I Can Relate To Your (Patriarchal) Familial Imbalance. It Sucks For You, But It's Life As You've Always Known It. Endure.

What if your dad isn't at all like the man you've become (as a middle-aged adult)?  Let me be more specific.  What if he isn't (wasn't ever) capable (intelligence, personality, interests, motivation, etc.) of becoming the man you've become (as son, friend, businessman, leader, volunteer, etc.)?  As such, all-in-all, let's assume he's honest and loyal to a fault, trustworthy and generally kindhearted as it relates to how he carries himself / engages with others.

Firstly, if this scenario represents - even in the slightest regard - your reality, there's a chance your father is going to see you - at times and within certain scenarios - in a paradoxically pejorative light.  At least to some degree.  Especially if you're his only son.  And this has everything to do with how you - at times - make him feel. 

Now why is this?  What fuels it?

1.  Competitive outlook that's baked into many men.  Especially Type A men (which your dad likely is).  

2.  Your very existence (especially if you've telegraphed - to any degree - your being cognizant of this imbalance).

3.  Men crave respect moreso than anything else.  It's why the massive Ford F-150 has and continues to be America's #1 in vehicle sales each year.  Can there be no greater disrespect than having a son who existentially contrasts so sharply with his father in light of his own (possible) insecurities surrounding his capabilities, drive, intelligence, creativity?

All in all, if this kind of bizarre hierarchal imbalance exists between you and your father, and you sense at times that he feels (almost or very much) threatened by you, I cannot emphasize enough the following:

Your FEAR of him, specifically his testy, indecisively (discriminately) temperamental persona is a massive waste of your time / energy.  For that testy, indecisively temperamental persona can't truly hurt you (despite its scariness) though your boyhood self would argue otherwise.  

To that end, it might have especially frightened you when you were a boy / young man, and that's understandable.  Perhaps when you absolutely needed stable love and support.  

But you're not a boy anymore.

You're a grown ass man.  Remember that.

Oh, and one last thing.

Unless your father happens to be mentally ill or intrinsically cruel, he's no doubt very proud of you and your accomplishments as his son, a solid friend, successful businessman, natural leader, steadfast volunteer, etc.   

Divorce Prejudice

Earlier this week, I had lunch with an old friend.  I'd bumped into him the week prior and upon taking his card, promised to follow up.  This man is +/-12 years my senior, white, upper class (for MS), working in a tangential industry to architecture (my first career).  He was instrumental in supporting me therein (while I was working in the private sector) for a number of years.

Around 16-17 years ago, this man surprisingly divorced his wife, and though it didn't hit me as hard as it would have otherwise (if we'd been closer friends), it still hit hard.  For I knew his wife indirectly (I'd perhaps met her twice), and I knew he had two beautiful children.

Why?

I honestly don't know how to say this with any distinct class.

When I get to know men, any men, I see inside, and unless they're absolute fools (which very few are), it's obvious to me that a high percentage of their divorces are clearly longstanding relational forfeits.  And this seems to be especially true when children are involved.  In other words, a divorce, to me, unless it involves adultery, abuse, addiction is very rarely warranted.  You might say this is an unreasonable approach I'm presenting (especially if said spouse is being "unreasonable")!  And that's true.  I really can't be reasoned with here.  Divorce should be avoided at all costs.  The Bible makes that clear, therefore why don't we follow suit?  

We don't follow suit because we're birds of a feather, and getting divorced provides an accepted cop out that many folks willingly choose.

Along with divorce comes a certain tainting or mark that's inevitable.  And, as you know, it's a forever mark that's almost impossible to hide.  I believe most divorcees never realize this 'till it's too late.  Now, whether or not they truly care therein is up to the individual.

As a sidenote, earlier today, whilst at the Y, I overheard two older men chatting about grieving the loss of (one of these men's) a spouse.  After 10+ minutes of heartfelt diatribe, the newbie widower admitted that his now deceased wife was #2.  In response, his friend admitted to being right there with him.  In fact, he cited his first marriage as his "practice marriage".  Puke.

And these were some old dudes who were making light of their historical, relational failures.

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Interestingly enough, during this same lunch, another old friend made his way into the restaurant.  And too, this was a colleague from my architecture days.  The difference though was this man (who's 5-8 years my senior) worked directly with me (again, private sector position).

And like my lunchable friend, he too eventually divorced his beautiful first wife, leaving his only child, a son, to manage the fallout after the fact.  

If there's one man, for me personally, that's a divorcee (failure) figurehead, it would be this guy.  For I knew him prior to marrying even.  But as the years went by and his (first) wife's mental health weakened; his resentment was so very obvious.  For his mockingly disrespectful words (of her, to anyone within earshot) more often than not, made my ears bleed and my heart hurt.  

Eventually, prior to his quiet divorce, he began a heady emotional affair with a much younger colleague of ours at work.  It was so obviously toxic to everyone on staff, yet no one but me chose to speak up (to the owners).

I can still see the two of these lovebirds staying long after 5 o'clock, gazing into each other eyes from the confides of this man's windowless office.  Puke.

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Overall, I renege when it comes to deeply befriending men who're divorcees.  The only time I've bucked that trend was back in 2013 whilst working at Delta State.  At that time, there were two men who I befriended who were as such.  One had chosen to not remarry and the other had been remarried for some time.

I was desperate for friendship whilst residing in that small town environment.  These two were both platonically attractive in light of their pasts.  

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When my parents' marriage exploded due to chronic infidelity (early '80s), according to my father, my parents sat down and seriously discussed the implications of divorcing:  financial, emotional, etc.  Afterwards, neither chose that route, and from there, they trudged forward in spite of the mistrust / woundedness.  

Was their marriage ever the same?  No.  

But I can say this in full confidence:  Had they divorced, only child me having to deal with that fallout in tandem with my own interpersonal (sexual identity / struggles with lust) suffering would likely have been too much for me to bear.

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I'm pleased to report that I'm becoming more sympathetic and forgiving of divorcees.  I never imagined this would occur.  I do believe my time at Delta State (2013) did me some good in that regard.  For it forced me, out of desperation, to give divorcees a chance.  A chance to be heard and loved in spite of their mark.

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.

Desperation To Be Seen

I often ask Samson brothers who're just beginning the recovery journey, "What is it that you're truly looking for whilst consuming pornographic content?" 

For me, as a teen who found himself deeply entrenched in same sex attraction, it was the notion of being seen that hooked me deeper and deeper in.  Of course, all manner of physical beauty (photographed / filmed beautifully) certainly tapped into my artistic eye (as described in detail within my last post), but the deep-seated void, if you will, was centered on a desperate loneliness / feeling of isolation that was well beyond typical teenage angst.  

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One of my first architect bosses was genuinely interested in being seen in his own right.  I don't know what exactly drove this behavior, but it manifests itself via his constant attempt to visually impress his fellow man (& too, like me, was his ever-present penchant for the beautiful - clothes, shoes, automobiles, homes).  Specifically, my boss always wore the nicest clothes (shoes especially), drove the finest automobile, and lived in the poshest home (within the far upper end of his specific budget).  As such, these items were upgraded quite often.  To the point that every time you looked up, a new (spotlessly clean) vehicle was parked in his reserved space at the office.

I used to pity this behavior, but today, I realize how similar he and I truly were / are.

Being seen is really, really important to some, if not all men.  For those chronic feelings of isolation / loneliness truly suck.

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I began to know Jesus intimately early on as a teen, but mostly this knowing came from Scripture / (excellent) preaching and a boatload of fairly homogenous Mississippi (deacon body within our church) men.  

To segue from there, I also knew a boatload of pagan Mississippi men (extended family, friends' dads, neighborhood fathers, teachers) as a boy, and though there were distinct differences in persona / demographic, I had a tough time relating to any of them.

As such, becoming a man scared the hell out of me, knowing so little collectively from the representatives within my viewpoint. 

As an aside, I believe most men within earshot of me (as a young man) mistook this fear for arrogance / piety which only isolated me further.

There was only one man (besides my sweet, sweet grandfather) who saw me with any real clarity.  And that was my first boss at Chick-A-Fil.  In so many ways, he was a surrogate dad, and what a gift to me he was!  For not only did he see me unabashedly, but he lived his life in such a way that reflected his peace of mind as it pertained to being seen well himself.  Chris was amazing.

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Consuming gay porn, to me, was the safest ("protecting" those around me) means for me to feel seen.  It involved no other (real) men.  Plus, I could "control" the relationship since it felt so very one-sided.  

My desire to never harm anyone, in spite of my desperate need, kept me laser focused on this private approach.  

When the Internet hit the scene though, its (porn content) voracity instantly became unmanageable (a small creek bed instantaneously became the Mississippi River).  

Of course, Satan knew he was setting me up for bondage whilst inevitably taking the leap from analog to digital.  All the while making me that much more vulnerable as the Internet became more and more mainstream.

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I discussed veneering within my last post.  In many ways, identifying that has been my salvation.  I've watched the Holy Spirit hack away (at the veneering) therein, exposing the idol for what it truly is, roots and all.  

All of this is now coming together to deeply impact my understanding of my boyhood self.  To resurrect him, so to speak.  

In line with that is the reminder of all my past sin.  Sin rooted in lust.  It's daunting, for sure, but I will not allow it to trip up my progress.

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In closing...

How is it that God chose me as his child?  Why would he care enough about my core needs (being seen) to bring me into Samson Society back in August of 2014?

The Christian men I've met (many of which I've closely befriended) see me and in turn, I work diligently to see them.

And they just keep coming.  Thanks be to God for this ministry.  It's been and continues to be how I best manage my needs.  

Marinating In The Debased / A Fantastic Interruption!

I have found, as of late, so much insight (& balloon busting emotional calibration) by listening in on pagan men's point of view / choices therein as it pertains to what they actually do with their sex organs and why.  To be more specific, gay porn stars and their careers (full-time or side hustle) therein.

You might find yourself befuddled over such an investment in my time, but there's no doubt, that for me, hearing these tales - directly from the horses' mouths - rattles me to the core (in a very productive way).  And this rattling effectively vaporizes the shrink-wrapped veneer that boyRob so easily / reflexively applies to smut.  A veneer that I habitually use to qualify its consumption as worthwhile. 

Regarding straight porn, there's tremendous exploitation of the females who model for that explicit content.  That's obvious to everyone.  But with gay porn, there's much less of that.  Instead, what you'll find is so many of these men are simple deeply, deeply wounded psychologically (whether gay for pay or not), and as such, their tremendously destructive actions ("art" imitating life) are then put on full display (for a small fee).  

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Let me return to this notion of shrink-wrapping smut. For it's been a real problem of mine for too long.  

I'm an architect.  Drawing / painting / sculpture are kissing cousins to designing buildings.  For well-designed buildings are a 4-D solidification of space using all the same tools one might use via drawing / painting / sculpture.  Therefore, composition is key (light, shadow, texture, proportion, and on and on).  

And this absolutely starts with the human figure.  For an artist begins his understanding of composition there.  

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My wife and two of my three daughters are returning from Paris today.  Having spent a few months backpacking throughout eleven countries in Europe during the summer of '94, I had no desire to accompany them on this first-time ever to Europe Spring Break trek.  Europeans have a very different relationship to the human form than we Americans do, and that's - for better or worse - the result of our Puritanical roots.  

Nonetheless, if you've ever had the opportunity to draw a nude model, you know that salaciousness quickly flies out the window as you're attempting to honor those few raw moments (with either charcoal, pencil, brush in hand).  

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One Valentine's Day (I believe it was around 2008), I gifted my sweet wife, Angie, a coffee table photo book of male models (95% of the content was explicit) posing as blue-collar Aussie blokes.  I did this in sincerity as a means to invite her into a "shared appreciation".  

Boy, did that not go over well.

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Considering all of this, there're a select group of human beings (we're no doubt all image bearers) that rank far higher in physical beauty than others.  And this beauty, no doubt, can certainly be celebrated whilst captured well via photography / film.  Unfortunately, that's where the veneering can come into play.  

So, what is a veneer?  Think about your teeth.  You can have a veneer applied therein to protect your chompers.  It essentially seals them over invisibly allowing nothing to truly penetrate to the tooth's surface.  

For some reason, I have ALWAYS done this with select gay porn (models who fall within my masculine archetype), but especially so regarding gay porn that's beautifully composed / lit, etc., taking the aforementioned Adonises into consideration.  And because of that veneering, I've always been naively kept at arm's length as to who these gents truly were.  And again, to reiterate, I now believe that much of this veneering became par for the course in light of my artistic background.  As such, this recent fantastic aforementioned interruption / illumination is founded on the deep roots of who these people truly are, what they stand for, etc. 

In essence, today, in light of the novelty of Flea Market porn sites such as Only Fans combined with podcasts featuring these homebrew / grassroots peddlers therein, the veneering is effectively being ripped off.  And it's being done with such voracity that my head is reeling.  For these men are contracted to no major porn studio.  As such, who they are becomes readily accessible, so long as they're willing to sit down and talk.  And many, many of them are an open book.  

As much as I can't, in all honesty, recommend this same de-veneering approach to the "general public", if your boyself is as stubbornly blind as mine is AND you have any semblance of an artistic eye, it may be that taking steps to lift the skirt of those you've come to worship / elevate may be the very thing that removes you too from the recovery plateau that you can't seem to easily shake.

But be forewarned.  Much of what you'll hear will break your heart into pieces.

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. 

 

A Powerful Stream Of Piss

One way to ensure high pressure urination is to hold it in for a while.  Another way is to acquiesce one's genitals into their "best" (most pleasurable) behavior (coitus).  & I don't say that in jest.  Everyone (ideally) hopes to show their lover a good time when the time comes (sorry).  And by that very hopeful goal / definition, the resulting acidic release will no doubt be impressive.   

But can we not also hedge this truth up against the idealism put on display whilst attempting to kindle a new friendship?  And in line with that, the release after the fact, once we finally allow ourselves to exhale / let out our gut?

Friendships are built over time, but firstly, they must be initiated by someone.  From there, an intimate encounter must occur where both parties participate in equal measure.  Perhaps this is a "eat / meet up", golf outing, hunting, fishing, etc.  Whatever is of interest to both parties.  Whether it's individuals or entire clans.

And this encounter takes a lot of energy.  For most everyone wants to put their best foot forward.  At least initially.  Too, there's simply the focus required to perform versus the after-the-fact involuntary exercise of relieving oneself (letting one's hair down).

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Now, I realize not everyone agrees with this "Jekyll / Hyde" approach to relational charm 100%.  Some would rather mix & match here in order to "present more authentically".  But for me, I typically do gravitate towards charm versus gravitas as a first priority.  And I believe that has something to do with my southern upbringing. 

For a beautifully set table says a lot, don't you think? 

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Last summer, I began to notice some very out-of-the-ordinary activity at one of our neighbors' homes.  And mostly this was due to my years-long knowledge that this abode was a rental, and a very ugly (architecturally) rental at that, situated on a less-than-ideal lot.  Surprisingly, whomever was now living there had taken an interest in its upkeep!  I could hear lawn equipment in full swing combined with the impossible to miss minor upgrades such as outdoor string lights draped above the back porch, etc.   

As a result, I made a point to drop by and introduce myself.  I was delighted to find the family to be engaging and kind, and they seemed deeply grateful for the handshake / welcome from my oldest daughter and me.  Eventually, a formal invite to dinner (at our abode across the street) was delivered, but it didn't actually occur (due to their rigorous family schedule) 'till right at the tail end of last year.   

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What made this all the more significant was the history of homeowners / tenants who'd resided within that ugly eyesore of a home.  A history that mostly consisted of difficulties / disappointments that we were keen to forget.  Hence, a fresh start was upon us, and we were elated.

Eventually, mid-December came.  I remember coming home from work early to assist everyone for our guests' (Dad / mom / son / teenage daughter) Friday night arrival.

A quick sidenote:  What I hadn't accounted for was the time lapsed (+/-6 months) since making first (brief) contact with this white, middle-class fam.  Hence, they'd now truly settled into their rental with its history / shortcomings having soaked in thoroughly.  

As such, they were obviously affected overall due to the limitations / permutations of their temporary home (they were / are actively planning / constructing a rural homestead far and away from our suburban enclave).

After their departure (they hung out with us for about 90 minutes), I hoped forlornly that they'd take up our offer to visit our church, especially considering the Xmas season being upon us.  

They didn't.

What we did learn was how vital it was for the majority of the clan to escape their rental home via weekend deer hunting treks to south MS (it's important to know that both children wore camouflage attire to our dinner party).  

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The hardest part about this failed attempt to gain newfound friends was knowing that it wasn't us.  It was their circumstances that kept them from connecting therein.  For that "cursed" house simply had run its accelerated course as it pertained to both their immediate and long-term outlook.  And it did so via being a constant reminder of their transient status combined with its less-than-ideal living conditions for themselves + their pets.  

Hence, we felt unfairly (though only tangentially) sort of responsible - by proxy - of their discomfort in spite of our attempts to be neighborly.  

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Samson Society is well represented by this family's temporary plight.  It's a (hopefully) pivot point to a better place.   

But what's interesting therein is, in terms of the initial Samson Society intro (of yourself), it's the urination that's most vital versus any semblance of presentation performance (formalities).  And some of us are better at this than others.  

I love this...

In closing, remember where you once were, my Samson brother, when you first stepped foot into a meeting.  As such, encourage newbies to pee, all the more, 'till they've fully relieved themselves.  And this may take months, if not years, of being listened to.  For their troubles didn't happen overnight, and it will take time for their permanent / new home to be planned / constructed.   

As such, love them where they're at, patiently waiting for them to realize / recognize that you were once right there too.   

I'm Just Another Man. Or Am I?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Man, was it awkward.

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

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

What a week of contrasting adjudications.        

Are You Willing To Accept Responsibility For What You've Done? (It Should Be A Priority Whilst In Recovery. Pretending / Downplaying The Truth Of What You've Done Leads To A Dead End / False Narrative.)

Convicted US Capitol rioter Pam Hemphill turns down Trump pardon

Keene man arrested for storming the Capitol on Jan. 6 rejects Trump’s pardon | New Hampshire Public Radio

Curiosity Guardrails

As a 52-year-old, I have and continue to be a very curious person.  And this curiosity primarily is seated towards men / boys / males.  Whether it's interpersonal, business, church, if males are involved therein, I'm curious as to who these dudes are specifically / what motivates them to be involved / their backstory, etc.  In other words, if I had been Steve Trevor, landing on Themyscira by accident, I would likely have quickly died from boredom.  Why?  To Rob, women, in particular, are incredibly boring / uninteresting handiworks of the Creator God.  And no, that statement doesn't automatically make me a misogynist.  For I love my wife and my daughters with my whole heart.  

As such, women / girls / females are of distinct value, but overall, I MUCH PREFER being opportunistic regarding rubbing shoulders with men / boys / males. & for the most part, this curiosity is rooted in my own gender combined with my distinct inability to see myself (good, bad or ugly) therein.  Combine those two together and you have an endless supply of motivation to be man / boy / male curious / associative.

A distinct benefit of my men / boy / male curiosity / fascination is it has allowed me to clinically analyze the cultural choice that so many men have made as it pertains to their homosexual desires, and the keyword there is clinically.  And I've been doing this from early on within my life as I crossed paths with in-person men prior to also overlaying that MO with those who present themselves online.  Earlier this week, I delved into a podcast that's hook is interviewing hyper-masculine gay porn stars.  And it was fascinating.  To have that granular opportunity here in 2025 is amazing.  For it allows me to see / understand / confirm my choices by analyzing - up close & personal - theirs.  All the while satiating my curiosity appetite (in ways that do not involve gay porn).  

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And that serves as a lovely segue into the ease of access of gay porn and why that's such an issue for me.

Covenant Eyes is my lifesaver.  It puts guardrails on my insatiable curiosity yet not so much that I feel like I'm being treated as if I'm a child.  

I have one Ally who monitors the CE reporting and WILL reach out if he sees activity (he receives my report on Monday) therein that seems abnormal.

This man is local, and we've known each other for many years (originating within in-person Samson Society).  I respect this man enough to know how his presence as my Ally influences my behavior online.

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What's unusual is how effective this is overall.  Now, there have been rare occasions (tail end of last year) where I've been lackadaisical, and this has resulted in me delving into gay porn consumption no holds barred (for a week or two).  But this approach / attitude isn't the norm.  

Nonetheless, if throwing caution to the wind does rear its head more than usual, I may very well turn on filtering within the CE sentinel software as a means to an end.  Thankfully, at this point, I've never had to do that.

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And yes, there are times when CE "craps out" and needs reinstallation.  All software has this trait, and mostly it's due to CE not being able to readily keep up with OS updates - rung to rung.  

In closing, CE is a huge partner of Samson Society.  I love this especially about their company. Countless men hear about Samson Society via their engagement with Covenant Eyes. 

All this being said, I just purchased a CE lifetime membership and am proud for it.

Thank you, Covenant Eyes for orchestrating my online behavior for the better.

MERRY CHRISTMAS 2024!

 MERRY CHRISTMAS 2024!

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.

Captivated By Masculinity (+ Baritone Voices)

Tuesday, (11/26) my youngest daughter and I screened "Gladiator II" at our local cinema.  Interestingly enough, "Gladiator I" was released in 2000 when I was 28 years old.  Back then, I was absolutely captivated by masculinity.  To the point that seeing a film that so celebrated it (as "Gladiator I" did) would have only sent me deeper into private despairing.  For masculinity (as I perceived it) had enough gravitational pull to consistently hijack my thoughts, causing me to ruminate / obsess in such a way that could easily be described as cerebral / emotional bondage.  As such, particular as a newlywed, I felt the only means of escape was to avoid entertainment firstly that celebrated it (as "Gladiator I" so successfully / ostentatiously did).

To summarize, the BIG, seemingly unsolvable problem I faced in 2000 was LACK OF TRUST in the masculine, and all of that pointed primarily back to my laughably insecure, longstanding kinship with my father.

Now, hear me here.  I didn't type FEAR.  No.  There was no FEAR of the masculine as if it was going to harm / ridicule me.  Instead, it was a distinct LACK OF TRUST.  Obviously, there's a monumental difference between LACK OF TRUST and FEAR.  The former leaves you ISOLATED (left to fend for oneself singularly) as a man whereas the latter incites a myriad of reactionary negative emotions (dread, torment, fatalism) that are directly tied to the "what if?".  

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Now, let's focus on ISOLATION as a result of my LACK OF TRUST and how these two things perpetuated my same-sex attraction. 

Firstly though, I have never felt as if I should be female.  Being male was who I felt securely established to be and, as a result, 100% at peace with.  It was my perception of masculinity (based on my life's narrative) that I failed to comfortably embrace / lean into.  Considering that statement, let me reiterate that I also didn't feel feminine, nor did I wish to be feminine, though I did have a healthy trust in the feminine. Therefore, I absolutely was settled into my understanding of the masculine, yet my hurdle therein was managing the LACK OF TRUST in the concept itself as well as the relinquishing of / backing away from the perceived SAFETY I'd achieved via my longstanding (coping mechanism) ISOLATION.   

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The second Samson weekend intensive I attended was during the spring of 2016.  Our group of +/-20 Jackson Metro Samson guys traveled to beautiful Highlands, NC, staying in a multi-million-dollar vacation property (nestled inside an exclusive golf course development) owned by one of my fellow perverts' parents.

During our off ramping from a full day of whitewater rafting, every last one of us made a beeline to the men's changing room / bathroom.  For it had been a chilly day to be on the river, therefore wetsuits were required.  Once I made my way inside, our fearless leader (meeting facilitator) announced the presence of a same-sex attracted man (Rob) within their hetero-majority.  I remember everyone silently agreeing with me that what had been decreed was very unnecessary / over the top, and as such, it made me realize just how protected (& loved) I truly was within that Motley Crue (it's important to note that our facilitator was known for insensitive remarks). 

To take that a step further, this was the first time I'd experienced being silently buttressed and therefore affirmed via other men.  Straight men.  Masculine men.  All of which were crammed, as I was, within a too small changing / shower room after a fun-filled day in beautiful Appalachia (think Mirror Universe Deliverance).     

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During that same intensive weekend, I had the good fortune of rooming with Silas 1.0.  The space we bunked within was a sizable "bonus room" (situated above the carport) within this multi-story vacation home.  As such, since it was stationed somewhat by itself, there was a sense of privacy / secrecy that few, if any, of our Samson bunkmates experienced.  Specifically, Silas 1.0 slept on a sleeper sofa while I slept on an air mattress.  Though we only spent time alone together within that space to mostly sleep, it still delivered a deep sense of exclusivity within me.  For Silas 1.0 knew my issues with same-sex attraction.  He also knew (& had heard ad nauseum) of my termination from DSU three years prior (& therefore was privy to my pain).  At the time, the level of interest this man exhibited in spending time with me was almost too much for me to believe.  And though this intense platonic attraction naturally waned over time, this sweet season served me well in regard to me choosing to make a conscious effort to TRUST the masculine as I'd never done prior.  

This Samson friendship was one of the firsts that truly gave me credence to begin to TRUST the masculine.

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As an aside, masculinity for me is most effectively presented by men who are also blessed with a baritone speaking voice.  "Gladiator I" served to rocket Mr. Russell Crowe to instant stardom.  In many ways, as the heir apparent of the then well-established Aussie crown (from the original baritone, Mr. Mel Gibson).  

Crowe's voice is deeply masculine, sounding absolutely delicious whilst recorded.  

"Gladiator II"'s protagonist is played by Irish actor, Mr. Paul Mescal.  Arguably, his voice is as deep as Mr. Mel Gibson's has ever been, making it equally delicious to listen to.  

Why is this important to identify?

Baritone voices are intimidating.  They're more animalistic.  Threatening.  And this is mostly due to how they carry combined with how powerfully distinct they are.  

I have an uncle whose voice is beautifully baritone.  As a relative, he's unpredictable and threatening (he's a drug addict, thief and compulsive liar).  Yet, even today at the age of almost 75, his presence / the thought of his presence is just as intimidating as ever. Of all the men I've personally known throughout my life, he represents a masculinity that's the absolute most threatening.   

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As our "early arrival '24 Samson Summit entourage" was finishing up our "meet & eat" late lunch at some nondescript Fayetteville, NC BBQ joint a few weeks back, I was singled out by one of the most resolutely masculine men I know in Samson Society.  As such, he asked me specifically to ride with him (within his newly purchased X3) out to Camp Dixie.  We chatted throughout our 20-minute journey as the cloudy, rainy setting whizzed by.  He'd been en route from middle TN for well over six hours (earlier that day), having endured no less precipitation throughout.  Hence, the gloriously anticipated drive had left him with a lot to be desired.  

Therefore, again, he asked me to join him for the last, very short leg of his trip.  Me?!?

This man is a few years older than I am, and as such, is 100% at peace with himself.  I know segments of his story, but like myself, he's reached a point where it's the present and future that he's most interested in focusing on. 

Initially, when I first met this man (2017), I feared him.  Not anymore.  Especially after his personal invitation to transport me to Camp Dixie.  What a blessing that was.  It served as the cake beneath the icing. 

I came away feeling absolutely his equal.  And that, my friend, I never, ever saw coming.

Will God Resurrect BoyRob? (Especially Considering That Blazen Rebuke By My Own Hands.)

I often have vivid dreams.  Recently, one of those featured my toy poodle, a childhood dog that my parents purchased for me when I was in 6th grade.

I wish I could say I was a loving, caring dog owner, but I was not.  This animal served more like a physical stand-in for the part of me that simply wanted to be loved (too much?).  And as such, due to my disgust with myself, I absolutely didn't fulfill that wish.  

Nonetheless, the dog lived a 15+ year life, existing well into my young adulthood (thanks to my 'rents caring for him while I was away at college).  

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When I lost my campus architect job at DSU (September of '13), I beat my boyRob self to a pulp, blaming him for not having the chutzpah needed to simply sit quietly and behave.  Instead, he was deliberate about attempting to come up for proverbial air, often late into the evening or after hours behind the closed door of my front office.  Ultimately, this resulted in the institution having grounds to fire me.  Hence, in my mind, 1+1 = 2.  Therefore, if I could remove that second "1", there'd be no more risk involved, leaving me (1+0 = 1) completely in control.

So that's what I did.  At the expense of my whole self.

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I immediately knew this boyRob had either fled or was dead when I walked into a movie theater during the summer of '14.  It had been just +/-8 months since my termination.  The film was an animated family feature that was screening (with the family) at a discount (summer family film fest).  

I sobbed throughout the 90-minutes.  And not because of the content / uplifting nature of the film.  No.  I sobbed because it became immediately apparent to me that a part of me was completely missing from that experience.  That part that usually sprang to life whilst entering into a movie theater (he relishes the experience).  Therefore, there was no enjoyment therein.  Instead, it felt as if I was simply wasting my time sitting in a large room with strangers.

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Many moons have passed since that summer afternoon.  

And I'm convinced God will restore this "1".  Perhaps soon I'll see more vestiges of my toy poodle. 

Shortened leash

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Identify / Identity Through Observational Contrasts. Embracing / Celebrating God-Given Opportunities For Discernment Regarding Who You Truly Are.

There were so many positive attributes to working for the state of MS ('06-'12) as a Staff Architect, but one of my favorites was the opportunity to befriend / work with architects / engineers, that I'd never met prior, from all over the Magnolia State.  And I'll say it again:  All architects are very unique (before getting into specifics).

One local (Jackson Metro) architect I worked alongside on many a bond-monies funded project was +/-15 years my senior.  This elder statesmanish, laid-back sole proprietor worked from home and had recently passed the finish line pertaining to rearing his two (then young adult) children (they were more or less up and out).

This man was a closed book personally.  In other words, all business all the time.  As such, we talked a whole lotta shop.  But, because of my influential position (owner's representative), he couldn't comfortably shun my interpersonal inquisitiveness.

Therefore, I'd make calculated moves in order to query him regarding his faith, career path, upbringing.  And eventually, he even warmed up to me enough to make some (religious) book recommendations (he was one of the first Reformed Christians I've ever had the privilege to meet - in person).

And I'm so glad I took these platonic risks.  For this was one unique dude.  And so, so very sharp.

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One of the most interesting aspects of his story had to do with his own unique relationship with his faith / the "outside world".

I vividly recall him admitting to walking into a professional partnership eyes closed (very early on in his career), only to soon realize his untimely vocational mistake.  Nevertheless, he'd no easy way to walk back from this now mixed-morality marriage (his words), therefore he stayed put (in South MS, no less) 'till a clear exit path presented itself.  

His children were small during this season, and his wife, the ever-subservient homemaker.  Hence, he no doubt was in that 360-degrees-of-pressure-cooker stage of adulthood.  

All-in-all, I quickly got the sense that they'd chosen to readily own the part of the dutifully suffering, faithfully clandestine pariahs, ever determined to survive this ordeal resolute.    

As you probably already guessed, this architect was deeply religious, and prior to him packing up his young clan and moving to Hattiesburg for this shareholder role, they'd been faithful churchgoers (I'm willing to bet a dollar he was likely a young deacon / elder) within the Jackson Metro. 

Now here's where his story truly becomes insightful as to his identity.

Instead of this young family becoming a member of a local "Hub City" church (immediately following their move), they chose instead to super commute to the Jackson Metro very early each subsequent Sunday morning in order to attend (their) church - as they'd done prior to relocating.  From there, post morning church services, the children would nap on the church pews (after eating a packed lunch) in order to be "fully refreshed" for the evening church service / activities.  When that had concluded, this architect would pack up his clan and return forlornly to Hattiesburg (90 minutes by car).  

And this went on for years.

I can remember how earnest he was as he revealed this to me, and it was obvious he had no regrets therein.  I was left speechless.

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Covenant Eyes has been a lifesaver for Rob.  It's been my digital training pants for a decade now.  

When I consume gay porn, I gravitate to a laptop / desktop PC (I don't have access to a tablet PC).  On the other hand (thankfully), my pocket computer, due to its small scale, simply isn't equivalent.

Covenant Eyes, as a smartphone app, was very recently replaced by their "Victory" app, yet I haven't downloaded this successor program.

Why?

Because of what I admitted to earlier.  My pocket computer is moreso an email management, Slack, weather app, telephone, text messaging device.

And I knew this day was coming.  For as of yesterday, (9/28) my smartphone is unmonitored by CE due to this software phase out / upgrade.

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I'm very fortunate to be able to say that in spite of the countless hours of consuming gay porn, I've never had the urge to imitate / engage in what I was seeing.  Hence, Angie (my wife) is the only individual I've been sexual with.  Ever.  

And even today, with Angie's disabled, broken body as my helpmeet, I still consider the notion of engaging sexually with another man as not of interest in the least.  Conversely, my love for my physically broken wife continues to deepen.  

What this tells me is the following (& I clearly heard this commentary last night post consuming gay porn on my now "unlocked" pocket computer):  There's a huge difference in consuming porn and engaging in homosexual practices.  To be a bit more granular, if I were to encounter the gay porn models who're engaging with each other sexually, I have no doubt that I'd back away heavy hearted.  Not because of me finding myself between a rock and a hard place (sexual identity vs faith in Christ), but due to the abject brokenness / dead end that's there on full display.

Can I daresay that Jesus has clearly reminded (tempered?) me, as of late, that my appetite isn't for homosex between me and some hot guy(s).  Not at all.  And this truth has been amplified / concretized via my - now (thankfully) quite sporadic - consumption of gay porn.  

And not because I've "had my fill" (believe me, I'll never have my fill of gay porn).  No.  Instead, it's due to the very explicit www education I've been given.  One that's allowed me to come to grips with / rigorously adjudicate a practice that's now wholly celebrated / normalized throughout the entire western world.

Can I say wholeheartedly - Thanks be to God for my exposure to / struggle with gay porn?!?  Not only in line with growing my faith but with growing my understanding of myself?

I'm ruminating on these interrogative sentences even as I type this.

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When our two oldest daughters were preschool / toddlers, Angie and I warmed up to the notion of homeschooling.  Especially considering how smart my wife is / her love for our children.  And we jumped headfirst into this even though we had access to great traditional school choices (both public and private) near our home.

As such, when our oldest daughter aged into kindergarten, Angie homeschooled her.  And it went superbly.

But when we attended the homeschool co-op kindergarten graduation ceremony with our 6-year-old in tow, I was immediately struck by the air of entitlement / tremendous lack of diversity (keep in mind this was 2009).  Therefore, by the end of the ceremony, I was equal parts nauseated and livid.  For it simply felt way too much like a white bread Christian fringe group. 

As we were walking across the parking lot upon exiting the church annex, I made it very clear that there'd be no further homeschooling going forward.  From there, I asked Angie to reach out to our assigned public elementary school in order to schedule an audience with the principal (regarding 1st grade).  She did so begrudgingly, but man oh man, God used that meeting to clearly demarcate the educational path forward for our girls. 

Homeschooling, upon our research, looked so appealing.  Noble even.  But once we engaged, we quickly realized the mistake we'd made (for our particular family / identity).

(BTW, if I remember correctly, the aforementioned elder statesmen architect homeschooled their children.)

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I've taken Safari and banished it from my lower level "convenient apps" zone on my pocket computer.  My hope for this week is to simply not browse - at all - on that Internet capable device.  

Can I not piss in the bed sans training pants?  We'll see. 

Here's hoping I can hang tightly to my true identity whilst being tempted.  

I'm not sure what takes longer - finding / accepting one's true identity or recovery in general.  Molasses flow.