, for my minions, was like a breath of fresh air.

Therein, what dragged / wore on me constantly was how one-sided this setup was.  Especially as it pertained to both me and my family being transplanted into this very new, very isolating small-town MS setting.  For my minions had been starving for respect, therefore my appointment was soon met with all that pent up demand.

Ultimately, no one there knew Rob - warts & all. Nor did I have any friends (outside of work) that served me within the same open door, subservient capacity (as I was day-in-and-day-out serving my men).  As a result, as each work week passed, I felt more and more like an outsider through and through. 

Nonetheless, Rob's respectful modus operandi was appropriate and helpful to all of these men, and this provided me with peace of mind.  For it represented me not being - in the least - overstepping of the supervisor / minion relationship.  For I'd experienced that myself when I too was a minion (within other vocational settings), and it was neither fair nor in anyway helpful therein as it pertained to me doing my minion job to the best of my ability.

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My introduction to Samson Society in August 2014 (11-months post job termination) felt like the "mirror universe" version of my aforementioned Campus Architect / Facilities Director role at DSU.  And this was absolutely apparent, within that first in-person Samson group, due to the fact that I simply wouldn't / couldn't be called upon to "hold the professional line" (put up or shut up).  Therefore, no matter what I happened to say, either within or outside of a meeting (after meeting / retreats) I was allowed to test this assumption repeatedly, yet never once did anyone pull me aside and say, "you might want to tone down the authenticity rhetoric a little."

For such a time as that, I was desperately in need of this weekly orgy of truth-telling / being heard and listened to, for I had so much anger, shame and desperation, with no idea what to do with it.  Plus, I simply wasn't interested in really hearing or knowing otherwise about anyone else's situation (though I certainly pretended to).  My own pain was simply too big to look away from - 24/7/365.  So much so, back then, that it came close to pulling me under completely (thanks to PTSD).

Eventually though, it became more manageable as the pressure eased within my mind.

As such, I did begin to heal.  And from there, I truly began serving / giving back to this community in droves.  I'm here to testify to the fact that Samson Society absolutely worked its magic.  From there, I hit recovery cruise control via service to those who'd have me.  And oh, how much fun that's been. 

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Consider this memory of note:

My breakout attempt to extend an intimate hand of friendship within Samson Society took place right before Christmas 2014.  A younger man who'd been faithful (at that point, longer than I had) to the First Baptist Church Jackson Samson Society piqued my platonic interest in light of his exuberant, outgoing persona (super fun guy).  I'd been fortunate enough to hear bits and pieces of this Samson brother's story throughout the five months I'd been attending said meeting and had even attended a few Bible studies over at his apartment  

What I didn't realize was how my attempts to extend a personal hand of friendship would be reacted to via the other men or at least one, in particular, who'd long since crossed that particular relational bridge (w/ fun guy).

This was when I quickly realized that my involvement within Samson Society was in no way happening inside a vacuum, and that I was just as blokey as all my peers.  And running headlong into this now wedge hurt, but it also didn't deliver reciprocally anything other than a strong reminder of how absolutely okay it was for me to stand up for my own wants and desires within this sacred space of brotherhood.  

Or this one:

I poured mucho time and energy into a guy who'd, like me, come to a Samson story retreat.  This was my second of these, and mostly, I was there out of respect for the facilitator (who was my first "Silas" - pre-Samson Society).  This (fellow retreat attendee) AL native and I agreed to continue dialoguing into the future, and he was extremely faithful to that agreement.

Eventually, the stars aligned, and from there, we were set to both attend a Samson Society National Retreat.  I'd been to many of these prior, but this was his first.  I vividly recall comparing (to him) my previous Samson National Retreats as vampiric feeding grounds.  In essence, fantastic opportunities to make new connections and therefore "drink in" stories 'till one's heart's content.  

Disappointedly, he failed to engage.  In fact, he spent the majority of his time - throughout the weekend - text messaging his wife back in GA.  For she was his codependent female "Silas", for lack of a better word.  As a result, not one Samson guy benefited from befriending this dude (besides brushing shoulders with him during the lunch line).  And that was because he made zero effort to invest as he'd invested in me (& vice versa) throughout the lead up to this endeavor.

We continued our ongoing bi-monthly chats, but it took a long while for me to settle back into our routine emotionally unscathed.  

Nonetheless, I'd realized from the get-go, whilst walking into that second Samson story retreat, that it wasn't going to offer me a whole lot (repetitive) unless I made the most of this syndication.  And that's what motivated me to pursue new connections.  For this, I had no regrets.

Or this one:

Young guy shows up to my Samson meeting at Lakeside Pres church one Saturday morning.  Since he's a newbie, I immediately follow-up with him out of respect for showing up.

The deep-seated respect that returns to me is noble but also uneasy-ly blind.

He continues attending (like clockwork).  Eventually, I tell him to let me come alongside and intentionally assist in his recovery (over the course of the upcoming calendar year).  Months pass.  From there, we agree to meet once a week.

I become his very intentional big brother cheerleader, attending his side hustle events, gifting him at birthdays / promotions at work, and ever steadily continuing to meet regularly. Our friendship is richly rewarding. 

I even loop him into a movie night ("1917") with my father at the newly opened suburban MoviePlex.  Fun times.

Then very unexpectedly the relationship exploded violently.  And of all places for this to occur, ironically, it was during an in-person Samson meeting.        

Within just a few minutes, our friendship / brotherhood ceased to exist in spite of it being bookended on either side by this very ministry.  

A few weeks later, I followed through with (yet again) attending the National Samson Society retreat.  This was never an option for my previous Samson brother.  For anytime I brought up the notion of him accompanying me was met with swift refusal / rebuttal.  

It was during that retreat that I asked Mr. Justin Schwind about attending the virtual Samson Society meeting he facilitated (I'd never prior given serious thought to attending a virtual Samson Society meeting).

And that formally segued me from in-person to virtual literally overnight.

And finally, this one:

A newcomer to this "Make Thursdays Great Again" virtual Samson meeting caught my attention.  I DM'ed him via Slack and before long we were off and running.  He'd attended intensive weekends within other men's parachurch ministries, therefore Samson was serving him beautifully as an everyday reminder / placeholder of that / those sacred event(s).   

We talked A LOT for weeks on end.  The alignment pertaining to our intellect, personas, faith were undeniable. Plus, he was just so hungry for attention.  As such, the attraction was building between us. 

By this point (this was February of '23), I had amassed quite the impressive resume of Samson stories.  So much so that I truly thought I'd heard it all.

But with this guy, that was most definitely not the case.

My reaction therein was blunt.

Needless to say, he was deeply offended.

And that was the end of that.  

But, in the end, it was this offense that motivated me to reposition myself in (virtual Samson meeting) "Brain Changers" on Sunday afternoons / evenings.  And eventually, from co-facilitator, I became sole facilitator ("Transparent Training Union").  

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Last weekend, my wife and I bumped into a guy I often see at the Y.  At the time, she and I were at the local grocery.  This man's younger than me, but due to his build, looks a good bit older than his biological age.  I'd been praying for an opportunity to give him my business card in hopes of us having lunch someday.  And lo and behold, here was my opportunity.  

Why pray this prayer?

Because he's right there in front of me, and he's got a story I want to hear.  That's why.

Plus, he knows my name.

Seriously, I can't not take the chance to see where an extended hand might very well lead.  I love men.  God loves me.  It's full circle.  

Lagniappe

More lagniappe

Even more lagniappe

Rob's (Adolescent) Self-Pleasure Hidey Hole

You've heard the trope.  "I'm taking / claiming sanctuary / asylum here within the church house".   

During the previous US President's administration, a number of illegal immigrants took this approach (as a last resort to being deported).  

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When I was in high school, my family faithfully attended First Baptist Church Jackson.  At this time (1989-1990), the church had just completed a massive Fellowship Hall / Sunday School classroom addition.  This was a multi-story building (5-6 floors) which served to (architecturally) completely fill the urban city block (immediately to the east of the State Capitol Building) the church resided within in downtown Jackson.

Oftentimes, on a typical Sunday morning, I would drop my parents off at one of the church's many covered drop offs prior to parking their car (in light of us inevitably running late).  We lived in Madison (in the country!) in an average-sized ranch house, therefore the drive to our downtown Jackson church was a very repetitive (boring) +/-25 minutes.  

All of my peers that were also - for the most part - faithful churchgoers (11th / 12th grade Sunday morning) went to other schools than I did.  And these schools weren't just different than my own, they were far better (academically superior) than my own.  

I especially loathed arriving on-time to Sunday School and having to endure the dead space prior to the class starting.  For everyone knew each other from their school(s), therefore in spite of their late-night grogginess, small talk came easily for them.

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At this time, I knew I wanted to pursue architecture as a college degree / career field.  As such, this interest empowered me to explore buildings with an "eye for design" / out of curiosity.  

Not long after the massive Sunday School / Fellowship Hall addition was occupied by the church, I took the time to explore it from stem to stern.

This afforded me the opportunity to find some "off the beaten path" one-hole restrooms that were perfectly suited to steal away to.

And this became my cathartic routine.  Every Sunday morning.  Prior to Sunday School.  

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This was me rebelling against a situation that I felt powerless against.  Having to repetitively face the uncomfortableness of Sunday morning (high school Sunday School) stood in stark contrast to my budding desire (as a new believer) to learn about God's word / be at church.  For I had no doubt that I had been positioned well, particularly at that age, to reap tremendous spiritual growth via First Baptist Church Jackson.  

To expound on that word powerless, let me offer up the following.

My parents were attending this church, at this particular time, due to their fierce loyalty to it.  This loyalty was borne out of the love and care they experienced whilst being ushered / invited into this fold as a (very) young (not at all locally sourced) couple.  From there, just a few years passed before my dad found himself as an (very young) ordained deacon.  This too solidified their place amongst the Protestant throngs within this thriving '80s mega-church.

I wasn't about to complicate the situation / rock the boat by voicing my frustration related to one dumb weekly hour of Sunday School.

Yet...

each rebellious sexual-fantasy-fueled act seeded my Sabbath day conscious with immense guilt.  And even though I would regularly find myself consistently tardy to my assigned high school Sunday School class (way up on the 5th floor), no one seemed to notice.

For I was Rob Turner.  That effeminite-acting (gay?) kid from Madison who went to that outlier private school.  

Who sincerely gave a shit about him anyway?  Especially amongst the dressed-to-the-nines northeast Jackson throngs.

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Fast forward to today.

Angie and I attend Lakeside Pres.  Of note, for almost four years, I facilitated an in-person Samson Society meeting there on Saturday mornings.  It was a wonderful opportunity that's imbued a tremendous amount of loyalty of my own towards that church.  The facilities at Lakeside Pres are lackluster.  Hence, there's simply not enough church building to properly accommodate the church body (I am keenly aware of this due to my background as an architect).  It's the exact opposite of what Angie and I experienced at First Baptist Church Jackson (growing up) where space was plentiful / thoughtfully designed to accommodate / serve that '80s church.

I really enjoy Bible study.  Sunday School is one of my favorite ways to delve in.  The class we've been attending for a few years now found its origin as an offshoot of a much larger class.  Today, this class is bursting at the seams (considering the room we're assigned to).  Plus, it's simply starting to feel stale / repetitive in spite of the quality teaching / friendliness of the group (Rob's blue ocean itch).

Yesterday, Angie and I agreed to take a bit of a sabbatical from Sunday School (only) in order to think through and pray about where God might lead us next relative to Sunday morning Bible study.  

Within this class, we're very well known.  And mostly due to how unabashed I am at providing commentary / asking questions.  Therefore, it's become a very, very comfortable experience amongst very familiar friends.  

But, it's important to remember that God is good and effectively orchestral.  

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I workout at the Y twice weekly.  The facility I frequent typically hosts middle to Medicare-aged folks (relatively speaking).  Over the past few years though, there've been a handful of high school boys who've become faithful gymgoers.  This generational variety has been welcomed wholeheartedly.  

Presently, one young man has been very regular for close to one year.  

I introduced myself to him late last year, and from there, it's been delightful to know him on a first name basis (though we rarely speak if he's there with his posse).

A month or so ago, I overheard that he was slated to move away, and I confirmed this with him last week.  

My heart hurts for him.  I can't imagine having had to start fresh as an 11th grader in an entirely new place / setting.  Particularly where he knows no one.

I had him try on my workout gloves this past Saturday in hopes that my size would fit him too.  It didn't.  

I have two unboxed pairs (my size) at the house, and I'd hoped to gift him one - as a wellwisher gift.  

Unfortunately, this particular glove is no longer made, therefore purchasing a smaller size - for him - is off the table.

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Powerless is a feeling that I keenly sympathize with.  In fact, I'd argue it's a bit of a theme of my life that's rooted squarely in my teenage years.

Nonetheless, God is good and effectively orchestral.  I believe that with all my heart.  

Feeling powerless doesn't mean we necessarily are.  God is good and effectively orchestral.  He is always advocating on our behalf as his adopted sons.

That being said, especially whilst considering our inner child, those negative feelings can effectively disrupt / hijack our intentions if opportunity presents itself.

Intentional Touch / Body Proximity, For Many Men, Is The Superior Way To Confirm Brotherly Love

Back in 2007-2008, I found myself withering on the vine via (authentic) platonic isolation (an ideal situation for Rob's uninhibited gay porn consumption or worse...).  It hadn't been long (October '06) since I'd left my job in the private sector to work for the State of Mississippi.  And I was honored to take that position, but it was nearly instantaneously obvious that I wouldn't be making close friends there.  As such, I had no desire to look back towards my vocational peers from the past either.  

The Internet (Yahoo! Groups specifically) came to my rescue.  Thanks be to God.

Scott, my newfound Aussie friend, was a master of the language arts.  It wasn't long before the "L" word was rolling off his tongue.  And I delighted in that, reciprocating blithely, for I'd never had another man say that word to me.  But I have to admit that it felt a bit hollow and quite forced.  For I'd never met Scott in person.  Instead, it was simply email and telephone / Skype calls that worked to congeal our relationship to the best of our ability.  Eventually, our very long-distance friendship diminished in relevance within my mind, and much to his chagrin, we took a one-year break.  

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Within the Samson Society, there's no shortage of hugs and "L" words.  Simply attend an Intensive or National Retreat, and you'll see what I'm referring to.  Arguably, it's the language of Samson.  In that regard, we're the gayest group of (mostly) straight men you'll likely ever encounter. 

Sidenote:  When I was a senior in high school, I gifted a neighbor friendboy (same age) a mixtape.  This friend had unexpectedly come back into my life during that one year, having moved away the summer prior to our sixth-grade year.  Despite both our (historical) platonic closeness as elementary-age boys (we were "best friends") as well as our (senior year) reestablished proximity, our friendship DID NOT "pick up where we left off".  Defeated and acting somewhat neurotic, I refused to give up hope.  And that's where the high school graduation mixtape gift idea came to fruition.  Unsurprisingly, it detonated any semblance of remaining dignity within our friendship bond.  

No gifting mixtapes please.     

Within certain cultures, best friends hold hands - in public - as a symbol of their love / commitment to each other.  You'll never see that amongst pirate monks, though I do think there's some merit to that innocent gesture.  

But what about men who have no interest in Samson Society, yet are just as fiercely loyal as friends (if not more so)?   How should we express love to them in a way that's respectfully effective?

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Here's an overall qualifier:

One of the greatest gifts the Samson Society has afforded me is practice loving on men.  Especially from the standpoint of catering that love specifically to that individual man.

I have rarely hugged a man who's not / who wasn't involved in Samson Society (except within circumstances that were quite forced / awkward).  

So how do I respectfully communicate love sans the fraternity of Samson Society providing oversight / ground rules / safety?

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Here in Mississippi, arguably the greatest fear of parents of boys is that they'll end up / turn out gay.  Having a homosexual son is a massive point of shame here in the Magnolia State.  As such, these children are usually written off completely / ignored outright within traditional southern communities.  And I believe this is primarily due to how dismissed / frowned upon any dialogue (identifier) regarding sexuality is within the buckle of the Bible Belt.  Hence, boldly proclaiming / admitting to one's same-sex attraction (& admitting to enjoying acting out on it) is akin to openly discussing one's viewpoint on southern race relations / Catholicism.  It amounts to instantaneous relational ostracism.   

As such, it's what drives middle to upper / middle to upper-class white parents to elevate / ratify hetero norms to the nth degree (in hopes of future-proofing their boy's budding sexuality).    

For example, these teenage boys are given full-size pickups to drive NO MATTER WHAT.  Is there no more hetero-normal vehicle than a body-on-frame full-size, gas-guzzling truck?  Absolutely not!

And preferably, it should be a domestic-designed / manufactured truck.  Toyota / Nissans simply aren't as hetero-normal as Ford and Chevrolet / GMC.

I could go on.  (Travel) team sports, boy scouts (tent camping), hunting / fishing and so forth.  

Oh, and if the full-size truck is customized (Carolina squat / rims, glass packs, etc.), all the more peace-of-mind parents can obtain regarding their son's unfettered sexual attraction towards wet vaginas.  

Straight son = parenting job well done.

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Intentional touch.  Mostly via handshakes, but on occasion, via a grasp (strong grip) or tap.  But also, there's the art of body proximity / politics.  

It's that shared space between two brothers.  Whether you're stationed together within a battalion, swimming semi-nude within a river, working out together or simply leaning over the empty bed of a (domestic) PICKUP TRUCK chewing the fat.  

Men's bodies radiate relational energy.  It's like a scent / body aroma that only the canines are actually privy to.  Therein, you mix that with your brother via proximity and emotional affirming can most certainly occur.  Powerfully.  Effortlessly.  Simply by spending time together.  It truly is magical to witness / experience.

And I would argue there's a lot to be said for this approach in terms of its subtleness.  Healthy men desire nothing greater than the respect of other men / women within their lives.  Understanding how to effectively express love candidly yet respectfully towards your special friend, I would argue, is key to sustaining said friendship.  

It took me a long time to learn this.

And you don't have a drive a full-size truck to do this well (though your friend may very well need to own one).

You're welcome.

The Night He Got Jumped By His Former Youth Pastor / It Took Two To Tango / Was This An Isolated Incident? - Stories That Resonate

It is not getting any easier admitting to my neediness.  Over the past quarter (& then some), my wife has been working 12-hour days (home office), and because she's a night owl, most of her workday has been well past 5 PM.  As such, a typical evening (throughout the workday and weekend) consisted of tiptoeing in order to not disturb her grind.  And it was my privilege to step up in this regard.  

Since she became physically disabled due to her May 2020 stroke, a lot of additional housework naturally fell on my shoulders.  Thanks be to God we live in a manageably scaled home (with a small yard)!  Too, only having one additional kidlet (of three total) at home (who's the epitome of obedience and cooperation) to feed / tend to, helps tremendously.

My wife is quite ambitious and very, very capable as a sole proprietor.  Her clients almost immediately recognize this, and therefore lean into her professional services (she's a CPA).  

But where does that leave our marriage - during ramp up / intensely busy seasons?

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Twice last week, I delved back into gay porn.  And of note is how I hit repeat regarding one video I stumbled across in particular (this is very rare for me to do).  The models within this particular vignette were having some passionately dramatic sex, and I mean passionate with a capital P.  In fact, there was more emphasis therein than on your typical hyper close-up genitalia shots.  It felt more like a Hallmark version of Colt Studio than anything else.

But what was truly relevant was the following.  It felt like a porn video made exactly for me for such a time as that / this.

Thursday, (4/11) I began to reckon with just how emotionally needy I truly am at this time, having endured this last quarter.  

My wife and I went out to eat Saturday night at a fairly new restaurant close to our abode.  It was fantastic to steal away as such!  But man, we have a long way to go pertaining to regaining our regularly scheduled marital footing, and it was apparent that neither of us wanted to admit to this.

Nonetheless, both of us realize that marriage is seasonal, and that there'll always be emotional connection pauses that occur, circumstances being whatever they may be.  

They are so not fun though, and arguably leave us both vulnerable to outside forces / temptations.

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Years ago, I attended a Samson Society story retreat over a weekend.  This was my second story retreat, and I was happy to once again support my old friend, Mr. Chris Inman, therein.  A fellow attendee shared a "story of shame" that Saturday afternoon involving his former youth pastor jumping him late one night.

Apparently, this story retreat attendee had (post high school) further befriended, as an adult, his youth pastor.  As such, the youth pastor had divulged his struggle with same-sex attraction (he was single) to this now married with multiple small children (with another on the way) man. 

That friendship naturally matured and continued to warrant time together, and during this particular then recent juncture, the two men were sleeping over at the youth pastor's place.  And that's where the unexpected sexual advance occurred.  

As a result, the younger man immediately fled the scene.  The understandable reactional stress motivated him then to reach out to his parents for support.  Frustratingly, they (particularly his mother) felt their son was overreacting, taking into account the tenured friendship as well as the youth pastor friend's spotless platonic / parochial record.  

At the conclusion of this tale, all I clearly remember is this dude was tremendously angry.  Tremendously angry.  At both his former youth pastor friend / mentor as well as his parents (combined with the world at large).  

I've thought about that story for years and years.  I attempted to follow up with the guy not long after the retreat was over in order to hopefully understand / flesh out more details, but to no avail.  He was absolutely not interested in talking to same-sex attracted Rob (can you blame him?).

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Last summer, a new potential friend (completely unaffiliated with Samson Society) literally fell out of the sky into my sphere of influence.  My aforementioned younger daughter and I had volunteered for a Saturday mission trip (with our church) to Greenwood.  This new friend volunteered too in spite of his family not being a member of our congregation.  If you've read previous blog posts, hearing of this guy is old news.

What makes this new friend so special to Rob is twofold:

1.  His physical presence is intimidating.  This coupled with his reserved persona only add to his exceedingly foreboding posture.  It's important to know that my masculine archetype is very much in line with physical attributes that telegraph the notion of "mysterious threat".  I have no idea why that is.  I've just learned to roll with it.

2.  I'm his first true "big city" (urban / suburban) friend outside of his extended family.  Hence, I want to serve him well as such, being mindful of my influence.

He and I are geared up for around-the-bend warmer days.  Days where we can take our girls swimming, kayaking, exploring the Mississippi out-of-doors.  These are anticipated future memories that engender me with sizable opportunities to BE SEEN whilst seeing him vulnerably.  

I cannot emphasize enough how restorative these experiences will be to my soul.  Our friendship was so embryonic last summer that what few we had like these felt almost surreal - for both of us - in and of themselves.  Mostly due to how unexpectedly initial common ground we found both of ourselves enjoying.  As such, summer 2024 awaits...

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The questions before I close.

-  Will I ever truly come to understand how effectively educated I've become via Samson Society in terms of healthy (modeled & otherwise) male-to-male relationships?

-  By receiving the raw emotion (positive or negative) from another Samson guy, in light of his experience with the unexpected, does this exposure qualify as truly vicarious or is it simply me being a novel spectator?  Furthermore, what constitutes either side of that experiential equation?  

-  Knowing that my new local friend isn't a Samson guy, will that insure, to some degree, the longevity of our friendship (less competition / him not being a pervert as I am)?  

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Samson Society emphasizes recovery, and it most certainly should.  But, an indirect benefit, is the opportunity to become immensely respectful of brotherly love male friendship - both inside & outside of this community.  Regardless, those couplings truly are supernatural - especially here at middle-age.  And, of course, they're absolutely just as, if not moreso, supportive therein within their own unique way.

Thanks be to God for men, image-bearers of the living God.  

     

Wield Your Positive Influence Here Within Samson Society

One of the most substantial outcomes relative to teenage Rob wielding his (positive) influence happened during an (snow day) ice storm.  The year was likely somewhere around early 1988.  The Christmas prior, I'd been gifted a Yamaha keyboard (though I actually didn't play keyboard with any semblance of true ability).  

My best friend, Greg, on the other hand, did play keyboard with envious skill, and he'd just purchased his own Yamaha synthesizer (from Service Merchandise, no doubt) in response to having "test driven" my own.  

Since I was always looking to spend time with Greg, and knowing that we both enjoyed our mutual friend, Todd's companionship (who just happened to own a Casio keyboard), our keyboard trio, Infinity, serendipitously came together.

And man, oh man, did we three enjoy our time together, composing and practicing, practicing, practicing before finally performing (school talent shows, etc.).  And it all took root with the three of us sitting cross-legged on my small bedroom's cut-pile carpeted floor, laughing and carrying-on, as only us three nerdy Mississippi teens could do during a mid-January late '80s snow day.  

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Being cognizant of (& comfortable wielding) your positive influence is the very best toolset at your disposal as a Samson guy.  Each of us is unique with our specific gifting in this regard.  Some are writers, others are encouragers (spoken word), others still seemingly sages relative to most any circumstance.  And of course, it's a given that communities like Samson Society are perfectly suited to positive influencers.  How and why is this?   

(And though it's certainly priority number one to focus in on your individual recovery, there's still no reason to not keep as a very close second, the opportunistic influence you wield relative to supporting another's.)

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1.  Shared interests

First and foremost is recovery.  Every Samson guy can relate to that.  From there, it's usually humor and deep-seated respect that establish the parallel courses of so many men within Samson Society.  

2.  The need to run interference against despair

A true Samson guy enters in as a result of his recent confrontation with personal, marriage, vocational, spiritual crisis.  Many Samson guys have experienced suicidal thoughts / ideations as a result of this crisis.  Tenured Samson men are forever reminded of this starting point since they've lived it themselves.  As such, their positive influence isn't necessitated to ignore other guys' pain but to counterbalance it.  As a reminder that despair is not and will never be permanent.  Hope exists down the road.

3.  It's within the very DNA of a Samson Society meeting (format)

Every meeting you choose to attend, your presence positions you to influence, from the very moment you log / step foot in the door.  As Christians, carrying the Holy Spirit inside of us, we minister to each other therein.  During share time, as we break up into smaller groups, the opportunity for influence becomes more granular / fine-toothed as more individualized opportunity is placed in our lap.  

4.  Serving another man as his Silas is not unlike being Jiminy Cricket.

Who doesn't want an assigned / appointed friend to come alongside them during arguably the most trying season of their life?  Especially if that man has had the resolve to walk out some portion of his own recovery.  The very presence of one's Silas can do wonders to positively influence.  From there, his listening ear and thoughtful questions only add to the powerful elixir of relational accountability.   

5.  It feels absolutely natural to open your pocketbook and give back.

Positive influencers are not bashful towards putting their money where their heart is.  It's as simple as that.  

Lagniappe

How Do You Know If You've Earned Another Man's (Samson Or Otherwise) Respect?

When men begin sharing intimately regarding their passions, you've earned their respect.  And this is particularly true when their passions DO NOT ALIGN WITH YOUR OWN.  

Why is this relational development such the bellwether?  

When a man loops in another to something HE KNOWS his friend isn't necessarily interested in, he's increasingly risking rejection (to some degree or another) by doing so.  There is nothing men fear more than rejection from other men.  As such, risking that with someone he's very much not wanting to ward off, implies that trust is concretizing between the two men.

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It was right around this time of year in 2015 that I acquired my first Silas.  Not long afterwards, he had my family over for a New Year's dinner party.  I remember this so vividly because my father-in-law had passed away not long before (the previous month), and though I wasn't at all close to this man, my wife certainly had been.  As such, she was still in an emotional fog.  Regardless, she did her darndest to be present / interested, but overall, she did not care to participate therein relative to this exciting (MY FIRST SILAS!) time for Rob.  

Why was this (dinner party) a big reveal for my Silas?  

He had an outrageously large family (I, of course, knew this going in, but seeing is believing).  So large, in fact, that there was great risk that we would react (understandably) in a way that was obviously uncomfortable / stigmatizing to all of / in front of them.  But we did not.  Instead, we had a lovely time, and from there, his trust / comfort level in me grew exponentially.

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A year or so after this, I became a Silas to a much younger man who'd been so brave to seek professional help for his ongoing struggle with chronic Internet porn consumption.  This fortunately had led him to our in-person Samson Society group.  

Eventually, he and I both began attending a spin-off face-to-face Samson group, and in tandem with that routine, each Sunday afternoon, in advance of this meeting, we'd rendezvous at a local restaurant in order to hang-out.  

At this time, I was busy studying for Securities licensing exams.  Therefore, I'd often situate myself at this eatery well in advance of his scheduled arrival (in order to study).  

But it was this regularly scheduled hanging out that he no doubt loved.  It taught me that there's truly an art to hanging out (even as an adult).  

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Pursuing a position of church leadership was another Samson guy's present passion.  We talked extensively about whether he rightly should be qualified therein.  From there, he submitted himself to the process of being examined before (or maybe after) being formally elected by the congregation.  I learned a tremendous amount about what it meant to be Presbyterian even though he attended a Baptist church. 

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Tattoos for some guys, particularly law enforcement types, are integral to their identity as masculine men.  I served as a Silas to a Samson guy who immediately made this crystal clear to Rob.  He would talk about not just the designs themselves but when and where and how (experientally) he received the inking.  And it was the latter that was truly sacred to this man.  For those experiences were tactile, supercharging the intimacy involved during the hours and hours it took for them to be executed.  In turn, this made these designs precious in his eyes.  

Photos that he would text to me of men who were inked were respectfully received.  For though I'd no real interest in tattoos, I learned so much about him via the sacredness of this portion of his identity as an officer of the law.

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I'm a teetotaler, but I drank my fair share of craft beers whilst serving as another man's Silas.  He knew and appreciated craft beers to the degree that I do automobiles (which is fairly extensively).  To him, craft beer represented the ultimate in an uber-cool, relaxing, refreshing beverage.  Nonetheless, I never could successfully down an entire container, but I never once struggled swallowing - my very intentional gulps of - what tasted (to me) like burnt water.

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Never in a million years would I have imagined the opportunity to tangibly support my officiating Silas.  Whether it was a single or double-header, I'd stay to watch him make calls relative to the high school / community college baseball teams competing.  He even once officiated in the Mississippi Braves stadium (good times!).  This same Samson guy introduced me to CrossFit, even allowing me to accompany him to a CrossFit competition in South MS during the heart of the pandemic.  I took the opportunity to take a number of crappy photos of he and his partner competing well, enjoying my time outright all the way up 'till their team were declared the victors. 

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Whether it's music, sports, fitness, booze, hunting / fishing, inked body parts, writing (poetry, essays), and on and on, all of these passions may very well qualify relative to the complicated makeup of your friend.

If you're smart, you'll recognize the opportunity when it's presented via respectfully embracing this portion of your friend at face value by asking curiously about its personal origins.  From there, attempt to insert yourself therein as a means to tangibly support this powerful identifier.  Respect will then begin to deeply take root.  Trust me, it never fails.

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.