I Don't Want To Be Like You / "Can I Truly Respect This Guy?"

Dreaming about my past work as an architect (intern & eventually licensed pro) between '96 and '06 (private sector job) happens often.  And these dreams are so vivid that whilst waking up, I'm so very relieved to no longer bear the burdens I once did (though I really do enjoy the heady emotions brought on by the fantastical revisit).

At that time ('96-'06), I was (almost) fresh out of college, and having never met an architect that I truly wished to emulate / look up to (high school / college experience or otherwise), I gravitated towards the man who hired me for such a time as that.   

He was a decade my senior, though due to our collective youth, still quite young (especially to be a partner within a firm).  

We hit it off immediately, and working under him was a joy.  Not to mention the projects he assigned me to design were challenging and fulfilling to work on.

Eventually though, I grew frustrated with my boss.  Especially as it pertained to who he'd chosen to align himself with (pro relations / spouse).  This mounting bad taste in my mouth only soured further as I couldn't help but observe his personal modus operandi closely (due to proximity).

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My best friend from college also worked at this firm.  In fact, he'd been there just one month prior to Rob coming onboard.  This man was a weird one (what architect isn't?) but overall, no weirder than the colleagues he was now sharing an (branch) office with (I worked in the much larger, main office).  Nonetheless, the original branch office clan of three (two minions and one partner who were there prior to my best friend and I being hired) refused to give much of any respect to my friend.  In essence, he was being singled out and mistreated.

As a result, my friend threw in the towel, doing so once he reached a point of no return.  This occurred around '00 (both of us hadn't been licensed as architects too long).

I remember going to my aforementioned architect boss, there in our main office, on behalf of my friend's situational plight (well in advance of his sudden resignation), only to receive a very glib response.  This infuriated me.  For I knew my friend well enough to know that he'd not be able to continue within such a toxic work environment for much longer.   

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I spent many a shared meal with my best friend from college (primarily during our time together in architecture school).  He was also the best man in my wedding (much to my father's chagrin).  During our fourth year at MSU, we'd also lived together amiably in Evans Hall.  As a result of all this, our mutual respect for each other was unwavering.

My friend had been reared in a complicated home, and his adolescent years had been especially tough, but man, he was a hard worker with a very sharp mind.   

On the other hand, he was weird.  Now, if you were to engage with him today (25 years into the future), almost every facet of that weirdness is no more.  But back then, it was a defining attribute, resonating clearly in regard to how he carried himself. 

Honestly, at first, I pitied him.  That was the initial centerpiece of why I served him as a friend.  And when you choose to ever support someone you truly pity (even if for a season), via a longstanding relationship, it's hard to resist defending them reflexively.

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I feel compelled to remind you that I'm a same-sex attracted man, therefore there's a really good chance that you're not in the same boat that I am.  Hence, this likely won't be, going forward, commentary you can relate to.

When I warm up to (platonic) hetero men, I put that much more emphasis on the following question:  "Can I TRULY respect this guy?"

Why?

I'm convinced it's a result of mirroring.  

In other words, I MUST FEEL CONFIDENT IN POTENTIALLY RECEIVING what I'm setting myself up to divvy out in kind.  And for so many men, especially when they get to know Rob, this is not easy to deliver on.  Nonetheless, when it does occur, I have absolutely no issue following suit.

Also, especially when I was a younger man, I was absolutely convinced that obtaining a mentor, who by definition would follow suit with this reciprocal respect, was of paramount importance / significance.

In closing, there're only two men who I can call friend today who've equally (cross pollination) respected Rob, and one of these is my oldest, aforementioned (college) friend.  And yes, I'm pleased to say that he's still architecting (public realm).

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The takeaway:  Because of my boss' refusal to advocate on behalf of my friend, there at his architecture firm, I subconsciously began to emotionally decouple from the profession as a whole.  For as I stated earlier, he had represented, in the flesh, what I might achieve as my end goal.  

Because this internal decoupling was happening of its own accord, when I resigned from his architecture firm in '06, I felt a myriad of disregulated (very confused) emotions.  Hence, during my "private sector retirement reception" (I had chosen to move into the public sector immediately following), I was speechless throughout the event.  This was beyond awkward for everyone in attendance.       

Lastly, I believe these as of late monthly dreamscapes of architecting past are my mind's attempt to make sense ofl that dysregulation.  For I'd put a tremendous amount of hope (& pressure) in the professional relationship I had with that mentor architect.  In essence, I wanted him to demonstrate what I was very, very compelled to instinctively reciprocate.  When that didn't pan out, I became tremendously conflicted internally in light of what he'd come to represent.  So many years of disillusionment followed.  Disillusionment that I had to fight hard against constantly.  Also, I see now that my chronic consumption of Internet porn at work was exacerbated via this disillusionment.

His choice to not advocate on behalf of my closest friend slowly set in motion a new vocational path forward for Rob.  A path that had nothing to do with the ideal he represented.  

That's a sobering reality.

Do You Dabble In Internet Porn Consumption? If So, Why?

I know I dabble out of habit.  It's like opening the refrigerator door and staring blankly inside for 10-15 minutes.  I do reach inside to pick up CERTAIN items, examining those thoroughly prior to returning them to a shelf.  But I never open these, and certainly don't eat / drink from said containers.  Instead, I simply close the door and walk away once I feel thoroughly bored with myself.

The problem could be rectified immediately if there were a lock on the refrigerator.  For it isn't my appliance.  It belongs to someone else.  I just happen to have access to it during certain windows of time.  But if the owner were to catch me glaring into their durable good, it would be mighty embarrassing.  

Why?

I have a refrigerator of my own.  The difference though is my refrigerator's contents aren't a free-for-all as the aforementioned one is.

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This is me being a rebel.  And I realize it may sound minute to you, but to me, it suffices.  

I don't drink or smoke.  I'm an avid exerciser.  I watch what I eat, and I don't watch TV (nor do I play video games).  My family tithes and gives regularly to a number of causes (including Samson Society).  

It's a mundane existence, therefore why can't I "live a little" (remember, I'm NOT EVEN SNACKING ON ANYTHING I TAKE OUT OF THE FRIG)?  

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So how do I put a stop to this?

I crawled out of bed this morning (very early) and prayed earnestly for help.  We'll see...

Lusting After Buck Rogers Porn

I was one of the few that purchased a movie ticket to see 2001's Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within on the big screen.  And I did so in order to have the experience of viewing a (almost) photorealistic computer-generated film (despite the fact that I'd never played any of the video games).

But very, very few others had the same idea.  As such, it was a box office bomb.  

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In 1979, Buck Rogers in the 25th Century was released in theaters in spite of its origin as a TV pilot.  I vividly remember Darlene taking me to screen it at Meadowbrook Cinema 6 in Jackson when I was 7-years old.

  

When I began to (sexual) fantasize about men during adolescence (beginning around age 12), Gil Gerard eventually became one of my / the masculine archetypes that were prominently cast within my imagined gay porn scripts. 

Taking that into account, what if "imaginative" online tech existed that most anyone could gain access to; tech that could generate photorealistic imagery of Buck Rogers (the character from the '79 TV pilot nee film) engaging in some erotically filmed solo sex?  What if the tech could literally "re-imagine" (& thereby regenerate) a certain scene(s) from this B movie (per the user's direction), utilizing the same set and even supporting cast members to drive home the realism of this sexually explicit, very personalized vision?  To be more specific, what if Twiki (the bipedal robot / Buck's child-like metal sidekick) were also within this solo sex scene but only as a silent, hidden onlooker?

In closing, what if all of this imagery were in the highest definition / resolution possible? 

I could go on, but you get the point.

What if this were possible?

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Every photo, every word, every "thumbs up", every video, every swipe, every second you're utilizing social media is catalogued for social media tech to use to "learn" about you. Social media companies also purchase massive amounts of data about you from most every corporate retailer that you regularly visit.   

The ultimate goal of AI is to monetize the usage of a version of yourself that can "work for you" behind the scenes or ideally alongside.  This essentially would be your twin helper / avatar who seems to know you better than you know yourself.  Your likes / dislikes, your political views, your thoughts on religion, what your prominent relationships look like, your sexually orientation, etc.

Currently, computer chip manufacturers are the most highly valued equities, by far.  Why?  They're touting the creation (design / manufacturing) of chips that can run these AI versions of you and me.  Hence, more and more monies are being funneled into these companies in anticipation of this upgraded hardware / software future. 

The idea (& ultimate goal) being that these avatars would become as ubiquitous as smartphones (think of the fairy, Navi, as an example).  As such, furthering the stranglehold the tech giants have on most every facet of western culture.  

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I did a Google search for "bald muscle hairy men", and I ended up with these:

That was one day ago.  I have no idea who utilized AI to generate these images of "bald, muscle, hairy men", but they were proud enough to publicly post them.  In all honesty, this isn't a far cry from what the characters looked like in Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within back in 2001, and that film had a production budget of $100 million dollars. These stills came from readily available AI software that's currently at everyone's fingertips (costing next to nothing to harness).

Pornographers jump at the chance to exploit the latest and greatest tech to drive their business model forward.  But the biggest roadblock between them and us (consumer) has always been how seemingly impossible it is for them to personalize their smut to the same degree that everything else within our consumer landscape is currently customizable.  

Think about your smartphone / tablet / smart watch for a moment.  Or ordering off of a fast-food menu (online).  Each of these experiences are almost infinitesimally customizable.  Consider too online dating.  And we do this every day under the guise of NORMAL / EXPECTED.  It drives impetuousness and drivel, positioning us as forever shallow and "ADHD".

The creators of today's porn can only give consumers so much control (which in reality, is very little), and even then, most of it is tied directly to the effectiveness of embedded search engines.

Until now.

I predict that within five years, a large percentage of mainstream porn will be AI generated at the beck and call of the user.  And I'm certainly not referring to only still images.

I predict that within ten years, a large percentage of publicly traded entertainment companies will begrudgingly partner with AI software companies.  This partnership will formally make portions of their television / film vaults available for AI to consume / "learn" from.  As a result, much of this will be intentionally / inevitably exploited by AI pertaining to the specific creation of customized porn.  There will be pushback initially regarding this move, but in the end, the consumers' insatiable appetite for smut will win out.

If I'm right, I'll be able to get off by watching Buck ejaculate - somewhere within New Chicago - around 2034 (I'll be 61!). 

I predict that within twenty years, they'll no longer be many folks having intercourse.  Instead, they'll be dreaming up and marinating in AI generated porn (when they're interested in getting off).  Fewer and fewer children will be born.  Our fantasies will become reality thanks to the power and "magic" of AI.

Lagniappe

More lagniappe

Even more lagniappe

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... 

What Does It Mean To "Do The Work"?

I can only speak for myself as a Samson guy whilst answering this question.

Doing the work for Rob is positioning myself in healthy ways to "be seen".  And not by everyone mind you.  Instead, I'm referring to only the select (mostly Samson guys) that I'm interested in bringing in close.   

I've written recently about me identifying with an innate "invisibleness" that's haunted me throughout my life.  Similarly, my wife identifies with this void as well.  It's one of the ties that bind us together as a couple.

Invisibleness is centered around the feeling of (or actuality therein) being dismissed / overlooked / marginalized when you're confident that you shouldn't / don't deserve to be.  The last part of that explanation is centered on you yourself recognizing your own value / understanding it to the nth degree.

Because Samson Society is so very horizontal as an organization, from day one, I've felt comfortable pursuing friendships with men therein.  What I mean by horizontal is the vast majority of Samson guys are involved - & rightly so - due to crisis.  Marital, vocational, personal, spiritual, sexual or some combination. Hence, due to this homogenous trait, there'll never be any semblance of Samson Society attempting to mimic the Rotary Club (no one's there seeking a leg up).  

In light of everyone finding themselves welcomed into the community - literally face down in the dirt - the desperation for help absolutely levels the playing field.  As such, guys like me (desperate to be seen) raise few, if any, suspicions whilst pursuing intimate platonic relationships.  And even if that someone targeted is seemingly far different than I seem to be - at least on the surface.

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Being seen by Samson friends (& otherwise) strategically undermines my desire to consume gay porn.  How?  To answer that question, I firstly must explain the role gay porn plays in Rob's mind.  For me, today, as a 51-year-old, consuming gay porn satiates my need to "be seen" via a technique I've dubbed "bisecting".  

Bisecting is me placing myself within the role of the porn star(s) and basking CONFIDENTLY in the cinematic / photographic attention.  And this is particularly easy to do if these men meet my masculine archetype whilst sufficiently persuading me, as their audience, that their actions are rooted in love / tenderness versus animalistic desire.    

There's a lot to digest there.  But that sums up the role gay porn has paid / continues to pay within my life.  

Now, how might relational accountability via friendships with Samson brothers (or otherwise) strategically undermine my desire to consume this false reality (gay porn)?

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I had to reach a crisis point of my own in order to be positioned to look away long enough (from my gay porn consumption modus operandi) to chart a new path.  And God allowed that to happen in September of 2013 via my job loss from Delta State University.  It was absolutely the best thing that's ever happened to me despite the fact that it was the most painful / emotionally debilitating.

Had that re-positioning (perspective) not occurred, I would have never taken The Path seriously enough to find the slow forward march of recovery at all worthwhile.  

From there, I turned my attention - one Samson guy at a time - towards the pursuit to be seen HEALTHILY.  And oh, the satisfaction in finally finding a worthwhile means to "right this ship" / manage my trauma, etc.

In closing, following The Path is the most selfish of pursuits for it demands constant course correction as you navigate relationships within (& eventually outside of) this community.  What I mean by that is your recovery is of the utmost importance, even far outweighing the long-term cultivation (via commitment) of friendships within this community.  Commitment is for marriage.  Not friendship.  That being said, King David honored Jonathan, his dear friend (whom he loved moreso than any woman), long after his friend's death on the battlefield.  King David did this by acknowledging his legacy via his offspring.  It was a sweet gesture, but it in no way implied that David's love for Jonathan was as intense / relevant as it once was.

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Thank you, dear reader, for your faithfulness to my posts.  You too are part of that strategic undermining of my compulsive sin-laden go-to, and for that, I'll forever be grateful.  I feel seen today - in some small way - thanks to you.

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

Two Pastors & A Parachurch Minister & Their Moral Failings / That Which I Can't Comprehend / Architects Aren't Typically Arsonists

This past Sunday, we had some visitors (new friends) to Lakeside Pres over for lunch.  We had a delightful time, with the primary purpose being introducing their oldest daughter to our youngest (in hopes of brandishing a relational entry point towards Lakeside's youth group).

As we were dialoguing about Lakeside Pres' youth ministry (as our family has come to experience it), the wife of the visiting couple chose to bring up a "creepy" youth pastor she was under the tutelage of when she was a teen.  She went on to say that her commentary regarding this man she'd never divulged even to her husband.  As such, she was visibly tense as a result.

Angie and I then cited our very first youth pastor (back in the '80s) at First Baptist Church Jackson, and his swift termination due to similar behavior(s).  I mentioned too (in general terms) the numerous instances I'd had described to me relative to outright pastoral abuse towards teens.

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When Angie and I were faced with our beloved youth pastor being fired abruptly at First Baptist Church Jackson, we were just old enough (14/15) to understand that something terrible must have gone down to warrant this.  Everyone loved Rick.  He was incredibly approachable, a capable Bible teacher, etc.   

The powers-that-be, in response, then hired a female youth pastor to replace him.  I can't help but believe that her having a vagina and breasts gave those decision-makers some peace of mind going forward.  

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Immediately following my graduation from college in 1995 (Mississippi State University's School of Architecture), I was invited to join a Young Business Leaders' (Jackson) Bible study.  I did so, but the small group I ended up in didn't have legs.  From there, I drifted away from this local parachurch ministry until the Executive Director wooed me to return (4-5 years later).  

I was delighted to then sit weekly with this Executive Director within a new Bible study group made up of 5-6 local Christian men (all of which were new faces to me).  I was a good bit older (& wiser), therefore my appreciation for said group had shifted immensely.  

This ED was incredibly approachable, a very capable Bible teacher, etc. (he reminded me of Rick, the disgraced youth pastor, in many ways).

Sadly, it was the August 2015 Ashley Madison hack / exposure that eventually preempted this parachurch minister's termination from Young Business Leaders.  

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During the fall of 2010, the then youth pastor at Lakeside Pres (he was terminated in January 2012 / last day August of that same year) came to me for support relative to his online "porn addiction".  

Though I'd never heard the phrase "porn addiction", it scared the hell out of me.  Especially in light of it coming from the lips of our youth pastor (who came across as a genuinely nice guy).  

Keep in mind that our oldest daughter, at this time, was seven, therefore our children weren't YET under this youth pastor's guise.

A few months after his request / confession to Rob, this younger man was placed on probation by Lakeside Pres' elders (they weren't privy to his "porn addiction"), giving him six months to "right the youth ministry ship" (he never did).

From there, he took another youth pastorate position (within another state) which only lasted a few weeks before his termination there.

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All three of these pastors / ministers were sidelined (at least partially) by sexual sin.  

I was thinking, thinking, thinking last night about these men (particularly the last two because they're more recent).  It's important to note that the only one I'm still in touch with is the latter.  He and I chat every week.  

Those this may sound like a weird statement, I'm going to declare it.  I believe these men were somehow feeding off of their rebellious / morally corrupt behavior for a distinct emotional purpose.  It's just that I've no real understanding of what was being fed or how.  For them to be M Divs (Master of Divinity) throughout (or at least working towards) is what's so bizarre / counterintuitive from the standpoint of attempting to understand why they were so needy to begin with.

My still friend (who I chat with weekly), I believe, attempts to drown out what's left of his (years later) regret relative to what he risked losing (which he eventually did) in order to obtain that which I couldn't back then nor still can't comprehend.  

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In closing, I'm convinced that certain men (no matter their chosen vocation) have powerful drivers that put them in harm's way in order to feel - a certain way.  

My friend used to talk about feeling "anything" as his ultimate goal (which I used to chalk up to a cop out).  

Was that the end goal?  Intensely feeling a certain way?  If so, how did the emotional life of these men become so lobotomized to begin with?  Especially in light of them pursuing the pastorate.   

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One final thought (& this may sound ridiculous):

None of these three men were Associate / Senior Pastors at a church I was a member of.  Typically, the Youth Pastor position is a steppingstone to these.  As such, these men's true colors were exposed therein (before gaining access to more responsibility / influence via a higher position).  

Parachurch ministries, in my opinion, don't equate to church.  Hence, though those men may believe themselves to be pastors, they are not.    

I'm so fortunate to have befriended / been ministered to by numerous pastors / assistant pastors throughout my life.  These were men (& women) who simply didn't have this default impropriety that reeked such havoc within the lives of their peers. 

Nonetheless, each of these remain within the same plane hierarchically.  All had value for such a time as that.

Wrestling Away Control / Rob Can't Be Trusted

I obtained a new desktop PC at work, and taking into consideration how well things are going as of late - in general - I'm prone to celebrate by consuming some gay Internet porn.

Yet, my newly appointed Covenant Eyes Ally has been informed (by me) of the arrival of this new desktop PC.  Plus, I assured him that I'd install Covenant Eyes soon thereafter (which I have).  

But, oh my goodness, how I wanted to take a half hour or so (or more) and see what might pop up if I searched for "Hairy muscle men gay porn", utilizing this zippy, brand-spanking new processor.  

Yesterday, I had one of our vehicles serviced, and regrettably, I chose to wait for the service to be completed (it took MUCH LONGER than anticipated).  After lunch, one of the young mechanics moseyed into the waiting room to refill his Yeti (I was close to being comatose on the cheap leather sofa), and I immediately became enthralled by his physical beauty.  I'd brought my Bible, and had been reading it on and off throughout my moratorium, but the text was no match for this Adonis.  All in all, it was quite a gift to have a few moments with this young man.

Hence, I could have - today - searched for "Hot mechanic gay porn" as well in order to have the Internet fully exploit (take advantage of?) my memorable encounter.  But, I chose not to, knowing all along that, thanks to Covenant Eyes, I'm not isolated / alone with my thoughts on my new desktop PC.

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I spoke to one of my Silees at length yesterday, (7/6) morning whilst waiting on my vehicle, and he was telling me of an encounter he had with multiple beautiful women who were grocery shopping in string bikinis (with thong bottoms) where he & his wife live on the East Coast.  

This guy admires hot women as much as I do hot guys.  And thanks to the Internet, as a follow-up to his encounter, he could just as easily have searched for "Hot MILF string bikini grocery shopping", and the Internet would oblige - no questions asked.

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Thanks be to God for Covenant Eyes.  Otherwise, I'd be screwed.  For I do not need to be consuming gay Internet porn.  Even for +/-30 minutes to "christen" my new PC.

Welcome Back, Addict

Addict isn't a moniker I use often, but I'm beginning to warm up to it more and more these days.  And this is because I'm beginning to understand what differentiates an addict from everyone else.  My first Silas dubbed himself a "porn addict", and this was +/-15 years ago (well before either of us had even heard of Samson Society).  He described his use of porn akin to brushing his teeth each day in spite of his role as our church's Youth Pastor.  The experience brought him absolutely zero remorse / guilt.  Instead, it was his go-to for that dopamine hit - time & time again.

This man's vocation (spiritual conspicuousness) suffered tremendously as a result, but just as much, his laziness was to blame.  At the time, his sweet wife was more than willing to run their household (they had three small children) while he committed himself to "down time" (Internet porn, online video games, and obsessive Alabama football fandom).  Too, this friend was one of the first to purchase an iPhone (for both he & his wife), making it that much easier to follow through with his MO whilst sitting on his rear end.

But back then, I simply couldn't stomach the word addict combined with Internet porn.  Even if our then Youth Pastor felt no remorse towards his prolific sin.  Instead, what I saw was an enabling combined with nomenclature justification.  Regarding the former, it came from both his wife and his employer (our church), not to mention the culture (ease of access / overall smugness towards porn) and technology itself.

And regarding the latter, I believe he also exploited the term in order to justify his chronic use of Internet porn to that much a greater degree.  So, I truly don't believe he - in particular - was ever addicted to porn.  

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But what about the "porn addict" who's not an enabled lazy bum?  What if he's instead a hyper-involved, overly responsible community servant who just happens to use a steady stream of porn to jack off to regularly?  Add to those descriptors his struggle with general anxiety disorder combined with a markedly different pre-Christian "life" (narrative) than post-Christian.

What about this guy?  Is he truly addicted?

To answer this question, you must know that this guy has recently been introduced to a weekly Samson Society (virtual), and as such, he's routinely involving himself in a 30+ member group of seasoned Samson guys.  And this ongoing experience has rocked his world.  He feels like he's found Xanadu, and the communal blessings therein continue to bolster his fortitude against his private vice.

And this is so much so that this guy's even signed up for this fall's 2022 National Samson Society retreat (having only been involved in the Samson community for a few months).   

As a result, his private behaviors have become much more intentionally not regarding sexual sin (because in his mind, they're no longer private, thanks to his virtual Samson community).  To add to that, he's even beginning to recognize how his behavior impacts (even if it's the tiniest bit) the community he's now found himself a part of.  And this motivates him to stop seeing himself as singular / lonely / isolated / removed / pariah.  Thanks be to God.

I have no idea if this guy is an addict.  The jury is still out.

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A couple of three weeks ago, an old friend telephoned me out of the blue.  I first connected with this guy decades ago whilst architecting.  From our very first juncture, I was absolutely intrigued by this dude.  He was handsome, intelligent, articulate yet so very reserved and formal, almost to the point of Victorian.  At the time, I'd no idea what it meant for anyone - much less someone like him - to be so deeply ashamed of your / their past.  Therefore, I didn't recognize it, or if I did, I chose not to see it.  Instead, I just assumed he was wired a bit differently than most (if not everyone else I'd met up to that point in time).

Alcoholism is / has been quite the destructive force within my old friend's ancestry.  He once told me that his parents chose to marry due to their "compatibility" relative to drinking (they were drinking buddies).  He also shared that at one point during his childhood (growing up in Yazoo City), he and his sister found themselves going door to door, pleading with their tone-deaf neighbors to intervene back at their home.  He went on to say that he and sis desperately feared that their father would beat their mother to death, all in a fit of alcohol-fueled rage.  Hence, their motivation to forlornly seek help. 

It was during my old friend's grad school days (in Iowa) where life for him truly went off the rails.  So much so that were it not for his mother's instinctual rescue, he'd likely have ended up dead.  Alcohol played a sizable role therein.

Yesterday, he spent an hour or so with me here at the house.  By his account, he's +/-100 days sober.  Regular AA meetings combined with his sponsor combined with group and individual therapy sessions are critically important for him to stay sober.  Even today, as a mid 50s man, he's monetarily / emotionally dependent on his mother.  Yet, he's at peace with that lack of autonomy, knowing full well how destructive his alcohol-fueled - independent - forays can be.  

In my opinion, this old friend is most definitely an addict.  For it is a chemical substance he's craving.  One that's administered via drink.  I welcome him with open arms back into my life.  Thanks be to God.

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What drew me to viewing Internet porn at work, eventually leading to my termination from Delta State University in September of 2013?  First off, up to that point in time (& even whilst living in Cleveland), I only had readily available access to gay porn at work.  That combined with so much of my behavior being fueled by intense curiosity, relative to what the Internet had in store for me, partially answers the aforementioned question.  Beyond that, it eventually became apparent that consuming gay porn at work had become a risk-taking adventure.  An adventure that drew me in as much as the salacious imagery itself. 

For it's through risk-taking that I experience tangible feelings of masculinity.  Especially if the risk-taking behavior is externally non-descript (shockingly out of character) yet internally capricious.  Viewing gay porn (of all things for a married, Christian man to be looking at!) fit the bill perfectly in that regard.  

Now, that being said, I experienced tremendous amounts of guilt for both wasting my employers' time and risking the destruction of my Christian witness (I wrote about this extensively on my many years now defunct personal blog).  Also, gay porn's draw to me was definitely proportional to how uninterested in my work I happened to be.  In essence, monotony / fatigue did me no favors in this regard.  

Therefore, I most definitely wasn't an addict.  I was / am more like my former Youth Pastor friend.

I was curious, bored whilst languishing over the sin-laden rush I'd receive via my masculine-feeling ruse.  It was as simple as that.

Recommended Reading - How The Internet Ate A Young Man Alive

 Josh Duggar Sentenced to 12.5 Years in Prison for Child Pornography (insider.com)

As a society, we love to witness others suffer.  And this is especially true of us as westerners.  For we are fiercely independent, existing in a world that's customizable to the nth degree.  As such, we cannot help but find solace in patting ourselves on the back whilst observing our peers make more and more mistakes. 

And this is especially true online.  For the Internet represents the ultimate in nuanced freedom.  So long as you know how to marginally utilize a browser, anything you can dream up will be at your fingertips in a split second.

Hence, you end up with scads of blokes like this one.  

And we're supposed to slowly shake our heads and breathe a sigh of relief now that he's headed for over a decade to prison.

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Why is illegal porn available online?  Why is it possible to download illegal imagery at all?  

I can't get my hands on arsenic.  And I believe that's because it's a colorless, odorless poison that I could use to kill with.  That makes sense.

Why can someone's employer provide them with a computer that can access illegal pornographic imagery?  Why isn't the employer liable to any degree here or perhaps the PC manufacturer?  

Why doesn't anyone really give a shit about men like this Duggar boy and his now completely fucked up life?

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There is nothing we westerners desire more than maintaining our individual privileges, rights and status quo.  For we are a - by default - intrinsically self-focused people.  A people too busy planning our next vacation, landscaping our yards, adopting yet another mutt from the animal shelter, or aborting our burdensome, mistaken offspring. 

Let this be a warning to you dear reader:  You too can be demonized someday just as Mr. Duggar is.  The Internet is on the prowl, looking to eat its next victim alive.  

Best Quality Porn Is Mainstream(ed) Porn - Look No Further Than Netflix

The first time I had the privilege of serving as a Covenant Eyes' accountability partner for another man was +/-10 years ago.  And this experience was stressful to say the least.  For this man was a pastor yet also a heavy, heavy, heavy Internet user.  And back then, Covenant Eyes offered little to no insight to us - so called accountability partners - regarding the emotional pragmatics relative to managing the implied responsibility baked into our roles.

I remember specifically reaching my apex of stress when I received a Covenant Eyes' weekly report that had line-itemed the pilot episode of one particular (thinly veiled) Starz porn series.  From there, I did some presumptuous clicking, and was in awe of what my friend had consumed.  

For this was Hollywood-grade porn.  And I'd never seen anything of the sort.

First and foremost, its top-tier production values made for an extraordinarily fantastical video.  I can remember seeing so many stunningly beautiful breasts.  So many simulated orgy scenes.  So many gang rape scenes.  And on and on.  And the actors throughout were extraordinarily beautiful.  The breasts were gorgeous.  The asses were perfect.  The faces attached to the breasts and asses were so pretty and handsome.  

And of course, the sound and lighting and camera angles, and on and on...all of it exponentially increased the merit (& impact) of these mainstream porn productions.

It all left me breathless and speechless.  But then I began to wonder - who would participate in such productions?  For this was no doubt porn.

What I discovered was the director, Mr. Sam Raimi (Spider-Man movies), had used his notoriety coupled with an overseas filming location & subsequent casting call to make these mainstream porn films with ease.

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An old Samson friend lost his second marriage as a result of hiding his "Pay Per View" cable bill from his then wife.  They had separate checking accounts, therefore he'd use a portion of his retirement pension income to foot the thousands of dollars in "Pay Per View" fees each month.  Comcast provided my friend with similar "high quality" (& discreet) porn viewing experiences that he wholeheartedly embraced - month after month after month.  That is, until one day, his then wife happened to come across a rogue Comcast cable bill that was unaccounted for.  And it was all downhill from there.

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Today, we have Netflix.  And Netflix even provides its subscribers with a ranking of what's popularly streamed in glorious high definition - at any hour of the day.

Take a few minutes to read this and this.  

Please, for God's sake, delete your Netflix subscription and cancel your CATV service.  Stop supporting these publicly-traded companies.  They're worthless garbage.  All they're concerned with is making their shareholders $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$, and they know mainstream porn is one of the easiest ways to keep audiences tuned into their screens.

If you're bored at home, read a book, plant a garden, walk your dog, paint a watercolor, write a blog, exercise, sing, dance, memorize scripture, call an old friend, write a letter, take up woodworking, repaint some furniture, learn a second language.  

White Hot Heart(s)

Using other men as a conduit to emote.  Similar to music.  [Those are the notations I made in advance of writing out this post.  If I don't take notes, me will forget where I'd like to take the narrative.]

A young Samson guy who took to Samson Society like a duck to water used to describe how emotionally overwhelming attending meetings was for him.  And what he was referring to wasn't empathy but actual emoting.  Efficient, expedient emoting unlike any he'd experienced prior (except maybe whilst engaging in sex with is girlfriend / wife).

This young professional found the meetings provided him with a setting and therefore means to emote.  And emote he did.  All manner of emoting.  In fact, his emoting went from one end of spectrum to the other and back again (throughout the tenure of our friendship and his relation to our local Samson Society groups).  It was like releasing the Kraken.  No doubt a marvel to behold.  

It's important to note that this Samson guy didn't happen to struggle with same sex attraction, but otherwise he reeked of gayness.  And not necessarily in his mannerisms but mostly within his demeanor / outlook / temperament.  And others besides me had corroborated this to him directly.  Gay men are typically highly intelligent and articulate, therefore they're often hyper-critical relative to their outlook on just about everything around them.  This Samson guy was like that to a tee, yet he was immensely straight.  To the point of often being in anguish if he found himself out of step with the expectations of the women (mother, sisters, work colleagues, wife, daughter) in his life.  Hence, in a way, he was sorta super-straight.

There are those gay men who're out there who fall into the category of generally (averaging relational time) miserable to be around.  He could at times be one of those guys.  Nonetheless, it was very cool seeing him find such emotional challenge from the meetings and all the positive relationships that developed as a result.  For this was a dude who relished a challenge, and obviously Samson Society (meetings & otherwise) provides ample opportunity for those inclined.  As such, I loved having him with us for such a time as that.

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For Rob, the act of emoting through another guy first occurred when I was in high school.  It was whilst working at Chick-A-Fil in Northpark Mall back in the '80s.  As an only child, I'd little experience developing consistent relationships with other boys / young men except for my cousins (who mostly lived within other regions of the state). 

But at age 15, whilst acquiring my first part-time gig frying chicken, all that began to change.  

As a newbie at the Chick, I mostly passed out fried chicken samples week after week for hours on end.  But eventually, after surviving that initiation, I began learning the actual ropes, and those consisted of running a cash register, breading / frying chicken (in the "Henny Pennys") and unloading the weekly foodstuffs brought in on various delivery trucks.  The latter of which was the most difficult for I was a lean, completely nonathletic teenager who weighed all of 125 lbs. (with a 29" waist).

During this period of my life, I was so ashamed / embarrassed of my lean physique that I refused to present myself semi-nude in public, therefore that meant no swimming and absolutely no showering with or around other guys (hence, my affinity for being a member of the marching band).

For I felt my body would make for an easy target of any other guy (or girl) who might choose to point out my exceptional leanness as an act of cruelty.  Therefore, I refused to provide them with the opportunity.  Perhaps this was cowardice on my part, but nonetheless, it worked to keep me from being bullied.

On the flip side of that, I quickly began elevating certain young men who no doubt did not (& rightly so) have this same hang up.

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The private high school I attended in Madison was small.  We only graduated, in 1990, a mere 45 students.  But there was one of those young men (a classmate) who'd haunt me with his athletically built physique.  For I'd no courage whatsoever to attempt to befriend this classmate (which no doubt would have helped to defuse the situation).  And this is really where my penchant for homosexual lust went off the rails.  Not only was this classmate a varsity baseball and football player, but he was exceptionally shy and reserved.  So much so that I don't know I ever heard him say more than a few words during 10th - 12th grade.  He was that quiet.

And, of course, this only made it easier for me to take advantage of him within my sinful thought life, seeing how he was such the mystery man to all of us.

I cannot tell you how many times I begged God to forgive me for engaging in lustful fantasies that involved this dude (& plenty of others).

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My senior year of private academy high school saw me friendless, and I was okay with that.  I was excited about heading off to college the following year, knowing that I'd be leaving all of my "dumbass" classmates behind.  My two best friends were a year older than I, therefore they'd both "flown the coop" - one now enrolled at a university in TN and another in CO - the year prior.  

So, I was alone and now working more and more hours at the Chick in the mall (which I sheepishly enjoyed).  For it all felt so very adultish.

And then an older, Christian guy showed up at the Chick, and I knew he was a Christian because he quietly reeked of the fruits of the Spirit (which I was then privy to), and he was a seminary student at Reformed Theological Seminary in Jackson.

The latter obviously made him a lot older than I was - likely mid-20s.  And this guy was physically built like a man.  I even moreso took note of this because he could execute physically demanding tasks twice as fast than I could.  Tasks such as mopping the dining room, behind the counter, kitchen or unloading the aforementioned delivery truck, and so forth.  I've never seen such stamina / work ethic.

But despite his physical age seniority to me, he refused to look down on me or question my role as "crew chief" (his superior).  I appreciated this for I'd years of chicken tenure (!) under my belt that he did not.  

Therefore, when he would be assigned to work with me during night shifts (there'd be three of us that would close up the restaurant at 9 PM), I would breathe that much easier.  For he was literally the ideal crew member - efficient, hard-working, respectful and kind.  The embodiment of what I aspired to be - someday - as a man.

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One noteworthy (to me) Saturday, this Christian seminary student (Dale was his name) had been assigned to my crew of three to eventually close up the restaurant, and as was typical for Saturdays when I'd work, my shift usually began around 1 PM in the afternoon.  As such, those days were typically long, exhausting endurance runs for teenage Rob at the Chick.  But, knowing Dale was there to assist me at close, that allowed me to breathe easier for he literally could expedite the work of two men with ease. 

And on that day, thankfully, the daytime hours went off without a hitch as did our closing regimen.  But something, for me at least, happened that night which unexpectedly awoken my senses to who I might very well be and how I was truly weirdly wired as a man.  

Like every other night where Dale was assigned to my closing crew, he volunteered to oversee the cleaning of "the red floor".  This verbiage referred to the dining room.  For during the 1980s, the dining rooms of Chick-A-Fil restaurants (all of which at this time were located inside of shopping malls) had glossy red ceramic tile (herringboned patterned) flooring.  Therefore, Dale had the responsibility of thoroughly cleaning this space (empty trash, clean / sanitize tables & chairs & garbage cans, sweep & mop "red floor").  And arguably on Saturday nights, this space was the filthiest, having endured a weekend day of steady usage from breakfast to dinner.  

As I was working towards double-checking all of our now completed work (by now it would have been around 9:40 PM), I surprisingly encountered Dale shirtless in the kitchen.  Immediately before that, I'd made my way to the electrical panel and switched off the house lights, therefore only the few remaining night fluorescent troffers were left illuminated throughout the front and back of the restaurant.  In looking back, this brown out had obviously given him the signal that I was satisfied and ready for us to depart, but too, it had provided him with somewhat of a veil of darkness to utilize to change clothes.

It took me a second, but eventually I realized he was simply quietly changing out of his Chick-A-Fil uniform shirt and into something else.  Perhaps for a late night date or meetup.  For I'd never had that experience before.

And then the three of us all left together with me ensuring the back door locked itself behind us.

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I've thought an awful lot about that night since then.  And here's what I know.

Though it's never easy to admit to, there are times in everyone's life when they are vulnerable to exploitation by individuals who're usually older / wiser / savvier than we are.  And mostly, on average, that vulnerability happens during our childhood years in tandem with us elevating someone within our minds.  As you can see here, based on what I've described of my private self-loathing (& the internal sin-laden self-medication I was administering as a result), it was during my high school years when I was in this isolated, critical position.  

Dale was one (if not the one) of the most ideal men I'd ever encountered.  Plus, he was a Christian.  And, on top of that, he had an enviable body & face (which I had the privilege to see firsthand) to match that humble, gentle spirit.  

It wouldn't have taken hardly any effort on his part to position himself in order to serendipitously take advantage of this young, very confused high school student (Rob).  But he chose not to.  Instead, he not only gave to me a stellar example of Christ through his work ethic / demeanor / character, but he also did so by trusting me with his own thoughtful decision to be appropriately vulnerable (the brief shirtless episode).  

Now, you may believe that as an adult I've romanticized this childhood event, and I cannot not agree with you on some level.  But, you cannot completely dismiss that what he chose to do by removing his shirt there in the kitchen - versus the men's room - must have had at least an inkling of intentionality behind it.  And for me, that decision made all the difference.  For it demonstrated trust.  And this is what I'd always longed to actually marinate in (outside of fantasy).  For it validated something in me like nothing else had prior.  And as a result, it seemingly started up an engine (idle speed) which eventually, after many additional years, trials, therapists, and Samson Society found its cruising RPM.

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Over the past month, I'd had numerous individuals comment on my physique.  Both men and women.  Most of these reactions had to do with either clothes I was wearing that accentuated my 48-year old, 196 lb, build or a lack of clothes thereof (whilst out running in the summer heat).  To experience this trend literally causes me to feel like the young Samson friend I mentioned at the beginning of this post.  Emotionally overwhelmed.  

But one antidote to those feelings is to take myself back to that night at the Chick which I've attempted to describe here.  That night where I felt I saw my ideal future self seemingly inside somewhat of a mysterious stranger.

For by doing so, I can recalibrate my heart towards the man who firstly demonstrated to Rob what he (me) might very well become.     

Thanks Dale.  Wherever you are, I love you.  For I owe you a whole lot.  And just so you know, there is a portion of me that believes you may very well have been my guardian angel.

Click Here To Ruin Your Life (& The Life Of Your Family) In A Split Second / "Men_In_Jock_Straps"

My mother adores Spring because it's go time for her to host all manner of garden parties at her abode.  And you must know that her garden is one of those Martha Stewart affairs, but it's at its most Martha Stewarty during the season of blooms.  Ms. Stewart would be so impressed with the perfectness of it all. 

One of Darlene's signature garden party beverages is mint tea.  This is essentially sweet tea combined with ginger ale and fruit juice / mint.  It's so sweet that it will literally put you in a diabetic coma.

And the garden party women love this punch-like tea, though most can only stomach one small glass because not only is it super sweet, but the carbonation bloats you instantly.  In fact, if you down it too fast, you'll surely belch like a drunk sailor.  And, of course, this isn't what Martha Stewart would approve of, therefore the bulk of this elixir typically comes to our office for Rob to consume post-garden party.

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An old Samson friend has seemingly found his feet at a local, family-owned (via one of his long-time friend's) gig that's serving his skillset well.  He and I caught up a few weeks back, and I came away relieved that he'd finally turned a corner relative to his very longstanding vocational woes.  

My only concern is whether his past will creep back in and somehow torpedo the situation.  For based on what he described to Rob, he's been handed a sizable amount of independence there.  Independence that could very well be his undoing.  Again.

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I came across this YouTube video of a late-night TV show earlier this week:  

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Self control isn't equally divvied out amongst human beings.  And it's especially unequivocal amongst the younger crowd.  

The World Wide Web provides a private browsing experience that's infinitely vast and varied.  And as such, it can instantly be catered to your own personal whims, interests for better or for worse.  

Of course, all of this wouldn't be such child's play were it not for search engines which give us the ability to instantaneously queue up whatever we imagine typing in.

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After a few days of downing mint tea during this past workweek, I became convicted that I've no longer the metabolism of a younger man.  Therefore, the excess sugar I was ingesting surely wasn't going to do my 48-year old waistline any favors.  

Yet, this delectable drink is such the prescriptive equivalent of liquid catharsis.  How could I now refuse its historical culinary "relevance", for I've been overclocking my pancreas by ingesting it for decades now?  

Perhaps drinking smaller and smaller quantities over the course of each day might serve as a compromise?  Or, should I simply pour it all down the drain, and instead pretend that it never showed up at the office to begin with (without telling Darlene)?

It must be poured out on Monday.

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Incest amongst siblings does occur at times.  Older brothers / sisters (bio or step) may just take advantage of their younger sisters / brothers out of curiosity / boredom / hormones.  Considering the fact that everybody's living together under one roof, and particularly within large (bio or blended) families, sexual abuse amongst siblings is a risk factor to be wary of.

I can vividly remember hopping in bed in the buff with my babysitter's (a neighbor) oldest daughter, Dianne.  She and I were both in elementary school at the time (same grade), and the game we were playing was called "Being Married".  We both knew just enough about the marriage bed to know that husband / wife may just take it upon themselves to sleep sans clothing.

A year or so later, I divulged this "Being Married" game to my dad whilst crying tears of shame.  For I'd held this secret close for quite many months.  His response was as follows:  "Did you happen to put your wiener between her legs?"

I repudiated in disgust.  As a then 9/10-year old, the thought of that made me want to vomit.  Plus, his logic for asking that particular question simply didn't compute.

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My old friend with the aforementioned (somewhat newish) gig also nonchalantly assured me during our dialogue that his computer was being monitored by Covenant Eyes there at his desk (he claims to have installed it himself).  But on the other hand, he also indirectly volunteered that his supervisors (including the owner) have openly demonstrated to him quite the cavalier approach to using their own office PCs for "fun & relaxation" - on occasion - versus work related usage.  My eyes grew wide upon hearing this.

Therefore, essentially, they've demonstrated poor judgment for him to perhaps follow suit.

And in time, he may very well.

The problem is, my friend has a criminal record.  Therefore, he's just one small step away from landing himself in jail were he to make a split-second poor choice with said workplace PC.  And that may sound overly critical of me to say, but my own story impresses upon me still.

And these type fears do keep me up at night.  For I care deeply about my friend.

And I despise this world that we live in, but specifically as it relates to the monster that is the World Wide Web.

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Late night TV used to be broadcast late at night (before YouTube brought "free" content to us 24/7/365).  Hence, the content was catered towards adults since broadcast TV fell under federal broadcast regulatory standards.  Growing up, my 'rents never watched late night talk shows, for they / we were in bed usually around 9:30 or 10 PM.

I can vividly remember sleeping at my deceased grandmothers (around the age of 12) in the same room with one of my - also now deceased - uncles and one or two of his sons (my cousins). I believe I was sleeping in a rollaway bed and they were piled into a convertible couch / bed setup.  

My uncle insisted on watching TV 'till late into the night, therefore I couldn't fall asleep.  His last late-night show finally concluded around 11:30 PM, upon which time the TV was (thankfully) turned off.

The clip I posted above was eye-opening to Rob earlier this week.  So much so in fact that it really tested my resolve relative to doing some World Wide Web searches for "men in jock straps".

Wouldn't that have been a fun rabbit hole to fall down in?

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A young man with a whole lotta kidlets was in the news this week.  You likely read about it.  He and his siblings are reality television celebrities and have been for a number of years now.  

He resides in Arkansas (I believe), and was arrested this week for downloading child pornography from the World Wide Web.  He's accused of doing this at work.  Federal agents made the arrest and seized the computer hardware at his place of employment.

As a boy, he'd been caught sexually abusing some of his siblings, therefore if he's guilty of downloading child porn, it would be in line with his well documented past mistakes.

What's being reported is he had no unmonitored / unfiltered World Wide Web access at home, yet at work, he was vulnerable.  Just as we all are, but refuse to see it that way.

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My employer (Delta State University) terminated me back in 2013 for breaking their IT policy, and my goodness, you would have thought I had set fire to the entire campus based on their reaction to both what I'd browsed to on occasion (during my 12-month tenure there) as well as what I'd posted (on my then personal blog) 30-days prior to the initial meeting with my superiors.

Regarding the latter, my last blog post was titled "In the Company of Pedophiles", and the content of this succinct post (per my recollection) compared me to pedophiles due to my penchant for consistently returning to gay porn consumption via the World Wide Web.  Per my knowledge of male pedophiles (who prey on boys), many utilize gay porn as a means to lure / exploit / prey upon their victims in anticipation of an assault.  

Despite the fact that I'd never committed an act of pedophilia, I considered myself to be just as despicable, for simply consuming gay porn via the World Wide Web.  This is no doubt a stretch, but you must realize, I was at my wits' end, desperate for help at the time.  And this was my way of digitally/ publicly self-flagellating.  

The Jerry Sandusky debacle had occurred in the northeast a few years prior to this, therefore universities, in particular, were on edge relative to both the risk of legal ramifications as well as bad press from so called faculty / administrative "bad apples".

And I was singled out as one of those potential "bad apples" due to my willingness to be as explicitly vulnerable / stupid as I was being.  And of course, it didn't help that I was a gay man married to a woman with three small children.  Rob = Freak.

And btw, I too (like Mr. Duggar) only had unfiltered / unmonitored World Wide Web access available to me ON WORK PROVIDED DEVICES (DESKTOP PC / CELLPHONE) throughout my tenure at Delta State University.

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Eventually, employers are going to have to become liable for what individuals who work for them can access via their company provided Internet-connected devices.  

When I stepped out of architecture school in 1995 with my beautiful, hard earned diploma, I wasn't equipped nor was I expecting to have to someday deal with the slippery slope that is the World Wide Web (available on my office PC).  What I did know was (& was prepared to do) I would have to use a PC all day to draw (AutoCad), and therein, I was equipped to handle that.

Therefore, for many of us, the availability of this bottomless pit of smut on our work computers is simply unreasonable.  Ridiculous.  Stupid.  

Too many lives are being ruined (including entire families of those convicted) by this nonsensical death trap / monster called the World Wide Web.

It's time to remove access to the smut via the World Wide Web from the workplace.  It's a jobsite hazard that's putting too many people at unnecessary risk.  Segregate it.  Put it behind a paywall.  Whatever.  Just do it now in order to save additional individuals from so much heartache.