Stand Up For Yourself, Not Your Desires Whilst Recalling The Desire of Your GodMan, Jesus Christ

The summer prior to my sixth-grade year, I was ushered into my inaugural First Baptist Church Jackson "youth group" summer camp experience.  The year was 1985 (I was just turning 13 years-old) and the location was Mt. Lebanon, Texas.  Overall, it was an absolute blast!  Our youth pastor, Rick Ball, was well loved by every student (all ages), therefore the robust attendance therein served as a reflection of his popularity.  Of note is the fact that this particular (weeklong + weekend) summer youth camp experience represented / served Protestant churches from all across the country in light of Mr. Dawson McCallister being our loudmouthed ("STILLBORN!!!") evangelist / camp pastor.  

I vividly recall responding wholeheartedly to an altar call during this summer camp.  My dear friend, Riley Brown, kindly accompanied me down front where Rick was stationed.  From there, we made our way up onto an adjacent berm to chat / pray.  Though I'd been baptized prior, this was my first genuine, comprehensible (of the gospel as it pertained specifically to Rob) profession of faith.

So why was that?  What was it about this setting / timing that was so unique?

Because I knew my depravity to a much greater degree than I did prior (I was baptized as a 4th / 5th grader).

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During that same summer camp, earlier in the week, I was tangibly faced - head on - with my same-sex attraction.  In light of all the (young) men (7th-12th) bunking together within one open air bunkhouse / barrack, my only child self experienced some impossible to ignore eye candy (strut-worthy, older, athletically-built teen boys).  Hence, I felt ashamed and alone for these feelings seamlessly synchronized with budding sexual fantasies I'd been harboring deep within.  Fantasies with men that fit specific masculine archetypes / builds (older, more mature physically, athletically built).  All of which had been blown tremendously out of proportion within my boyhood head as protectors / guardians / fans (of a deeply insecure child Rob). 

Why did I do this?  What made me susceptible therein?   

Two things:

1.  The terrifying physical changes coming / underway tied to adolescence.  Changes which I desperately wanted to reverse / stave off.

2.  Not having family (father, brother, mother) I could emotionally trust / lean into.  Specifically, both of my parents were still attempting to muddle through the marital rubble resulting from their relatively recent (when I was 10) relational falling out.

3.  Having a supercharged imagination that had been primed via all manner of '80s entertainment + action figures.  In essence, boyRob co-existed within the real world and his own highly captivating fantasy world (whether or not it was sexually explicit).

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The other big component of my newfound faith in Jesus Christ as a boy, for such a time as that, was aimed squarely at Jesus as my lead.  Becoming a disciple, following his teachings, all of this appealed mightily to boyRob.  All the while choosing to deny myself (which, in theory, felt not at all hard to do).  For I had seen firsthand how deceptively mislead / distorted my heart truly was.

From there, I began praying and listening much more intently to older Christians.  But, my homosexual fantasy life, I chose to never divulge nor attempt to flaunt / personify / celebrate as a teenager.  Keep in mind that it was a different time / place back in 1985.  Especially in Mississippi.  

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But, due to the scale of our youth group, statistically, it was obvious to me that I wasn't the only boy struggling with homosexual desires.  And, as is often the case, that one other boy, from early on, would orbit Rob annoyingly (particularly during out-of-town / overnight treks - camps, retreats, etc.).  

We'll call him Overachiever Jim.  And Overachiever Jim was about as gay-acting as they come.

Until he wasn't...

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The reason I'm bringing this guy up is how upfront he was regarding his personality / preferences.  And again, this being 1985, there was no (especially within a church setting) normalized homosexual references to speak of.  Jim was simply Jim.  Original and annoying.  Desperate for attention in tandem with being decidedly mediocre (physical looks, talents) overall with the only exception being his work ethic (Jim was a star student, constantly vying for top of his class).  

But, if there was one thing Jim was not, it was uncomfortable in his skin.

I can remember spending the night with Jim on one occasion.  The following Saturday, when my mother came to retrieve me, before we had even left their driveway (Jim was an only child as well, living with his divorced mother), she forbade me from returning.  All because I'd "picked up his girlish accent / dialect" via that short-lived exposure to my new friend.

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Jim went (far away) to an out of state college, and it was there where he left his uniquely effeminate persona (along with the baby fat bod) behind.  Today, he's an accomplished author, collegiate leader, father, husband.

I encouraged him once to compile / author a book (he's a trained sociologist) featuring stories of men like us.  He politely declined.  

I have to believe he was deeply offended by including him therein.  For if you were to encounter him today, there's no trace of his flamboyantly adolescent self left.

I'm willing to bet a dollar that he's personally destroyed every photo, memento that even hints at that loathed history of his true self.

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Samson Society keeps me focused on this part of myself that frankly I spent the majority of my life emotionally disabled by.  Hence, I'm the antithesis of Overachiever Jim as I do no work towards hiding / disassembling / reconstituting myself.  And that's been especially true over the last week as this middle-aged version of Rob has had his ass kicked via workload on top of personal obligations on top of my wife's vocational woes (which have angered / confused / frustrated her husband).  

Week after week, I host two meetings (they begin & end my weekends).  I also talk to my Silas (& vice versa) regularly throughout the week.  You might argue that Samson Society is my albatross.

Perhaps.  But so long as I'm drawn towards Christ, why not attempt, truly attempt to see what he sees?

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I believe being a little Christ requires faith in a GodMan that desires a relationship with you as a flawed, sinful human being, and that the depth of that relationship is tied directly to how deeply you know yourself.  For GodMan knows you 100% since he created you from scratch.  

The only real surefire way to know myself - better & better - has been via intentional / organizable recovery work.

It's often imperfect, sometimes repetitive, but it's the most effective means I know of.  

Lagniappe

Expressing Oneself Passionately - Man To Man

When I was a boy (I'm 53), it wasn't unusual for bachelors / divorcees to be roommates.  Perhaps they shared a house / apartment.  I vividly remember this within the 'hood I grew up within, and I used to think it was very cool.  How fun / pragmatic!  These were my cursory thoughts, never once looking back in suspicion.  What might one suspect?

My how things have changed.

I screened Masters of the Universe Tuesday, (6/16) with two of my girls.  The protagonist and his BFF (Earthly roommate) both sport very non-machismo personas.  And this point is driven home by their individual interests, personas, the way they dress.  All the while, there's no indication whatsoever that they're NOT sexually attracted to the opposite sex (we witness the protagonist on a dinner date).  It's just implied that they're two close male friends who're by no means "bros" in today's sense of the word / culture.

Too, these men share / have shared their stories with each other.  The film actually makes room for this onscreen.  And, of course, Adam's is quite bizarre (& he's quite passionate whilst relaying it to those he cares for).

One of my favorite aspects of the film is that the protagonist never loses his exceedingly non-machismo persona despite the transfiguration that eventually occurs once he's brought back to his home planet.  In other words, his physical form / appearance certainly intimidate / represent well his appointed / chosen role yet makes little to no difference as to who he is on the inside as a (He-)man. 

The film represents the most earnest guilty pleasure I've experienced in a long time, all the while working overtime to utilize source material (a cartoon / toy line from the '80s) with as much fanboy respect as possible.  Recommended screening.

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My Silas and I long to spend time together (shared physical space).  We've been walking with each other ever since the tail end of December of '25.  What's unique about him is how culturally passionate he is.  As a result, physical displays of affection are not an issue.  For me, I'm both culturally and intrinsically avoidant of this, particularly considering my sexuality.

All this leads me to the inevitable which is the Samson Summit in October (where he & I will finally meet).

It's going to be very interesting to see how things play out.

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As I've discussed numerous times before...

Years prior to stepping into Samson Society (I attended my first Samson Society meeting in August of 2014), I obtained my first "Silas", and therefore as a result, began experiencing relational accountability (there was a lot about each of us - personal hard wiring - that was similar in tandem with many, many differences).  Eventually, I took the initiative to ask him for permission to "demystify" the male physique with him serving as my crash test dummy.  Of course, none of these exercises involved either of our genitalia, but nevertheless, the average bro would have been extremely uncomfortable therein.

Throughout this process, it was inevitable that me choosing to ask him permission to go through these exercises (and him agreeing) telegraphed my emotional / sexual confidence for / towards him in a way that would not have been possible otherwise.  Why?  Men emote via the physical.  

And, of course, all of this taught me a great lesson in how important restraint truly can be in demonstrating love for others.  In other words, a little can go a long way (after asking permission and putting expectations in place). 

In the end, I came away having mentally deconstructed much of the adolescent idolism I'd attributed to the masculine male form which then began to crystalize my own (healthy) point of view of myself (as a reference point to everyone else - male & female).

These experiences also served to permanently close a door procedurally due to what I just described.  In the end, my personal growth as a man thankfully hasn't slowed from this singular foundational experience.

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My second architecture firm job (1996) immediately put me in a position, as an intern, to become a mentee of one of my (four) bosses.  And I embraced this due to the understood order / expectation of that particular profession.  Too, I was practically fresh out of school, looking to learn / engage as much as possible (about architecture / myself).  What I didn't realize at the time was how broken my boss truly was.  For it wasn't long before I'd stepped into my position as his intern that my boss' personal life had completely fallen apart resulting in him being in process rebuilding.  

As the years past, with me shadowing him all along the way, I grew more and more uncomfortable with the role I'd been handpicked for, and most of this discomfort centered around my boss' intrinsic priorities as a man (which didn't at all align with my own).  As such, despite these immature priorities / values being well hidden / justified to those he engaged with (as was to be expected), they proved his shallowness to young Rob / clearly exposed all the unmet needs (it's important to note that I was ten years his junior).

Year after year (ten years total), I would pull farther and farther away - on the inside.  And my heart would somewhat break as I observed his disappointment therein.  When I reached a breaking point, I was actually very close to leaving architecture behind entirely.  Whilst looking back, I'm in awe at the ultimate influence he had on how I saw / see that particular career / myself therein.

(At least once a month, I dream about working, once again, for him.  When I awake, I tend to exhale at the relief that "it was only a dream".)  

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In summary, here's my advice to you regarding the title of this post:  

1.  Be yourself, even if you're called to step into positions that seem better suited for other men.  A softer, more tenderhearted approach may very well appeal to you.  Don't be ashamed of that.  

2.  Be upfront with at least one man you believe you can be safe with.  This is all hinged on you having specific needs as I did.  If that's not the case, honest communication should still be a mainstay between you and those male friends where physical expression of love needs to / can occur to enrich all parties involved.  Communication is a key to success.  And yes, honest physical affirmation from male friends can most definitely supplement / replace what may or may not be occurring between you and the Mrs. in the bedroom.

3.  Have proof that you're capable of rejecting / decoupling friendship / friends well before moving in this direction.  As such, you're likely going to have to move past your "young man years" in order to obtain those credentials / street cred.  Discounting a relationship isn't something that comes easily, yet opportunity no doubt will abound thereafter once the necessary callouses form.  From there, you'll engage fearlessly - down the road - via the heartfelt platonic pursuit (cynics need not apply).

  

Please Touch Me (Now With Feeling)!

I've been volunteering this week as a "Group Leader / Guide" at our church's Summer '26 Vacation Bible School.  I've done this - at various churches - in years past, but only when VBS was a "traditional" AM event.

Firstly, let me just say that I'm so pleased to see so many young men volunteering compared to when this event was traditionally in the AM.  It's amazing to see ALL of the boys' groups being led by men (most of which are much younger than Rob).  This is absolute win-win for both the boys and young men.  

Because of my sabbatical (rebellion?) - so to speak - from volunteering over the past 3-4 years, I can't help but feel like a pariah, having returned a bit hesitantly (my youngest daughter is volunteering in kind).  As such, earlier this week in particular, I really, really, really longed to be affirmed via touch by some of these other men.  Perhaps a shoulder or neck squeeze?  Anyone?  Anyone?

Nope.  (& keep in mind all of them know me - primarily via my daughter.)

Instead, I got a few stupid fist bumps as well as simple, haphazardly placed smacks across the upper back (with backhands).

And the latter was from a man I've known (& haven't seen regularly in many, many years) for close to a decade.  A man who I've (recently) intentionally walked with through three of the most challenging pastoral years of his life.

*Sigh*

Why?

Like most men within our church, there's no greater fear than being labeled a queer.  Hence, they all drive full-size pickups, wear their ballcaps backwards & never, ever touch other men in a way that might qualify them as such.

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Therefore, I sit quietly and watch the clock whilst attempting to ignore the desire for masculine touch.  Strong, intentional, affirming touch.  I so needed it.  As such, whilst not receiving it, I only felt like that much more of a freak.  (Surely, it's not just me!?!)

The irony is the four boys I'm overseeing / leading (3rd / 5th graders) are just as overall physical as any / all elementary-age boys ever were.  They're constantly vying for space by pushing / shoving.  In fact, they became so physically unruly at one point last night that I had to usher them out of the "Science Lab" space prematurely (by about 10 minutes) and back into the vacant Sanctuary (Worship Center) to await the evening's VBS dismissal.  

Did this bother them in the least?  Nope.  For they only continued exhausting their frustrations via their furious hand grabbing / physical posturing right there in the pew.

And it shouldn't have bothered them.  For they needed that physicality to exert / exhaust their boredom / pent up emotional energy healthily (by this point in these boys' full days it was getting quite close to bedtime).

Had they been girls, the "punishment / consequences" (mini-quarantine) that I brought upon them would have manifested embarrassment / shame resulting in deathly quiet demeanors / silent tears driven by fear (WILL HE TELL OUR PARENTS?).  

Why?

Girls are taught early on to suck up their frustrations / boredom, and I would argue, most do not have nearly the wellspring of physical energy that boys do.

It's sad to think that very soon, these boys' playfulness will be culturally lassoed in kind.  Cultural norms / demands will stare their parents directly in the face.  And those demands will strike fear in their hearts by whispering:

"For goodness sakes, whatever you do, don't let him turn out queer."

And that's when everything will change.

Ain't No (Nor Has There Ever Been Any) Stigma Here!

You can't help but notice the Samson Society ghosts.  This is especially true during the Samson Summits (annual retreats).  It's always jarring to me.  Some of these MIA were absolutely on the forefront of promoting / carrying the recovery torch forward via their greater participation (especially considering their commitment to attend the Summits).  In essence, they were the kind of guys that would easily have been considered standouts, and as such, none of them seemed at all bothered by their inclusion into this community.

And then they weren't included.  At least within Samson Society (perhaps they went elsewhere).

It's sobering.  Especially for someone who's been involved since August 2014, observing this ministry grow / become / mature ever since.  Men are constantly moving in & out, in & out.

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Here in MS, so few Samson men dare step out from their in-person meeting (as opposed to the virtual), therefore I'm of the opinion that this fluidic reality (simply due to nil exposure to the community-at-large) takes longer to take hold.  But give it enough time, and I believe it absolutely will.  And when it does, it begs the question-

Therefore, what exactly drives the temporariness then of (admitting to) belonging to this community?

Stigma, of course.

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One of Satan's greatest tools is stigma.  So, what is it?  

It's a mark of disgrace or infamy; a stain or reproach, as on one's reputation.

I first witnessed this with my initial Silee, a disgraced music minister (he & I connected formally just a few months after I first stepped foot into Mr. Don Waller's in-person Samson meeting).  This young man was so very handsome, gifted as a crooner / having catered to the rich, white Christians within his small-town MS protestant church.  Until he was exposed / cast out in hopes of salvaging the reputation of his former employer.

Every meeting for this stud was marked with unavoidable stigma.  Every.  Meeting.  And that was understandable to a certain degree.

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So, what about Rob?  Where's his stigma?

I'm not exactly sure how to answer that question, but I believe it's been eradicated by two truths:

1.  I love / benefit tremendously via marinating within the authentic company of Christian (or otherwise) men.

2.  I love to serve men, especially distraught, needful men who desire a listening ear / open mind.

This means I'm a long-termer here within this community.  So, what does that look like exactly?

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I host a Samson Society newcomers meeting + a standard format Samson meeting every week.  These meetings buttress my weekends, and as such do me a great service in light of my weekends being particular opportunistic (to do stupid).  I also pay fairly close attention to the Samson Community Chat section of the "Samson Community" app that's available via the iOS & Android app stores.  

If you look at Samson Society resume, it's extensive.  Nonetheless, this doesn't make me languish or even feel, in the slightest, that I'm a loser / defective.  I truly see this community as my buried treasure that required me to then buy the field where the treasure resided.  

It's like the space I've always been looking for.

A close second therein is the gym.  Strength training sessions - week after week after week - also readily fill a massive need within my life.

Raw, authentic Christian masculinity is the flame.  I'm the moth.  

  

Jolene Broome

I re-read (& re-pinned a fresher YouTube video within) this very popular JMSS post:  Jackson Mississippi Samson Society: How Lockdowns Combined With The Internet Made You So Sex(uality) Crazed, & Perhaps For The Better. Be Wary of Secondhand Internet from February 2022.

Since the re-pinned video wasn't the original one, I took the time to screen its more recently created (Christian softball) replacement.  And it got me to thinking.

What if Joshua Broome had been a Jolene Broome?  Would her story replicate despite the gender change?

Let's be more specific.  

Jolene, being as bright and "girl next door" physically attractive as her "fraternal twin", Josh, would have had the exact experience - from start to finish - related to become one of the most prolific / well compensated porn stars prior to returning home to her mother - +/-5 years later - in the Carolinas / quietly morphing into a respected personal trainer / being lassoed in by the gospel of Jesus Christ / getting married to a virgin, Christian man (who's NEVER consumed porn) and then becoming the next Kay Arthur / Beth Moore.  

Absolutely not would her story replicate Josh's.  

There'd be no chance she'd be seen as anything other than refuse / a liability, no matter her spiritual testimony.  I suppose certain folks might pity her and her story, but no one would buy into her being "sucked" unassumingly into the porn industry as Josh so doey-eyed, unassumingly capitulates.

For women can most certainly model their sensuality (Victoria's Secret), but they absolutely cannot participate in the creation of pornography sans being labeled a slut - for life.

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Therefore, let's turn our attention back to Josh, porn star turned preacher / Ward Cleaver - father of four boys whose past has never truly seemed to catch up with / stuck to him.

The elephant in the room, of course, is the digital archive.  Thousands upon thousands of hours of straight and gay porn that'll be archived forever online.  Titillating, influencing, explicitly narrating extremely intimate sex acts performed by none other than he himself.  Over and over and over again with hundreds, if not thousands of strangers.  And all of this is simply one click of the mouse away... 

How do you reconcile that in relation to your children / grandchildren having access therein to this part of your past?  And the bigger question is the following:  When Josh's family (church / bio) begins to inquire (demand?) an explanation pertaining to him truly explaining his past life, what's he going to say?  In particular, the sheer quantity of sex partners, thousands of hours of smut highlighting his ability to fuck consenting adults animalistically whilst being filmed / photographed.

But, considering his present pastoral role, how would you, as his parishioner, reconcile that within your own mind?  For I believe much of it, for him personally, comes down to his pseudonym / porn star moniker that he chose to uphold throughout that season of his life.  It must serve as a dividing line of sorts.  Plus, we're all familiar with the theatrics behind the notion of Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde - two separate personas neither of which can exist simultaneously.  Perhaps his parishioners would take the same approach.

Here's a thought.

I suppose, if his porn career archive only existed within the analog, perhaps there could be some reconciliation therein, but of course, that's most certainly not the case.  Most everything, particularly within the porn space has been digitized.  And, there's no doubt, his onscreen "work" continues to gain traction in light of his newfound vocation / willingness to narrate his story. 

The bigger question though is to what degree and exactly why his charmingly good looks and seemingly unashamed approach captivate audiences.  If you've screened ex-female porn stars' testimonies (converted to Christianity or otherwise), particularly those who were as entrenched as Josh was within the industry, the primary differentiator comes down to trauma.  Deep seated trauma.

Most female porn stars are victims, from their childhoods onward, of sexual abuse / trafficking.  This sets them up perfectly for the roles they'll play within porn, and even well into their retirement from the industry itself due to the inevitable lifelong shunning / ostracization that'll be handed to them - on a silver platter. 

To look at this clinically, Jolene would be, no doubt, easily recognized as traumatized so long as she's mentally / emotionally sound.

Now then, here's the fact that no one's discussing here.

Josh exacted / inflicted that trauma as the Alpha male.  The stud.  The stallion.  This no doubt eventually resulted in amassing a tremendous amount of shame for this young man, but that could never be compared to being traumatized via sexual assault / coercion under the hot lights of the porn industry.  

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Poor Jolene.  Poor, poor Jolene.  No wonder so many women with her story simply choose to become lesbians after the fact.  

It's no doubt a man's world.  The story of Josh Broome proves it. 

The Second Coming Of Ron

For at least 18 months of my childhood (I was 10-11 years old), there was a strongly influential outsider masculine presence that made quite the impact on our 3-legged stool fam (I'm an only child).  I never met this man, but I knew of him via the tumult his name coincided with.  Therefore, I came away both fearful but also sort of in awe.  For his presence equated with such the season of fruit basket turn over within the Turner household.

And though I was very much at arm's length through all of this, there was still plenty for my childhood brain to not only keenly observe but feel about this force.  And this intrigued me firstly prior to some eventual (thankfully short-lived) terror.

Mostly, I indirectly observed how it affected my dad (who was in his late 20s at the time).  I vividly remember him abandoning me late into the night on one hand, and, in turn, profoundly weeping whilst seated adjacent to me on our back porch swing.  It was as if this force was both powerfully omnipresent yet completely unrealized simultaneously (by my dad).  For it was the electric clothes dryer and my father's heart were the smelly sneakers.  As such, there was seemingly no respite from the ordeal ('till everything did eventually settle down).

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When my wife, Angie, suffered a stroke back in 2020, all we could do was hang on to our hope that she'd recover to the degree God would orchestrate.  Because I'd suffered through my job loss in 2013, Angie's stroke thankfully didn't overwhelm my synapses / emotional core.  That being the case, that definitely wasn't how our children experienced their mother's physical illness / disability.  In essence, they were scared shitless.

As such, I remained cool as a cucumber, never even weeping in front of them.  And it wasn't due to me being emotionally absent or aloof.  I simply had this track record with suffering that had profoundly prepared me for suffering further.  Essentially, this powerfully unwelcome force was allowed to flow over me in lieu of it slamming me to the pavement.

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Whilst looking back, I truly grieve the heartache / feelings of hopelessness / violation my dad suffered all those years ago.  I remember being helpless to do anything for him other than steer clear or attempt to sympathize (which was pointless).  

My dad is a tremendously sensitive guy.  Of course, that only exacerbated his heartache as he tumbled 'round & 'round within that scorching sheet metal drum.

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Fast forward almost 45 years and in light of where I am today, I believe, there's some present familial tension tied to faint echoes of this masculine force from long ago.  And this is especially true considering the fallout that's occurred throughout the course of this year between my mother and me.

Here's another thought:  When I ponder how intrinsically roped in to my masculine archetype that I came to be within middle / high school (homosexual lust), I have to wonder how much this original mysterious force (& it's impact) may very well have laid the groundwork for my decidedly private pursuit.  

In turn, as I've worked my recovery program and therefore become less & less incapable of seeing masculine value within myself (in tandem with my girls growing into young women), how might my 2025 position within this very same 3-legged stool harken back to that decades-old torrent?   

Food for thought, for sure.  You've heard me say it before.  Masculinity is the most powerful force on planet Earth. 

Why Are There So Many Churches In Mississippi?

I had the privilege to attend a baptismal service this AM, and it was a delight to witness.  There were four new converts to Christianity that were baptized:  my female (professional) friend who's around 35 years of age, a preadolescent boy, a late 20s female and early 30s male.  Both of the women were relatively new moms, each married (their husbands were present, one of which was baptized).  All four were baptized out of doors in a "horse trough" adjacent to the modest churchhouse. 

And speaking of the churchhouse, it was a dump.  Picture a prefabricated metal building with an outdated (color) brick veneer front facade.  If I had to guess, it was erected / constructed sometime in the '70s or '80s perhaps as a small flooring showroom or somesuch.  The Jackson Metro area this church resides in is zoned industrial, but as is often the case in Mississippi, when a building sits vacant within these enclaves for any length of time, owners will do just about anything to sell (in order to avoid the continual burden of property taxes).  But, in order to make a sale palatable to church bodies, zoning laws must either be "updated" or exemptions granted.   

The parishioners present were 98% white, and there were around fifty overall in attendance.  And yes, you're correct to assume that the pastor was bi-vocational, and what a sweet, kindhearted white man this was!

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One of my daughters is slated to be baptized prior to the end of '25.  The church that she's a member of is part of a denomination that's well represented in Mississippi, and the church itself (member count) is likely 15-20 times larger than the church I attended this AM.

If you were to chronicle all of the churches in Mississippi today, 90% of them would fall in between these two extremes, and the remaining few would consist of a very small quantity of multi-site mega churches and the ever fluid collection of house churches.

Churches, churches, churches.  They're everywhere in Mississippi, but the vast majority, I believe, are best represented via the one I spent two hours in this AM.  Why?

Shame.

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Mississippi is a state overflowing with shame-filled folks.  Some of that shame is rooted in simply being Mississippians, but the vast majority of it finds its origins in individuals' histories.  

A local friend of mine has parents who both divorced (from their first spouses) prior to marrying each other / reproducing.  These folks are highly educated / intelligent Christians who're VERY WELL ESTABLISHED / INFLUENTIAL within their (my) community (well loved by all who come in fortunate contact with them).  Their modus operandi for dealing with the shame from those initial (obviously very short-lived) divorces was to bury it, therefore they never divulged it to their children (& somehow they strong-armed their families to do the same).  

Isn't that weird?  Perhaps.  But, in many ways, I kinda think they were wise.  For their children / grandchildren have excelled.

Nonetheless, if you were to meet these wonderful Christian people, you'd NO IDEA they had any shame surrounding that portion of their individual histories whatsoever.

But they're the exception.

Almost everyone else in the Magnolia State gets seriously mired down in the deep seated collateral damage that coincides with regrettable portions of their lives.  It's simply baked into our humanity. 

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My wife and I have worked hard to teach our kidlets about the permanency / weight of stupidity (stupid is a verb) and how it can seemingly forever undermine one's sense of self worth.  And mostly this teaching has been via our commitment to each other / them through their impressionable childhoods.  

For we wouldn't mind them getting baptized in the church I attended this AM, but only if they're choosing to do so is well justified.  

Tiny, dumpy churches mostly exist for deeply ashamed Mississippians.  These folks will forgo (for themselves & their dependents) the bountiful resources available to them within larger, more established (denominatory) churches simply due to the fact that they're convinced that they're too dirty to belong / feel comfortable there.

Let me repeat that:

Tiny, dumpy churches mostly exist for deeply ashamed Mississippians.  These folks will forgo (for themselves & their dependents) the bountiful resources available to them within larger, more established (denominatory) churches simply due to the fact that they're convinced that they're too dirty to belong / feel comfortable there.

Think of it this way.  It's like white people thinking like black people when it comes to their church home.  

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In conclusion, I wonder if this same negative, shame-filled outlook is what motivates pastors (like the one who officiated this morning's baptismal service) to forgo attending seminary (or at times, any form of higher education for that matter) in light of simply "winging it" from their homely pulpits.  I mean, it's not like these men are dumbasses.  If you're going to do any form of preaching / pastoring, you certainly can't be low intelligence.  Therefore, seminary / higher ed is certainly an option for them, yet they choose to not move in that direction.

Therefore, absolutely, these pastors can absolutely be collaterally damaged.  Seriously damaged.  I've seen it (some of these men are involved in Samson Society).  

Shame is the second most powerful force on planet Earth.  Masculinity is the first.  How different Mississippi would look if we could simply get a grip on our shame.

The Very Hard Work Of Fathering Myself

The most difficult first step in learning to father yourself is to admit you must take on this position.  In other words, one must come to grips with the fact that there ain't no older male (bio or otherwise) that's going to step up on your behalf.  And that's depressing to process.  Especially if you're deeply desiring to be fathered / are cognizant of the fact of the benefits therein.  

And, of course, when it comes to being fathered, time is of essence.  Otherwise, serious missteps may very well result as you inevitably mature forward (physically, at least).  

What's even more depressing to process is when you actually have a bio father that's present in your life + you're his only child, and still, no (decidedly intentional) fathering occurs. 

To summarize, fathering or being fathered is having an older male come alongside with the intention of demonstrating firsthand disciplined techniques / methodologies for bettering oneself.  And this bettering can fall into categories of physical, emotional, spiritual.  But here's the kicker:  this man is demonstrating in line with both his recognition and intimate knowledge of the younger man.

One quick sidetone before I get into the meat of this post.  When I was in middle school (a true low point - as it is for so many boys - in my boyhood), my mom was a part-time bookkeeper at an aerobics studio (it was the '80s) in northeast Jackson.  The studio had two sizable workout rooms (cut pile peachy / pink-colored carpet!), one of which was utilized for Shotokan karate classes twice weekly.  My best friend & me were initial students of this class, and our Sensei, Mr. Terry V., was the most respectful, kindhearted father figure (outside of my dad) I'd known up to that time.  And it's important to know that Mr. V. advocated for Rob via encouragement and opportunity.  He was such the masculine asset for such a disheartening time as that. 

Nevertheless, a neighborhood bully (his mom also worked at the studio) showed up one day, and before I knew it, both he and his best friend (who was just as intimidating) became regular students.  Every opportunity Scott had to posture / mock me, he seized, therefore it didn't take long for me to quit outright.  

What's truly unfortunate about this outcome has to do with the absence of any patriarchal involvement.  For my dad had to have been privy to the 12 months+ that I'd invested in my studies of Shotokan karate (I believe I was a green belt when I chose to quit).  Yet, he never got involved in attempting to help me deal with this thorny situation.  Neither by dialoguing with my Sensei, the bully's parents (who were our backdoor neighbors) or me.  Instead, it was as if I didn't have a dad at all.

I feel it's important to include that tale in light of how influential Mr. Terry V. truly was in my life.  Until he no longer was.  

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For Rob, even at an early age, I knew that my dad simply wasn't capable of fathering me (or any other child) holistically.  He was understandably emotionally immature when he became my dad (age 19) first & foremost.  But moreso as a result of his youth for my dad was never fathered himself.  Instead, he was reared by a violent drunk 'till that monster (thankfully) died from lung cancer immediately prior to my father reaching adolescence.  

As such, my dad had two obstacles he was up against.  

1.  The vacuum created by not being fathered himself

2.  The immense trauma that resulted directly from his own father's physical / emotional abuse

In essence, #1 drove his ignorance while #2 drove his fear (of treating his own son as he was treated).

Thankfully, my father was a teetotaler.  Therefore, booze never played into how he behaved within our household.  

Now, let me insert one truth here.  My father very much did choose to father me in regard to making church attendance a priority (for our family).  And not just worship services but Bible study.  This especially became the case as I approached my upper elementary school years and beyond.  For both of my parents had quite the appetites, at this stage in their lives, for high quality spiritual food.  As such, First Baptist Church Jackson served as their buffet. 

He also made a concerted effort to incorporate Bible study into a routine within our home, though in hindsight, all it truly amounted to was me reading scripture (to my parents) for a few minutes before bedtime.

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One of the most telling episodes that I had with my dad as an adult (within a clinical setting) resulted in him attempting to defend his position as a "thoroughbred fathering father" due to his allegiance / admiration for Dr. James Dobson (a massively influential Christian media persona in the '80s).  I vividly recall him faithfully listening to Dobson's radio show combined with purchasing most, if not all, of his many books.  

I suppose this did qualify my dad to receive an "A" for effort.  But as you know, if you're unable / unwilling to apply helpful commentary to your own way of doing things, there's likely a lot going on under the surface that's needing to be addressed. 

Therefore, I believe he knew, deep down, just how out of his league he truly was.  I just wish he'd admitted (or at least hinted) to it from the get go instead of allowing his ego to elevate himself "respectfully".  

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To expound on what I said earlier:

Fathering is essentially modeling / demonstrating what a man is capable of so long as he's disciplined and confident.  

Christian fathering is essentially modeling / demonstrating what a man is capable of doing, for Christ, so long as he's disciplined and confident in what he believes as a Christ follower.  

I was looking for the latter, for as I stated in my post titled "Being A Contrarian", the gospel lassoed me in around age 12.

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I began taking baby steps towards fathering myself by committing to a strength training regimen during my 5th (& last) year of architecture school.  At the time, I was in my early 20s, and all I had access to was beginner (youth) equipment (that had been purchased at Service Merchandise when I was in high school).  

How was this fathering myself, exactly?

Firstly, it's important to note that I was officially crossing over into emotional / spiritual manhood at this stage of my life.  Had that not been the case, there would not have been any means for me to take these initial fathering-myself steps.

Through some concentrated research and study (I found a book at Barnes & Noble), I devised a plan.  From there, I took it one day at a time.  Weeks became months, and before I knew it, I was seeing my body become more muscular (thanks too to my metabolism also slowing down around this same time).  

I remember my mom's BFF coming by my parents' abode to drop something off (where I was living during 5th year), and me answering the door shirtless.  Seeing her reaction (& her later relaying her admiration of my hard work to my mom) did wonders for my confidence.   

Fast forward to today.  When I'm at the Y strength training, and I see a father / son duo working together to lift, I always let the father know how fortunate his son is to have this kind of oversight / hands-on attention.

So, you might be asking how strength training syncs with Christian fathering.  The body is the temple of the Holy Spirit.  Taking care of that temple is in line with God's will.  And specifically for me, with all my issues with THE VOID, I especially need(ed) to invest, at the very least, in the part of myself that I could see (reflection).

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Fathering myself really kicked into high gear when I had the privilege of stepping into Samson Society back in 2014.  For the intentionality of attending meetings / after meetings and engaging one-on-one with so many in-crisis men demonstrated my commitment to my faith as well as my love for myself to my younger (internal) self each and every week.     

Decades prior to this, I had jumped at any chance presented to me to be included within Bible studies for young(er) men.  And I did this in hopes of having the opportunity to be seen (I never really was either due to my lack of confidence or the unwillingness of my peers to look hard).  

But even outside of the spiritual, when opportunity knocked for me to be challenged (leadership) via roles that would provide an opportunity to demonstrate Christ-likeness, I've almost always jumped at the chance.

And when you're a younger man, whether it's engaging within the recovery community or taking on a leadership role that's a bit over your head, the emotional weightiness can truly be taxing.  For how you choose to present yourself within these roles will impact others, and in turn, they'll have the opportunity to adjudicate what they see in you (& oftentimes let you know).

And this is really where the rubber meets the road when it comes to fathering yourself.  Do you have the chutzpah to face the masses (visible or invisible) - in whatever capacity you're called to - sans losing sight of what the true motivation is behind the course that you've charted?

If so, not only will you make a lasting impact on yourself, but you'll eventually successfully bypass the disadvantaged state of having not been fathered.

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One final tale:

Today, I relish taking showers in locker rooms (fitness centers), but this is only due to me being very intentional, through the years, regarding overcoming my shame / anxiety surrounding these spaces.  And that took some tremendous fathering of myself, for locker rooms represented me feeling like an outcast or freak (going back to 7th grade PE class).  

All that might sound easy and simplistic within those few sentences but it by no means was.

When you're a little tyke and you're made to feel as if you don't belong (or aren't safe) with other boys within a designated masculine space, it plants deep seated feelings of doubt regarding your worth / value as a male into your heart.

Think of having to play "Shirts & Skins" each and every day during 7th grade PE class, and always being the last one chosen for a team due to your pathetic basketball playing skills.  And, in kind, feeling so very ashamed doing so whilst shirtless (body embarrassment).

Deep seated feelings of doubt regarding one's worth, planted in middle school, leave a boy who's out of luck in the intentionally being-fathered camp, in a tough, tough spot and that was me in a nutshell.

In many ways, it takes a miracle to father oneself effectively, but I would argue, the deeper the wounds, the greater the motivation to do the relentless, ongoing work.

Being A Contrarian

Years ago, I lead a Samson Society National Retreat workshop that centered around same-sex attraction.  I was generously given a lot of content leeway therein.  I decided fairly quickly that the workshop should center around attributes of Rob that were somehow related to my stance / position regarding my SSA.  One of those was me being a contrarian.  Also, I made it very clear - right at the outset of my presentation - that I was representing no one but myself / my own opinion / choices.

Fast forward...

The attribute that I've come back to again and again for analysis is contrarianism.  Hence, my decision to postulate a bit here. 

But before I do, let me be clear.  Contrarianism, for me, is tied directly to an attitude / outlook, and that attitude is a combination of "Fuck you!" and flippant (the percentage of each depends on the day of the week you ask me).

Now, back to my postulating. 

This contrarian attribute may very well have grown out of me being an only child.  Obviously, there were no siblings to imitate / shadow, therefore I had the privilege of being the oldest, middle and youngest child simultaneously within my family.  In line with that was being an unplanned only child (my 'rents were 18 & 19 when they had me).  That distinction made the family unit I was reared in feel understandably less stable / surefooted (though, I believe, perhaps only to me).  And this feeling I only truly took note of when I was in the presence of other families outside of my own (extended & otherwise).  For example, families at our church. 

Regarding my extended family (Turner side of the house), my grandfather had long since died (he died of lung cancer in his early 40s) when the Turners (my dad had three brothers & they all married multiple times / had multiple children of their own) gathered in the MS Delta for holiday gatherings.  As such, his widowed wife (my grandmother) had also remarried / divorced by this point in time.  Maurine lived alone in a large, very posh home in small town (Delta) Mississippi that existed solely to intimidate / impress.

As such, that sense of firsthand family (my parents & I) instability / vulnerability definitely existed too "within the same key" whilst participating in those larger Turner settings.

Therefore, my concept of family represented a whole lot of me myself (independent from everyone around me) in light of not feeling much of any sure-footedness / longstanding emotional / relational stability with those folks.

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I believe the very first contrarian decision I gravitated towards - consistently - had to do with how I viewed females versus males (& I couldn't help but include myself as one of the latter).

Taking both of my parents into consideration, my mother's experience carrying / birthing / VERY YOUNG mothering had a profound impact on her (as it should have, but keep in mind that she was a teen mother).  As such, she chose to nurture me to the best of her ability despite her too only being a child.  My dad, due to him simply being the teenage sperm donor, experienced much less maturational (patriarchal) impact for such a time as that.  But also, to his credit, he was doing his part to provide for his dependents, and this involved obtaining higher ed whilst working part-time to win the bread (that rhymes!).

I feel certain this parental role asymmetry (MOM / dad) impacted me greatly as a small child.  As such, though I was no doubt male, I chose to reject the masculine (as it was presented to me by my father) in light of the straightforwardness in emulating this man as it pertained to his personality, character, likes / dislikes.  

And I was somewhat consciously aware of how much of a backassward modus operandi this was, yet I was content with my contrary.  

What became of me as a result of this?  Also, how did it affect my dad?

As a child, I gravitated towards having / making friends much more easily with girls than with boys.  That being said, I did have numerous friends who were male, cherishing those relations along the way.  Also, I was transfixed by female entertainers.  Especially female vocalists.  Therein, I grew up during the '80s (the MTV era).  Therefore, all these beautiful female vocalists were also just as visually elevated / celebrated so long as they had the physical goods to match.

Ultimately, as a result of all this female emulation / worship, I became deeply uncomfortable sexualizing the opposite sex (believe me, I tried).  For I felt this to be in contradiction to who I'd somewhat secretly sworn emotional allegiance to as a boy / chosen moreso to identify with.   

Regarding my dad, as a result of his rejection from me, he slowly took the same approach in kind, for there was no other child but Rob (he really got the short end of the stick) to role model manhood for.  I'll write more about this within an forthcoming post.

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Contrarianism eventually morphed into a survival technique for adolescent (ages 13-18) Rob (as you can imagine, I was the very definition of outcast) even to the point of determining who my friends would become.  

And this wasn't necessarily a liability for me.  So many of my immediate peers (particularly at school) were extremely rebellious / unruly / secular to a fault.  As such, I reflexively chose to move in the opposing direction despite this leaving me isolated.  

But here's where the lines get blurred regarding this season of my life.

Immediately prior to me entering middle school, I was unexpectedly lassoed in by the gospel, therefore I became deeply convicted to follow the teachings / example of Jesus Christ (as recorded within the New Testament gospels).  As every Christian knows, Jesus was the ultimate contrarian, and man oh man, could I ever relate!

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Choosing to pursue a degree in architecture was also fueled via my contrarianism.  Particularly growing up in the "economic butt crack" (Mississippi), architecture made little sense, but that nonsensicalness (contrarian!) combined with my above average skillset as an illustrator propelled me forward and forward and forward.

But let me insert here too that there was one additional - below the surface - motivator herein.  And that was to prove my mettle (to myself).  And architecture school very much became that personal proving ground.

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When I began dating my wife (fifth year of architecture school), a friendship was rekindled with someone of deep, steadfast faith.  What she didn't realize was she too was a contrarian (& she's still not completely convinced of this).  But her faith, and I cannot emphasize this enough, was magnanimous.  Again, I point to Jesus' example.  Need I say more?

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In closing, I have to admit that I hope to ultimately rear a brood of adult contrarians, but only in and through modeling contrarianism as a powerful means to live a life out-of-line with the mainstream / in line with the gospel.  

As you've read here, contrarianism sort of gobbled me up as a child in response to a very 

unplanned

singular

immaturishly unstable (emotional)

upbringing. 

As such, I really wouldn't change a thing, though it required me to take my need for being fathered into my own hands.

That Hot, Sexy Runner: Reversing The Clock By 20 Years...

Spring has sprung in Mississippi.  

During my drive home yesterday, 3/17 (I was within two miles of the house), I came upon a runner.  And not any runner, mind you.  This early to mid-30s man was at his physical peak.  And shirtless to boot!

The blind (topography) intersection he was running through was decidedly dangerous for both motorists & pedestrians, considering the lack of sidewalks much less curb and gutters.  Nonetheless, he was front and center of those of us behind the wheel as he sashayed his muscular, tanned frame, weaving in & out of the end-of-the-business-day traffic confidently.

I was close enough to deduce that his physique was not unlike any number of Special Forces soldiers (in spite of the 800-mile distance to Fort Bragg from Flowood, MS).  Perhaps, as such, he'd very much lost his way.

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A close Coonass (I love this man) friend of mine made the recent comment that he was in a much better place today than a month ago.  His thoughtful prose is always appreciated.

I have been chewing on that outlook for days now.  For I find it so very insightful as to how we should consider our recovery journey:  on a timeline.

If I were to turn back the clock twenty years, I'd be 32, married for 8 years with one child (toddler).  I'd be floundering (very, very bored with the work) at my first career-building architecture job and deeply, deeply entrenched (numerous hours a day) in gay porn's poison (both at work and at home via the www).  My physical health at this time was a non-priority in my life, and my walk with God also was on autopilot.  My sweet wife, Angie, was home with Babyone and only beginning to find side hustles (executable from home) to supplement her husband's meager income.  And just so you know, I had just relinquished my part-time gig as janitor at the architecture firm that I was employed at full-time.  The shame I felt for having to take on this humiliating (10-month) after hours gig was still - at this time - weighing heavy on my 32-year-old self.

To sum it up, I was in an extremely vulnerable / isolated place during this time of my life.  There was so much negative going on inside my head.  Negative that was terribly sensitive to even the most minute incendiary catalyst.

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Now then.  Let's drop my 32-year-old sorry ass self into the happenstance situation I encountered during my drive home yesterday, (3/17).

First and foremost, I would have instantaneously seen the situation for what it was to me at the time.  An opportunity to exploit.  High-definition mental snapshots of the shirtless stud would have ensued (as I steadied my glare), and from there, I would have had my lust fodder for the following week plus.  

Simultaneously, tremendous shame regarding my desire for this man would latch onto me as if it had been all along ready and waiting within my passenger seat.  These feelings would belittle and diminish me, no matter how well the hours of the day prior had unfurled.  As a result, a tremendous awareness of my feeling intensely isolated would become my front and center state of mind.    

Having identified an opportunity, I would then utilize my memorized photos / experience therein to cope (via heady sexual fantasy).  That opportunity likely would be after my sweet wife was asleep later on that evening.  The fantasies I would concoct would harken back to the very same ones from my adolescence (stitched together neatly through time).  All of those involved me being platonically pursued by masculine, athletically built men under the guise of sexual attraction / lust.

And this, my friends, is voyeurism.  And voyeurism is sin.

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The most noteworthy aspect of my 20-year-younger self - in regard to this spontaneous encounter - would be how specifically captivated he'd be.  It would be as if he were nothing but a void or black hole.  A void / black hole constantly seeking to be filled up via the attention / desire of other, only viewed from a distance, men.  

This was my life back then.  I managed it the best I knew how, but frankly, it was my chronic isolation that left me stuck therein.  

Yet, throughout, I had no idea how not to be isolated nor what it might look like were I not.  For this was and always had been my normal.  Especially from the standpoint of being whipsawed in and out of my routine relative to who / whom I might encounter circumstantially.

Certain men were in complete control of Rob.  And I knew of no other way to exist.  It truly sucked.

Thanks be to God that I'm in a much better place today than I was twenty years ago.

Privately Lusting After Muscled And Hairy

My Covenant Eyes Ally had me laughing a few weeks back.  He's an attorney with a sharp wit.  Around that time, I had found myself being rebellious, therefore throwing caution to the wind, I'd been delving into smut (mostly via my pocket computer) in spite of CE's consistent monitoring (thankfully, this was not typical behavior for me).  

As such, on a few subsequent Mondays, a text message would appear subtlety / respectfully asking about my recent poor choices.  Not long after that, my Ally made a follow up that even today puts a smile on my face.  

He said, "You and I like the same thing except for the muscles and body hair." 

Lol. 

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When I was in upper elementary school, I went to an all-boys' summer camp (sponsored by FBC Jackson), and it was there (rural south AL venue) that I was shockingly exposed to my inevitable & archetypical (physical / emotional) future.  What I mean therein is I experienced a distinct encounter pertaining to what my future was pointing me (maturation) towards as a grown ass man.  At the same time, there was young me dealing with an ongoing subconscious disconnect / emotional chasm.  A chasm rooted primarily in shame / uncertainty.  For I understood clinically (in my head) what I was destined to grow into, but I absolutely, positively could not relate / understand / comprehend on any level what that meant for me specifically.  For I simply could not see myself as anything other than an unprepared, uninitiated boy.  It was as if I was stuck or frozen when it came to all things related to Rob's potential, celebrated journey into manhood. Therefore, when the time came for me to face the truth of what was on the horizon for me as a male, it understandably threw me for a loop / short-circuited my thinking.  As such, I quickly began idolizing therein that which I could not fathom albeit was desperate to fully understand / respect.  

I'm now ready to admit that there was sexual abuse involved in my lower elementary days.  It went on throughout one summer (Saturdays specifically), and though it didn't involve physical touch nor any malicious coercive intent (that I sensed at the time nor recall), its situational age inappropriateness (between me and the adult male party involved) was subtlety apparent to me even then.  I recall feeling powerless to speak up for myself during these instances of abuse disguised as "male peer bonding".  As a result, I began to equate MAN with a future I couldn't / refused to relate to.     

To circle back to my summer camp story, the exposure occurred whilst brushing my teeth before bed on the first night we were there.  Our bunkhouse chaperone (young adult male college student) nonchalantly stepped out of the shower naked and wet right in front of me.  His muscled (very adult-like), hairy, tanned body was in its athletically built prime.  And his junk looked absolutely enormous despite the mass of damp pubic hair crowning / partially obscuring it.  

Whilst looking back, I'm absolutely sure it was his junk that was the most shocking.  For it truly looked like a horse / donkey dick and balls (to my 5th grade eyeballs).  

I spent most of that week privately fixated on this reveal as we went about doing your expected Christian summer camp travails (such as singing "Kumbuya, My Lord" around the evening campfires).  But what truly kicked this fixation into high gear was when our Chippendales-like chaperone ushered a select few of my 5th grade colleagues to bunk with him within his adjacent private room (throughout the remainder of the week).

Oh, how I secretly longed for him to have chosen me.  As you can imagine, my imagination went into overdrive as a result.  

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Yesterday, whilst at the Y, there was a high school newbie strength training alongside.  He was not properly dressed for the gym, and that may have conveniently been due to his lean build (he was wearing slacks).  I silently admired his chutzpah for braving the space (at his age / with his build) for I knew exactly why he was there.  To actively work towards becoming more muscular / strong / "man-looking".  And like so many newbies, it was obvious that he'd no clue as to what he was doing.

Full disclosure:  My time at that stage of my life was spent lusting after muscled and hairy men.  And even moreso if they were golden tan whilst sporting a handsome mug. I did this with so little thought that it was almost as if I spent sizable portions of my adolescence within a sort of homoeroticized lust trance.   

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When the Internet came on the scene (within the first few years of my marriage), I'd found my private, digital honey-hole.  The salacious imagery, particularly the stunningly executed images of beautifully tan, hairy, muscle men only served to suffocate me with lust fodder.  

Eventually, considering the I.T. inevitable, the maturation of the Internet (dial-up to DSL to T1, etc.) ushered in a much broader spectrum of captivating smut.  I watched as photos became videos became HD videos.  

But eventually (in large part due to my decade-long participation within Samson Society), the intense salaciousness wore off and this type of imagery simply became a repository for cheap thrills (it all began to look the same).  

In line with that, my libido dramatically diminished simply due to my middle-aging.  

Internet porn blandness + middle-age reduction in sex drive = Reason to celebrate!

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Today, I'm really pleased with my physical self.  For I'm muscled and hairy in my own right as a 52-year-old man.  I especially like how I feel whilst casually dressed.  Specifically, I don't feel as if I'm hiding my body via my wardrobe.

Consistent strength training / running combined with healthy eating habits, over the past +/-18 years, has paid off in droves.  And, of course, genetics have benefited me too.  I'm very thankful to God for these developments.

When you loathe yourself, whether it's rooted in some form of childhood abuse or not, you know that such a negative outlook makes you decidedly vulnerable.  Vulnerable to rejection, criticism, failure.  Things that are inevitable life experiences.    

In order to survive, I had to commit.  Both to Samson Society (once I stumbled into it in 2014) as well as a healthy, very active lifestyle that was the antithesis of normal for a Mississippi man.  It's been a long-term commit.  In order to protect / honor myself.  For I remember the hurt and the abuse like it was yesterday.  Those scars will never be erased. 

 

When Seduction / Sexual Conquest Fuel A Man's Masculinity Engine / "Boys Will Be Boys"

Perhaps you've heard the term "serial adulterer".  Or perhaps "womanizer".  Numerous high-profile entertainers (TV, film, music, sports) are labeled as such.  And that makes sense.  They're entertainers.  Suave.  Confident.  And oftentimes, very, very professionally successful (or at least aspiring / appearing to be).  

Have you ever thought of intercourse as calisthenics?  

These men don't but considering the alleged amount of coitus they're participating in...

Very few of these entertainment idols speak of regretting their impropriety / disinterest in monogamy.  And I believe it has a lot to do with how intricately linked their sense of / purposefulness in masculinity is to successfully seducing / bedding women (&/or men).

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So, what fuels these serial seducers?  Are they addicts?  Are their libidos truly that demanding?

When I was in high school, television news magazines (not including the mainstays like "60 Minutes" & "20/20") were becoming more and more ubiquitous.  As such, their topics were, in turn, becoming more liberal-minded (eyebrow-raising) as they competed for viewership.  One such episode featured a group of (white) teenage jocks who were brash enough, as it pertained to their underhanded "fuckpoints system", to be filmed touting their primary role (masculine identity) as young, sexually astute bucks. 

Because it was a TV news magazine, besides the expected headshot interviews, there was footage of the studs doing what studs do best:  looking studly.  Hence, they were weightlifting in the gym / competing on sports teams, driving their trucks around town but mostly they were collectively identifying women that they wished to seduce / bed (all the while updating their stats regarding their supposed lays).  

The "fuckpoints systems" they weren't at all shy about disclosing to the broadcast journalist who was responsible for the piece.  And when they were questioned as to their chauvinistic outlook, they brashly declared that "women longed to be fucked by a man".  And they said this with such conviction that the viewer came close to believing it.

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So, is that true?  

I know MARRIED men who're well into their Medicare years who're steadily connecting with women (initially online) who're absolutely interested in dialoguing about their sexual desires.  All in anticipation of performing sexually - to one degree or another - for these old fuckers.  

Keep in mind though that many of these whores receive some form of payment for access to their wet vaginas.  And though it may not feel transactional initially, it almost always ends up as such.

Ultimately though, the Medicare (sugardaddy) man gets one more score.  Just as if he's still playing the "fuckpoints game" from his younger limelit days past.

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All this that I'm describing is simply modus operandi.  And I would argue, it's the most deeply ingrained and therefore destructive motivator towards compulsive sexual sin.  For it bridges the man's brain to his genitalia and that bridge is distinctly tied to his "masculine purpose".  

And let's not forget that masculinity is THE most influential force on planet Earth (other than perhaps gravity).

This MO isn't one that's discussed within the Samson Society.  Why?  It's too taboo, seemingly stereotypical, etc.  Plus, our Heavenly Father / God's son is presented in the masculine.  Who cares to even imply that certain (hypersexual) degrees of masculinity equate directly to - to some degree or another - God's very creation in man himself?

Therefore...

You will hear the word "sex addict" an awful lot along with "triggers" within this community.  "Trauma" is mentioned often as well.  These words tamp down chronic (ingrained / hardwired) illicit behavior(s) into something figurative / digital that can be easily quantified / isolated.  

"Masculine purpose" is just too unclinical.  Too saturated within the entirety of the idea of the man himself.  His core ideals, his physical presence, his understanding / comprehension of women. His core drive(rs).  Yikes.

Hence, it's too much of an individualistic minefield to even consider approaching.

Therefore, what can be done?

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Years ago, a white bread Mormon Samson guy approached me (w/ tenacity) regarding his desire for me to serve him as his Silas.  This man was in his early 30s, reared in both Utah and California, whereas the latter was where he and his young family (Latino wife & preschool daughter) resided presently.  I believe he specifically chose me due to my specific same-sex attraction story and how antithetical it was to his own MO (but this is just speculation on my part).

His draw to porn was directly tied to his "masculine purpose", but that purpose was masked underneath a rigorously established religious identity.  This "masculine purpose" was (birthed during his teen years) rooted in (of all things for a clean-cut Mormon) his adoration for gangsta rap & culture.  And from there, rich, combustible fuel was found (masculine identity) in the specific form of Latino / black women who acquiesce to the gangsta rap aesthetic / lifestyle (he mostly found these in music videos / online porn). 

This / these women are what this man longed to consume in light of his "masculine purpose".  And I believe he did so in order to repetitively confirm / affirm that purpose.  

It was wildly bizarre attempting to walk with this devout, church-going Mormon.  Eventually, upon the apparentness of us continually going in circles regarding his recovery, I had to decouple.  For I knew I was in way over my head.

For whom was I to stand in the way of the very engine that fueled his sense of masculinity?

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My heart hurts for these men.  

If you're interested in learning more, simply read Saint Augustine's autobio.  And from there, be encouraged.  God rescues all manner of men from compulsive sexual sin.  But especially so, men like these.  Ultimately, a supernatural reordering of priorities is required.  A reordering that leaves intact a man's masculine purpose whilst allowing him to fuel up that purpose outside of the hedonistic physical / sexual norms that our culture so celebrates.