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.

Jesus January - Mid Month Update

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

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

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

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

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

Why am I doing this?

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

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

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

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

Let me repeat that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We'll just have to wait and see.

Hot Tub Time Machine / Reckoning With NOLA "Steve"

Our family (Angie & I and our middle schooler) just returned from a long weekend relative to my 8th grade daughter's fall break (coalescing with my beautiful wife's 53rd birthday).  As such, NOLA was our getaway vacation city, and it offered some interesting developments regarding my recovery (whilst also being incredibly refreshing / relaxing as a fall weather getaway).

I have a number of NOLA vacation childhood memories.  Mainly due to how easy it was to reach (3-hours) by car from Jackson.

During my senior year of high school, my parents and I took a trip to "The Big Easy" to see Ole Miss play Tulane in the Superdome.  The year was 1990.  At the time, the New Orleans Centre shopping mall was directly connected to the Superdome indoor arena.  It's important to note that this 3-story, marble-floored, skylight-lit testament to free enterprise failed to survive 2005's Hurricane Katrina due to extensive flooding via the storm surge.

It was during this football game that I slipped away from Bob & Darlene in order to "kill some time" wandering the retail storefronts of New Orleans Centre.  Nonetheless, (as most teenagers do) I had an ulterior motive.  

Having made a beeline to Waldenbooks, I very nervously purchased a clear plastic sealed copy of Playgirl magazine.  Immediately following, I took the escalators to the top floor of the mall, found as quiet of a corner as I could and began coolly perusing this naughty periodical.

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Last weekend, my wife and youngest daughter had the good fortune of staying right on the edge of downtown NOLA (adjacent to the river), and this particular resort hotel also had an integrated health club (members only / available to hotel guest who're within a certain points tier).  It was impressive, and I took full advantage of it during our 3-night stay.  

During the late afternoon of our arrival, Angie encouraged me to go check out the health club (she was familiar with it, having stayed at this hotel / resort a few times prior) for myself.

Whilst wandering around the 100,000! sf facility, I eventually made my way into the locker room.  (Health clubs can only properly be adjudicated via the luxuriousness of their locker rooms.)

This one was impeccably clean, though it was a tad tight.  As I made my way deeper into the space, I turned one final corner, only to land at the massive, elevated jacuzzi tub.  Surrounding it were several individual shower stalls.  

Immediately, I nervously exited the locker room and returned to our room.

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Back during the fall of 1990, the Playgirl pictorial that powerfully captivated me was of a white guy named "Steve".  He was a 5'-8" / 215 lbs, muscular, very hairy, and clean-shaven bloke with an impressive '80s mullet and beautifully tanned skin.  "Steve" was no older than 25-30.  His hair was medium brown and his eyes hazelnut.  

"Steve" had a build that wasn't unnatural (juiced), though it was definitely athletic (he sort of looked like the infomercial SoloFlex guy in that regard).  Considering his genitals, there was nothing about them that was out of the ordinary (scaled).

As such, he never would have excelled today as a gay porn star.  Why?  Most are juiced (anabolic steroids), fully waxed and have grossly overscaled genitalia.  

There were perhaps 5-6 total photos of "Steve", one of which was a full-page spread of him standing - dripping wet - within a jacuzzi tub.  The tub was situated within a ski lodge-like set.  And it was this same set that each of the photos of partially / fully naked "Steve" were taken.  It provided a warm, very cozy atmosphere that effectively enhanced his '80s' seductiveness.

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The following day (post hotel / resort health club reconnaissance), I felt a tremendous amount of shame surrounding the thought of a post workout jacuzzi tub dip (for I had never done this).  That Saturday morning, throughout a shared meal with some family friends at one of NOLA's finest brunch establishments, I felt privately intruded upon ("WHAT DO YOU REALLY WANT ROB?") as we exchanged tales with our old friends.

These feelings of shame were centered around me questioning my true motive.  

Why exactly would Rob want to strip naked, post workout and enjoy the jacuzzi there with strangers?  

I knew it wasn't cruising.  Not at all.  Instead, it had something to do with overcoming and maturing forward.  All this in spite of my negative feelings that kept insinuating otherwise.

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Having now become absolutely smitten with the "Steve" pictorial, I eventually made my way to the closest mall restroom to masturbate.  From there, I took the periodical to my parent's Buick, hiding it (within the Waldenbooks bag) beneath the front seat.  Eventually, I made my way back to my ticketed seat, between Bob & Darlene, within the Superdome.  As you're likely assuming, I had little remaining interest in the game between the Rebels and Green Wave.  All in all, my emotions were powerfully conflicted (with the emphasis on powerfully).  I felt both simultaneously giddy and doomed regarding what I'd just accomplished.

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Eventually, it came time for Rob to make his way towards the hotel / resort health club now that it was mid-afternoon Saturday, (10/7).  I had changed into my athletic shorts / tank top within our hotel room prior.  From there, I slowly warmed up (stretching / light weights) before being strategic about using equipment that isn't readily available at our local Y.  

90-minutes of welcome strength training passed.  Though the ambient lighting within the space was less than stellar, the high quality of the equipment more than made up for it.  Eventually, I marched myself over to the men's locker room.  Doing so forced me to overcome feelings telling me that I didn't belong.  As I did so, I undressed before wrapping the health club-provided white towel around my naked waist.  Bracing myself regarding a potential encounter with other jacuzzing men, I traversed deeper into the somewhat familiar men's only space.  Before de-toweling, I carefully climbed the marble-finished steps and then down into the empty roiling waters of the (4-person max capacity) jacuzzi tub.  

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Within 3-4 days of relishing / marinating in my ownership of that particular Playgirl magazine (this was the first time I'd seen photos of fully naked men), I trashed it.  Before doing so, I ripped page after page of the periodical in protest to my faith and disgust in my personal captivation.  

From there, I didn't see fully naked men (photos) 'till my junior year of college and only due to my roommate's porn magazine stash (that I would covertly flip through on occasion).  

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Before making my naked ascent up the jacuzzi staircase, I had tripled-folded (a second) one of my health club-issued towels.  I did this before situating it like a small rectangular pillow within the corner of the tub that I'd gravitated towards.  Afterwards, I leaned my 51-year-old head back onto the damp cloth and closed my eyes.  I found the noise of the roiling, heated waters to be just as soothing as the water itself.  It was fantastically relaxing.

Having accomplished this feat, I realized I'd only done so by pressing all my emotions down - as far as possible.  As such, here I was.  Swoll and naked, post-workout.  With only my sweaty, silver-haired head sticking up out of the fray.  Yet once again feeling isolated.  And deeply ashamed.  

Eventually, I dozed off.  But when I awoke (I believe I was only asleep for a short while), I knew I was no longer alone.  Though I was still looking up, head reclined on my makeshift pillow, I sensed someone else had joined me.  I blinked repeatedly before sitting up, no longer feeling shame but embarrassment at having fallen asleep.  

The stranger sitting on the opposite side of the diamond-shaped tub grinned confidently as we made eye contact.  Weirdly, the din of the jacuzzi was far less now, though the waters were churning just as rapidly.  Too, I couldn't help but notice that the digital wall clock was displaying --:-- whereas before it displayed 5:05.  This unsettled me, causing me to jump when he spoke in a deep, masculine voice.  For it echoed distinctly off the surface of the waves.

"Hey Rob.  It's me Steve.  Welcome back to New Orleans."  

 To be continued... 

It's Endearing Providing Matrimonial Security (After All These 27 Years) Whilst Horizontal

I mentioned (within a previous post) our recent sleep divorce.  This was something facilitated by our middle daughter (also) leaving for college this fall.  In anticipation of this, over the course of this past summer, the "big girls" room was transformed - via new twin beds / mattresses - from child's room to extra bedroom.

Throughout, my wife was (somewhat privately) repositioning all of this on her own behalf.  Particularly when it came to the mattress purchases (they were quite luxuriously expensive).

My wife's "stroke arm" (her left arm) is often (most comfortable) extended perpendicular to her body whilst she snoozes.  Hence, our queen bed doesn't necessitate this well, particularly with her 200lb husband (me) adjacent.  

Hence, about a month ago (in tandem with daughter #2 leaving for college), the sleep divorce was finalized.  It took me absolutely no time to adjust accordingly, though there were a few nights of eeriness as I began to imagine that Angie had stroked out for a second time and had died. 

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Earlier this week, Angie announced that the sleep divorce was over.  She was ready to sleep re-marry.  

Why?

At first, she was sharing the room with our youngest daughter (8th grader) who was sleeping within the adjacent twin bed.  But that didn't last (her snoring quickly shut this Jill & Jill setup down).  

It was the aloneness that got to her.  Being there within that tiny bedroom by herself.

I'm wondering, though I haven't mentioned it, if it harkened back to her weeklong May 2020 hospital stay post-stroke.  Being ushered in and out of ICU a handful of times throughout that week, and being there alone (I was only allowed to visit for one hour midday, each day, due to pandemic restrictions), made a distinct impression.  

So now she's back in bed with her husband.  And, according to her, she's sleeping soundly.  

It feels nice to provide that security to her via exceedingly close proximity.

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My oldest friend's (college) somewhat recently widowed mom began sleeping with a call-in radio broadcast playing from the adjacent pillow.  She did this to honor her deceased husband's presence enough to replicate that deeply longed for feeling of husband security (her husband died in his early 90s).

Now she's found herself alone in the single-family home that they'd owned together for decades.  

Women crave security.  Men crave respect.    

Angie feels secure.  Rob feels respected.  Win-win.

Thanks Silas 2.0 (& 1.0)!

I learned firsthand from Silas 2.0 how critical it is for me to connect (relational accountability) with men who're like me but who also embody portions of my ideal (masculine archetype).

Here are some specifics:

Silas 2.0 embodied a small-town Mississippi vernacular.  Being reared therein, his thick southern drawl readily confirmed his upbringing.  My roots are somewhat similar, having all my people within the Mississippi Delta town of Belzoni (in spite of the fact that I primarily grew up in the suburbs of Jackson).  And for the record, all of these men sound(ed) like Barney Fife when they speak.

Silas 2.0 dedicated himself to physical fitness in order to maximize his sex appeal.  This is by no means the norm for Mississippi men.  Most are only involved in fitness regimens (if at all) in order to combat their many other unhealthy habits (drinking, overeating, sedentary lifestyle).  This was not the case for Silas 2.0.  His secondary / collegiate sports experience laid the groundwork relative to his dedication to fitness (as well as his good looks), but unlike so many Mississippi men, it no doubt carried forward into adulthood.  I would be shocked to ever see Silas 2.0 not in peak physical condition, whether he's in his early 40s, 50s & beyond.

I too am dedicated to fitness for vanity's sake.  Though I wasn't athletic in school, I came to quickly appreciate how it could substantially improve my appearance once I dove in (& established a clear-cut, longstanding routine in my mid-30s).

I've never grown a substantial, statement-making beard and no one (except my drug addicted uncle) within my family of men has either.  Silas 2.0 at times had a very short, cleanly trimmed beard, but for the most part, it wasn't there permanently.  A beard to me is like a partial mask, and I don't like masks (on myself or others).

Silas 2.0 spoke deeply with a baritone timbre that was impossible to miss.  What a dominating voice he had!  Because he was as chatty as he was, I always had the pleasure of listening to lots of it (in spite of my ears bleeding at times).  

My voice is very unique.  I've grown to like its uniqueness (standout), but I much prefer listening to baritone voices like Silas 2.0 had.  In fact, they're one of my most favorite things in this life.

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As you progress through your recovery, you're going to have the opportunity to learn an awful lot about yourself, how influenced you can / cannot be & why via your relationship with your Silas(es).  Over time, that knowledge - inevitably - is going to impact / optimize your choice(s) for future Silases (both consciously and unconsciously).

Silas 1.0, for Rob, was all about me learning how to recover alongside a Silas (process).  But he and I were quite different overall.  So much so that it didn't take long for me to realize that we'd eventually grow apart (which we most certainly did) no matter how much we invested in each other.

I still have a lovely photo of Silas 1.0 and I (from 2016) next to my monitor on my desk at work.  It serves as a reminder of the importance of that very first Samson Society Silas relationship and how groundbreaking it was.  

As a sidenote, I have zero remaining photos of Silas 2.0.  Instead, my focus has now turned to men who're currently supporting me in kind.  In so many ways, it's through images of these that I can best look back and see Silas 2.0 and all the goodness our relationship represents to me both then and now.  

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In closing, there's one other ideal / attribute for Rob that's manifested itself fairly consistently within my Silas relationships, and that is pursuit.  As strange as it may sound, I've never had to ask a Samson guy to be my Silas.  Instead, he's (these aforementioned Samson men) in essence pursued me.  In fact, Silas 2.0 was bold enough to actually ask me "Do you have a Silas?" out of concern.   

How has this pursuit manifested itself?  

Through service (towards these men).  Lots and lots of service.  That combined with intuition helps tremendously. 

What goes around comes around.  This is moreso true within Samson Society than within any other ministry I've ever been a part of.  

Unexpected Blessing (In Spite Of The Soreness)

Earlier this week, I spent a few hours circuiting through a CrossFit workout in my Silas' garage (alongside the Man).  Now, this wasn't the first time I'd exercised within a CrossFit box, but it was a first for me to relegate myself to a WOD (Workout of the Day).  

My time there working out with him was uneventful or so it seemed.  

This morning, my wife and oldest daughter went to the YMCA to workout.  I've been using this Reservoir Y facility for countless years, and as a rule, I treat the experience (as I did this AM) like it's my first visit every time.  What I mean by that is I do not socialize with my fellow patrons.  80% of them know me, but they don't know my name (nor do I know theirs).  There are exceptions to this, of course.  For there are some individuals who simply cozy up to me over time.  As such, I try not to be overtly rude, but rarely do I spend more than one or two minutes of my time there chatting.  Considering that, if I feel so moved, I do steal away to my parked car long enough to grab a business card from my wallet to covertly gift.

Ever since this past summer, there's been a middle school student in this particular Y facility who's been rigorous (& faithful) about / to his workout routine.  I've complimented him a handful of times whilst shaking hands.  Today, he again was on the floor, and as we usually do, he and I spoke briefly whilst within earshot of each other.  There continues to be a mutual admiration / platonic attraction there.

I sense that this young man lives within a fatherless household.  I've no way to confirm that, but more often than not, when a young man is first entering into a workout space (with intentions of making physical gains), his dad is there with him (at least for a season).  I've seen this over and over.  That's never occurred with this teen (based on my observation).  He's always been by himself, with his mom serving as his ride to and from.  

Throughout my time there today, I couldn't help but notice the brotherly energy passing between myself and this young man.  Positive, affirming, respectful energy.  Afterwards, I realized this too had occurred in spades between my Silas and I earlier this week as he and I relegated ourselves to the aforementioned WOD.

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My Silas is a CrossFit trainer, therefore he's consistently cognizant of his trainee's form / execution.  I was that trainee earlier this week, but at the same time, I was his ally / partner / brother.

I believe he underestimated just how fit I truly am.  And that's to be expected.  We'd never worked out together, and my exercise routine has never benefited from any semblance of CrossFit.  Yet, I'm quite fit for a 50-year-old Mississippi redneck and as such, not at all intimidated by the prospect of learning from the best (CrossFit zealot or otherwise).

Positive energy passing between men.  Isn't that the concept Samson Society is built upon?  For me though, I've truly found a means to turbocharge that experience between me myself and an old friend whom I deeply respect.

I can't wait for round two (scheduled for early January).

Merry Christmas, dear reader.  I hope your 2023 outlook is as anticipatory as mine.

Lagniappe

Pivotal Moments

My current Silas had lunch with me (under the guise of two old friends catching up) back in April and it was timely.  In spite of me having looped him in prior (many years before last April) to what Samson Society was, where it met, etc., he'd made no movement towards; but that all changed last April.  We ate, he confessed (conceptually) to needing what it offered, and the next thing I knew, he'd drank the Samson Kool-Aid (down to the very last drop!).  Today, he feels like my younger brother.  Growing up - so to speak - before my very eyes within the same community I did.  Moment by moment.  Day after day.  Week after week.  Month after month.  My hope is he'll stick with it for as long as it "takes" (for him).  And based on what I'm witnessing so far, that means we're in for a longstanding ride.

Earlier in the year (than April), I attended a regional Samson Society retreat (over the course of one weekend) on the Alabama coast.  I arrived earlier than most of the +/-15 men, and as a result, I was very close to having an exclusive pick of where I wished to bunk.  Not long thereafter, I was given the opportunity to work hard to befriend the second guy who also chose the room I had (he settled into his bunk +/-30 minutes or so after I did).  Today, Ben and I have chatted most weeks - at least twice - at the same time each day, and this agreed upon daily dialogue started soon thereafter said regional Samson retreat (as a result of me agreeing to be his Silas).  At the very beginning of said agreement, I asked that we loop his sweet (second) wife (she's a pastor) in, and he agreed.  I found her to be fully supportive and thoughtful.  Therefore, after that formality, he and I embarked, and we haven't looked back.  

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Samson Society provides fodder for guys like me who live and breathe pivots / pivotal moments.  Finding opportunities to altruistically extract other men's stories whilst intentionally reciprocating my own has been the most effective means for me to work my recovery.  And this is grounded in the notion of interrupting my tendency to stay isolated within my own head. 

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One of the most unassumingly pivotal moments in my childhood occurred during the summer prior to my sixth-grade year.  My best friend, Johnny, and I were latchkey kids at this time.  Specifically, he and I were immensely enjoying his parentless house (I suppose his mom and stepdad were both working during the day) while we were out of school.  I had just turned 12 while Johnny was 13(?).  Us two, combined with his younger brother, (who was around 8-9) prematurely had the place to ourselves.  

During one of these days whilst playing there at his abode, I jokingly commented to Johnny that he smelled bad.  And more than likely, I'd made this observation while he and I were grossly engaged in some massive Legos build (he and I were Lego fanatics).  Whatever the activity, it had to have put us within close enough proximity for me to get a heady sniff of my friend's boystench.

You'll recall that Johnny was at least one year older than I.  Hence, he was moving headlong into puberty whereas I was on the leading edge.  Plus, Johnny was athletic (track, soccer, golf) which gave him an excuse to be out of doors / physically active often.  Perhaps these things - combined - naturally rendered him odorous on this laidback summer morning.

In response to my candor, Johnny immediately decided to bathe.  I knew this because he went straight to the hall loo and began running a bath.  I remember thinking this a tad extreme at the time, but having no adult supervision whatsoever, the possibilities seemed almost limitless as to how we spent our time.  Coupled with that was Johnny's independence.  I'd known for a while that his household wasn't structured like mine.  Johnny did and subsequently was capable of handling any and all household duties on his own (cooking, cleaning) far more readily than I could even imagine doing at this time in my life.  All because he was expected to (& because he did them quite well).

Not much time had passed before I heard Johnny call out to me.  This I found odd, but he was my best friend, therefore I went to the door and answered him.  He instructed me to open it.  I did and found him standing up naked in the tub.  Foams of soap suds were dripping off of his muscular frame as he inquired curtly about how he smelled now.  

As you might imagine, this made for an awkward moment.  For I wasn't completely sure what was going on to motivate him as such.

In response, I rolled my eyes before quickly shut the door and returning to whatever I was playing before, trying all the while to reset my brain relative to what had just occurred.

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What did occur during that pivotal event that's now comprehendible?  

Whilst looking back, I came to realize that Johnny had something I did not, and that was security in his own boyhood masculinity.  And this had less to do with his physical build (which I clearly was exposed to as described), though that did attribute to it somewhat.  In essence, it was his willingness to nonchalantly expose his naked body to me - as his best friend - in jest.  This clearly demonstrated a vast difference between the two of us.

Keyword being nonchalantly.  

Another descriptor could be confidently.

Johnny confidently went through with this without batting an eye.  And it wasn't to prove himself / show off.  No, he was simply behaving with no regard to him being judged through anyone else's eyes other than someone WHO he believed wholeheartedly WAS IDENTICAL TO HIM (another boy who was a close, safe friend).

But what he didn't realize (or did he?) was that was simply not the case.  For I had none of the peace of mind that he so smoothly displayed relative to my own boyhood masculinity.

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As a boy, I had not one iota of satisfaction relative to my masculinity.  At this time, it wasn't as if I felt feminine or wanted to be feminine.  No.  Instead of this, I was simply nothing except Rob.  

I wasn't arrogant enough to look down on other boys who were no doubt marinating normally in their masculinity, but I did find them secretly intimidating.  Johnny was different in this regard.  For he'd lost his biological father to a tragic boating accident years prior to our latchkey summer.  As a result, he'd been held back in school.  His hard luck resulted in my good fortune as we became fast friends almost at day one of my / our third-grade year.  

I knew at the time of this bathroom incident that I was heading towards adolescence, and I dreaded it.  Besides, Johnny, the closest childhood family friend I'd had was a cousin who lived in the MS Delta.  She and I had been close throughout my elementary school years 'till she became a teen (she was four years older).  From there, everything changed for the worse as she shunned me outright seemingly overnight.  Deep down, I sensed that this too may very well happen between Johnny and I.

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Let me fast forward to an episode in high school involving Johnny that I'm now convinced was also just as pivotal; for it served to validate Rob's masculinity in a way that I simply did not see coming.  This event was borne out of convenience and necessity.  Two motivators that, I believe, play a sizable role in pivotal moments within many men's lives.

Not long after the latchkey summer that I described above, Johnny's family moved away.  Their house was only one suburban block from our home; therefore I was constantly reminded of his absence as we drove by.  I did visit him on one occasion within their new digs (during our sixth-grade year), but otherwise, we'd no contact going forward.  The experience wasn't noteworthy whatsoever for it was clear that Johnny had settled in nicely to his new (now mobile home) paradigm sans Rob.

Once adolescence reared its head for me, I expectantly protested silently.  I can remember shaving my chest hair off of my sternum religiously every week whilst repeatedly failing to come to grips with how worthless I felt all around as a teenage boy.  Looking back now on this period of my life, it was apparent that I'd absolutely missed out on my aforementioned validation.  As a result, I simply attempted to keep to myself and survive in lieu of seek it out of my own accord.

One thing that brought immeasurable joy to me as a teenager was music.  Whether I was listening, singing or dancing to it, I found a means to escape reality whilst emoting fully.  Music could transport me to another place instantaneously, and I loved that.  As a result of listening to so much music, I became a self-taught amateur vocalist.  Eventually, opportunities arrived for me to use this skillset within our church's youth choir.  And this is where yet another isolated juncture with Johnny gained too pivotal significance for such a time as that.

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After coolly trying out for a key role in the youth choir musical (at our megachurch, First Baptist Church Jackson) during the fall of '89, it became apparent that I was the shoe in as one of the leads.  

As part of my costume for this musical, I needed to wear a letter jacket (as did most everyone else).  

Who could I borrow a letter jacket from?

You must know that by this time, Johnny and his family had moved back into their abode that they'd left behind (& subsequently rented out) during our elementary school years.  And though Johnny was now attending a separate school than I was, he and I had spoken briefly, exchanging formalities only, not long after I became aware of his return.

As you might imagine, he'd continued to excel athletically throughout high school, playing a number of varsity sports, but primarily his focus was track and field.  As such, this is what he lettered in.  

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I remember, like it was yesterday, the experience of trying on his letter jacket there out on the driveway of his home.  For I'd ridden my motor scooter down to his house in order to retrieve it.  The weightiness of it was surprising as I pulled it over my shoulders; for it blanketed me perfectly.  

From there, after coaxing his younger brother off of my Honda Elite, I rode home wearing it on that cool autumn evening.  

I must have held on to his jacket for at least a month since I needed it each time we executed dress rehearsals or performed (there were multiple performances at various churches throughout the Jackson Metro).  As a result, it didn't take long for the mystique of Johnny's jacket to wear off somewhat, but what didn't subside was my memory of those initial few fortuitous minutes out on his driveway.  For it was those moments where something special had occurred. 

There was something divine about being given Johnny's letter jacket, but especially so by Johnny himself.  All the while whilst out on the driveway of that same nondescript ranch house in Madison, Mississippi.  Accompanying that transfer was me trying on the garment and recognizing how it too fit Rob well.  Even though I wasn't Johnny nor had Johnny's athletic attributes to any degree (I was the drum major in the marching band and a soloist in the church youth choir, for pete's sake).  

It's also important to note that I was keenly aware of Johnny's trusting me with his jacket being hinged on our childhood friendship and the experiences we both remembered so fondly (yet never had actually acknowledged / spoken about since).  For had those never occurred, there would have been no relational foundation between us to build upon all those years later.  

In essence, Johnny's masculine validation was surefooted / substantial enough for the both of us, and, I believe, he ALWAYS KNEW THAT about himself.  That's the lesson here.  As a result, he felt so moved - opportunistically - to share it with Rob when I took the opportunity / made the move to receive it. 

And oh my goodness, did it ever make an impact on me subconsciously.  Like an armor it became.  An armor that's never left me.  

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Sex between men, for Rob, has always been about validating masculinity within an extremely perverted, sinful way.  Many men who struggle with unwanted same-sex attraction haven't been properly validated.  That's me for sure.  Therefore, this became the root of my inability to see any innate masculine value. 

But as you've read here, there have been pivotal moments where enough of this has occurred indirectly to undergird me in ways that truly were / have been life changing.  Forcing me to look at myself differently.  Encouraging hope and fortitude that simply never would have been there before. 

Lagniappe

Insinuating The Ultimatum / Rerun relationship

My first Silas relationship was one that cross pollinated (he and I served each other as Silases) despite the fact that we were not (yet - by a long shot) integrated into Samson Society.  And this was because we weren't privy to it (this was 2010 / 2011 / 2012).  Nonetheless, we knew exactly what we both wanted from the friendship for we were both struggling mightily with compulsive sexual sin (porn consumption).

How did this unique precedent-setting relationship originate?  

Chris (Silas 1.0) approached me about having an unassuming lunch.  From there, he announced that he was a "Porn Addict" while we ate our gyro plates at Jerusalem Cafe in Jackson.  As you might imagine, with him being our church's Youth Pastor, I nearly shit a brick when he said this.  

Overall, whilst looking back on this season, I can say that it was an amazing (+/-18) month journey.  

Until it wasn't.  

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At the outset of our friendship, Chris' personal and work life were in shambles, and it was mostly his own fault.  Specifically, as it related to his laziness.  Chris loved "winging it" relative to EVERYTHING.  Prep work, in his opinion, was not at all for him.  Instead, he used his "free time" to play video games, surf porn, or watch television / films (keep in mind that he was married with three small children). 

According to Chris, because "winging it" had been his modus operandi throughout his life (he was in his early to mid 30s at this time), he knew of no real way to "chart a new course" (become un-lazy / grow up / become more responsible).  

I can remember vividly chatting and praying, chatting and praying, chatting and praying (after we'd run together) EVERY Tuesday evening in my garage.  And often, we'd end up arguing over some of the pettiest of things.  But, all in all, I never once relinquished my role as his "best gay friend" (his words) as I tried my darndest to understand / support him for such a time as that.  Chris was intelligent / creative and articulate.  I liked that.  Plus, he respected me and all my unique weirdness.

The implosion of our co-Silas relationship occurred when I finally insisted that we expand our group.  Chris was vehemently uninterested in doing this.  He claimed there'd be no benefit to it.  Yet, I believed his argument didn't hold water due to whom I was recommending we loop in.  Hence, I saw it as a win-win for both of us, and therefore the best way forward.

In the end, Chris (to this day) claims I "betrayed" him by going against his wishes in this regard.  

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So, why did I do this?

This is a question Chris has never asked.  And the reason he's never asked it is as follows:  all he's ever been concerned with is him being "sold out" (& by the way, I wasn't the only one - historically - to do this to him) and all the negative feelings that came with that.  

I simply cannot relate to his one-way point of view, but I do respect / honor his feelings.

And just so you know, presently, I talk to Chris every week and have been for the past year or so.  He's one of my oldest of friends.  Thanks be to God, via Samson Society National / Regional Retreats, we've found (once again) common relational ground.  Everything that went down before ('12) simply has never been / will never be worked through.  We don't discuss it because we don't see any benefit therein.  It's as if we were two different versions of ourselves at the outset of our longstanding friendship.  Hence, we've learned to leave the past in the past.  And I'm extremely grateful for this miracle approach because I love Chris dearly.  And too, there is so much truth in that statement.

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So why did I do to Chris what he so feared would occur?

I looped in a third man in order to relieve my own emotional / spiritual pressure relative to our friendship.  Chris' personal / vocational circumstances, throughout these early years of us communing together, continued to worsen for him (& for our church's youth ministry).  No amount of time together - chatting & praying, chatting & praying - seemed to improve his situation.  Though we very much enjoyed each other's company, I couldn't deny how burdened and used I felt.  

The other portion of this was just how self-focused Chris was during this season.  And I believe this too was due to the ongoing falling out regarding his own personal failings / negligence.  He was literally watching everything fall down around him at this time which had to have been completely overwhelming.

In essence, Rob was rucking it for his Silas, yet each week, more and more weight was being added to the rucksack.  Eventually, I chose to unload some of it onto someone else.  Someone whom I knew also loved / supported Chris as I did.

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Why bring all of this up?

Today, I'm in a very similar situation with another man, and frankly, I cannot believe it.  I've been dialoguing multiple times a week with this friend (since March), ending each chat with an intentional prayer, since early '22.  This guy is a few years older than I, and though his situation certainly isn't identical to Chris', there're remarkable similarities.  

David and I met back in February at a regional Samson retreat.  And we hit it off immediately.  And just as with Chris, I deeply pitied this man's situation (vocational / personal).

And so here I am.  As each week passes, David's situation continues to degrade, and once again, my rucksack is simply too much for me to bear.  

I've tried repeatedly (even to the point of having the MTGA facilitator personally invite him) to motivate David to attend the same virtual Samson Society meeting that I regularly attend ("Make Thursdays Great Again"), but he won't make it (or any other Samson Society meeting) a priority.  I desperately want him to make this commitment because I know that group well.  They'll come alongside and love David as I do.  For he's a wonderfully intelligent / articulate Christian man.

Oh, dear Jesus, where do I go from here?  Do I continue forward bearing the weight of this man's situation alone, or do I lay down an ultimatum relative to him taking the necessary steps to expand our too small circle all around?

Please pray for Rob regarding this rerun relationship.

These Are Dangerous Times To Be Living Alone. Especially If You've Established A Perceived Anonymity Involving Both The Internet & Sexual Sin.

I love meeting new Samson guys.  Hearing their stories and supporting them therein via my listening ear is what it's all about.  There's no judgement there.  It's all about simply listening, asking questions and listening some more.  Perhaps eventually, they'll be a recommendation or two tossed from my lips, but those are always at a minimum (though I must admit their seeming authoritativeness can be off putting to some) until I feel so moved.    

I'm fortunate to have listened to hundreds upon hundreds of hours - throughout my life - as either a Silas or simply a Samson brother.  If you know Rob at all, you know that I adore men.  Hence, meeting new guys and listening to their stories is an incredibly enriching experience for me.  You'll also know though that I don't miss much whilst listening.  And I'm fairly certain this is tied to how God has tuned me overall towards the same sex.

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Many years ago, I was an avid CNET fan.  This website interested me enough to browse there moreso than occasionally (in spite of the fact that I'm by no means a tech nerd).  I especially enjoyed their weekly (Fridays) wrap up summary video which captured the "tech news" over the past seven days.  The host of this weekly video was comedic, the writing intelligent and the editing was anything but generic.  It was entertaining stuff.  

During one of these weekly wrap-up videos, the host featured the first (supposedly) iteration of webcam roulette URLs.  Essentially, per what the host described; this URL allowed one to play webcam roulette with whomever else was logged in simultaneously (with their webcam turned on).  

And as an aside, the host made it very clear that what she had experienced therein was quite sexually explicit in nature as she "played around" with this new website invention.

Who'd a thunk?  Strangers being sexually explicit online?  Shocking.

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The Internet is all about efficiency, is it not?  Instantaneous satisfaction.  No matter the need.  

Keeping that in mind, webcam roulette URLs most definitely meet a distinct need via the power and anonymity of the Internet.  And the keyword here is anonymity.  

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Somewhere around 2008 or '09, a beloved Aussie friend (who I'd met online via Yahoo! Groups), and I were beginning to establish a webcam routine.  For reference, at the time, my PC barely met the minimum computing requirements for Skype.  Prior to this, my Aussie friend and I emailed each other voraciously (for well over a year).  Like myself, this guy was a writer at heart, but who also happened to be a husband / father who struggled with unwanted same-sex attraction.  

Unfortunately, it didn't take too long for Scott (after we'd established our webcam routine) to decide to expose himself to me unannounced.  From there, during that episode, he began masturbating to climax.  I have to admit, it was initially quite erotic observing him doing this through his laptop's webcam, but it didn't take long for me to feel the ickiness associated with this sort of Internet-centric experience, particularly in contrast to where our friendship had been.  Hence, after that one time, in line with a mutual agreement, he and I both kept our zippers zipped up.  

Not too many months after this eye-opening event, I asked that we take a year-long friendship sabbatical.  He agreed to this with a broken heart.  As you might imagine, our relationship never recovered from that "extended vacation".   

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Let me stop here and define what I mean by ickiness.

Whenever I engage with other men, I feel 110%.  The experience is akin to me walking in their shoes.  It's for sure emotionally exhausting, but as such, me simply being me.

This being my normal, I am deeply fearful of what a sexual experience might look like with said men because of the damage my involvement would bring about.  In other words, think of it as me taking a massive overstep into their lives.  Now, viewing a pixelated video, fed through an anonymous guy's webcam, isn't the same as real, face-to-face sexual experiences or even (as described above) a friend-to-friend webcam one.

All that being said, ickiness feelings are essentially those which alarm me to the fact that I've either entered in or are fast approaching the cesspool of human experience.  The lowest of the low.  Debased.  Repugnant.  To expound on that a bit, I'd put it in the same category as visiting those plywood-assembled "private booths" oftentimes found towards the back of the adult bookstore.  You know the ones.  Where the red and pink incandescent bulbs dangle above your head as you anticipate yet another anonymous hookup.

In my opinion, webcam roulette is right there in the thick of those pollutants.  Particularly if you're participating therein as a Christian.

Here's my plea:  Value yourself and the Holy Spirit in such a manner that you're unwilling to stoop to this level.  No matter how lonely you may feel.  Value your witness as a Christian in such a manner that you're unwilling to stoop to this level.  Pray to God that your ickiness barometer stays sensitive and sharp.  Ask him for the self-control to heed its warnings reflexively.

And never forget to pray for those who're submerged in the filth, getting pulled deeper and deeper into the dump.  For ickiness to them is what normal looks like.

Lagniappe

Stand Up For Yourself. Samson Society Is A Selfish Pursuit. As You Mature In Your Recovery, Optimize Your Approach To Said Recovery.

You are loyal to no one within Samson Society.  This is not a fraternity or a men's club.  Samson Society isn't a discipleship group or a men's Sunday School class.  It is a community of men seeking recovery, and you are responsible for taking full advantage therein relative to your specific recovery.

Both of my former Silases benefited Rob primarily via face-to-face meetings.  And (mostly) it wasn't what was said during those junctures.  No, it was simply the time spent together.  Text-messages, telephone calls, etc. did little for me, though I certainly participated as such.  Hence, I'm constrained (relative to meeting my specific needs), and I realize that.  I believe this is why my recovery will never likely be, well, recovered.  Obviously, there's only so much time available to commune with one's Silas face-to-face (that either he or I can stomach).  Especially considering men's typical MO of doing 99% of male-to-male life in groups (3+).

An example of one of the very best "healing" face-to-face "sessions" between my first Silas and I happened in 2016 during the Jackson, Mississippi Samson Society Spring Retreat.  And essentially, that "session" was comprised of me spending time with him alone or somewhat alone.  During this retreat, we shared a room in the gloriously luxurious vacation home where the retreat was held, and though we only had a few private conversations therein, it was simply being alone with him that really mattered.

Why?

I don't really know.  What I do know is it was soothing to be desired enough in that regard.  Plus, it provided a counterweight to the ever-present din of the other Samson guys present.

I'm sure that sounds weird, but it's how I've come to understand myself.  Likely there's something there related to me being an only child.

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My second Silas was wired similarly to me in this regard (he was also an only child).  Hence, our relationship definitely played off of each other, but one thing that was really interesting about him was his sort of secret preference for unplanned face-to-face pursuit.  Now, you need to know that this dude planned out every waking hour of his life, and I suppose me interrupting that needily basically gave him permission to throttle back "from the grind" in such a way that was especially acceptable / appreciated / desirable.  I'm theorizing here.

I do know that his close proximity (he lived relatively close by) also facilitated these last-minute ("Catch me, I'm falling!") junctures.  Having never lived so close to a Silas, the convenience was also positively affirming / comforting. 

The only issue here was there were no regularly scheduled junctures, though I didn't recognize it at the time.

But, learn I did.

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Today, I'm involved in the "Make Thursdays Great Again" virtual Samson Society meeting which is made up of an amazing group of 30+ Samson guys, but interestingly enough, my present-day Silas happens to be local.  

He and I have met face-to-face on three occasions over the past three months, and during our last rendezvous, I asked that we calendar our next two future junctures (which he agreed to).  All-in-all, the plan is to rendezvous at lunch and at a local park (both) once a month.  Therefore, about every two weeks is when we're slated to meet.  

This too is easily facilitated due to how close in proximity we live to each other.  

What's especially curious about how all of this played out is the following: my Silas was only vaguely familiar with Samson Society prior to this past April.  Now, you must know that I have known him, as a distant friend, for well over a decade.  And, I knew of his struggle with lust because he'd shared it with me at the outset of our relationship (+/-15 years ago).  But back then, Samson wasn't an available resource to either of us, and the concept of recovery was irrelevant to either of us.  

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Optimize your recovery in two ways: by making the best of opportunities and being assertive relative to the needs that specifically can be addressed (within reason) via your Silas.  Do this well by learning, over time, as you relate to various men within this community.  Recovery is as much about understanding and reacting to personal dynamics as it is to gaining perspective regarding both where you're at along The Path today and where you're wanting to be.    

"What Are You Doing?"

Angie walked in on me masturbating a few evenings ago.  I was in my usual spot in our bathroom, seated in front of the full-length mirror which is affixed to the rear of our toilet room door.  I'd gotten out of bed quietly before slipping into the bathroom, stripped down (I only wear skivvies to bed), lit a candle and gone to work.  

"What are you doing?"  

For the past 26-years of our marriage, this has been her knee-jerk response to every single unexpected masturbation encounter.

"I'm masturbating."

This was all I knew to say.

From there, she admitted needing to pee.  Hence, I scooted my petite chair over enough for her to get by.  She peed and then returned to bed.

Within five or so minutes, I could hear her quiet snores.  And then I returned to it.

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For many wives, an encounter like this one (between themselves & their husbands) would have wielded a much different response.  But for Angie and I, her tepid response is rooted in how insignificant sex is for she and I as husband / wife.  And, it isn't like we're anomalous in this regard.  I believe most middle-aged couples (who've the tenure she and I do), have built their marriages on far more significant experiences than jumping up and down on top of each other, performing cunninlingus / fellatio.

Too, Angie had a stroke a few years back.  A stroke which has left her disabled.  As such, she is not the same physically as she was prior to (5/29/00).

And, I really benefit from bisecting myself (via reflection) whilst occasionally masturbating.  It helps me to offset that void.  

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The next day she asked me what chair I was using to sit in whilst masturbating.  I told her, and she was not at all happy.  

"Keep your nasty butt out of my chair."

  

My Need To Be Seen / Pursued By Men I Respect (& How Porn Defaults To Fulfill That Need)

All of my issues with gay porn - for the most part - have a common denominator of attempting to fill a void of feeling isolated from the universal community of men.  

When I was a senior in high school, I purchased my first Playgirl magazine, and this was the first time I saw photos of completely naked men.  Though I only held on to the magazine (the year was 1990) for 3-4 days, in looking back, it opened my eyes to how disgusted I was with my own self.  And that disgust was rooted in simply not feeling comfortable behaving / being seen as a man (& I'm not referring to conformity).  Now, you must know that I certainly didn't feel like a woman (at this time in my life or ever).  Instead, I simply felt worthless having no perceived masculine identity whatsoever.

What did this Playgirl magazine actually provide for teenage Rob?  Two things.

1)

Being semi-nude (shirtless) is a normal "celebration" of being male.  Being fully naked too, isn't frowned upon, though it's relegated to specific settings where men gather (locker rooms, skinny dipping, etc.).

The pictorial of one Playgirl model, in particular, blew my synapses because he was so natural looking, yet it was apparent he'd no shame regarding his physique.  The young man was probably 5-8 years older than I at the time.  He was below average height, had average size junk and did not in any way look manufactured / manicured.  Hence, he had loads of body hair and even minute skin imperfections that hadn't been airbrushed away.  And yes, he was in great physical shape, but it reflected his no doubt athletic prowess more than vanity (this guy was not a pro bodybuilder).  

All of this added up to this complete masculine comfortableness that I longed too to have.  This I could emotionally latch onto via porn.

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2)

On the flip side of that comfortableness, there was the allure of symbolically being known by those you're putting your trust in.  As a teenager, no one knew anything about my sexuality except me and God.  And though I refused to loathe my sexual attractions towards men (believing they were a result of a number of circumstantial factors), I desperately needed to be known (as every teenager does) by someone I could trust with this (& the rest of myself).  But there wasn't anyone - that being a real person - for me to be pursued by in this regard.

Therefore, I fantasized about being known by my middle school youth pastor, classmates at school, etc.  Eventually, these fantasies migrated to photos of semi-nude men on greeting cards and in wall calendars, all of which lead up to the Playgirl magazine purchase.  Every fantasy had a theme of known Rob being relationally pursued.

Subconsciously, the aforementioned naked model in the Playgirl pictorial, I felt, was being known by me - as the viewer, and he had been known by the photographer & his crew likewise.  This blew my mind, but I didn't at all understand what was truly happening inside my brain at that young of an age.  Today, thankfully, I'm beginning to.

In the past, I've joked during Samson Society meetings about having a secret desire to be a porn model.  Taking the notion of being known to the extreme served as the root of that joke.

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What served as the breaking point for Rob regarding these needs not being met?

2013 (I'd just turned 40) was the year I worked in Cleveland, MS as Delta State University's Campus Architect.  About six middle managers, all mostly close to my age, reported to me, and each of them had minions beneath them.  This entire grouping was nothing but men, all of which were laborers overseeing everything from campus landscaping to HVAC systems.  The perceived authenticity / comradery between these men left me feeling extremely isolated.  Naturally, I turned to our pastor at Covenant Pres Cleveland for help, but he freaked out at even the slightest hint of discussing sex / sexuality.  Eventually, I once again turned to gay porn / writing on a now defunct blog to cope.  Doing this on my work PC is what got me fired.

I came away feeling so rejected and ashamed.  But, it was through that pain that God ushered me into Samson Society in August of 2014. 

Samson Society serves as a petri dish for being known authentically.  The meetings provide a framework, week after week, for sharing / presenting oneself to the group, and from there, there's opportunity to connect one-on-one in order to be known that much more intimately.

Each of the two resolutions I cited above are too resolved (in my mind) within the Samson community.  The only difference being (between it and gay porn), is Samson Society takes much more work / commitment / patience.  

And since Samson guys are actual - living / breathing - warts & all relationships, they're much richer / diverse / nurturing / sustaining / helpful.  But too, that being said, as with any close friendship, none of these relationships are without setbacks, disappointments, and pain.  

I love to consume porn, but I love what Samson Society has offered me as an alternative more.  Thanks be to God for Samson Society.