Jesus Loves Boobs

Northpark Mall in Ridgeland, MS was such the petri dish of maturation throughout my teenage years.  I spent hours upon hours there from ages 15-19 frying chicken at Chick-A-Fil on the second floor (right down from Dillard's).  The years were 1988-1991, and at that time, this particular MS mall was almost at its heyday.   

Spencer Gifts was downstairs from the Chick during this initial Northpark era, and this is where I began to discreetly obtain a collection of sexy greeting cards / calendars.  The photos therein were of muscular, handsome men posing / being photographed in order to capture / capitalize on their masculine beauty.  It was these photos that served as Rob's sexual fantasy reserve.  

Today, Spencer Gifts is located within an adjacent wing of Northpark Mall.  I was reminded of this Wednesday, (8/21) whilst walking down memory lane (& returning some clothes to Dillard's).  

On the Spencer Gifts' storefront was a T-shirt design that read "I Love Boobs!" (the word "Love" was a heart symbol).

I immediately was taken aback (which was the whole point of the display) for I couldn't imagine such a storefront during the late 1980s.  

But hey, this is 2024.

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When I run, I almost always wear a tank top.  I do this because it's a shirt that I wrestled mightily with wearing years prior.  Mucho shame had to be overcome.  But now, I find them to be my go-to for the gym, running. They're comfortable and a reminder of the importance of milestoning small victories.   

Our 'hood is filled with retirees, and they're out and about constantly walking their dogs.  One man (former runner) I encounter often (whilst exiting / re-entering our 'hood from a 5K run).  Years ago, I noticed how subtlety taken aback this mid 60s retiree reacts whenever I raise one of my arms (as if to scratch my head / wipe my eyes / point at a bird passing over) if and when we've paused to chat. For when I do this, he can't help but be exposed to / get a clear view of the defined / sculpted muscle mass within my shoulders / upper arms.  

My grandfather (dad's dad) died when my father was 9-years-old.  He was a chain smoker and was dead in his early 40s from lung cancer.  If you look at photos of the man, you can clearly see the broadness of his shoulders.  Bizarrely, he was +/-20 years younger than his oldest brother, therefore all of his siblings (he had three older brothers) looked more like grey-templed uncles than siblings.

As I began to strength train during my mid-30s (I'm in my early 50s today), I would have guys comment to me regarding my shoulders / upper arms and how muscular they were becoming.  I would immediately dismiss this affirmation on the surface, despite my knowing that it was absolutely in line with my Turner genetics.

My father's youngest brother (who was one of three of his brothers), being just one generation away from Joe Ware Turner, Sr. (my long since lung cancer deceased grandfather) absolutely received that same stocky upper-body build.  

And now there's me (along with one of my cousins).  

There's beauty there.  Plain & simple.  Not to everyone, mind you.  But certainly, to some.

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At Lakeside Pres, Pastor Tyson has been slowly marching us through the gospel of Matthew Sunday after Sunday after Sunday.  We're now close to wrapping it up, therefore he recently preached on Jesus being anointed via perfumed oil via his friendgirl Mary.  If you've never read the passage (chapter 26), I'd encourage you to do so.  

Never would a Protestant pastor insinuate the sensuousness of this tale, but if you read it from that point of view, it's undeniable.

Did Jesus appreciate the breasts of Mary as they brushed against him during this ritual?  Was his reaction therein what perpetuated the callous criticism of the whole affair?  Did he feel his cock getting erect as the liquid flowed from the alabaster flask?  

He had to have been so very pleased with himself for creating breasts to begin with as her bosom brushed his upper body throughout this whole scandalous / selfless affair.  

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(Some) Boobs really are beautiful.  

We've been so pleased to see a tenured couple recently returned to our church, and both have lost substantial weight whilst away.  As a result, the wife's breasts are decidedly smaller.

When they were members years prior, she'd often wear attire that "celebrated" her beautiful boobs.  I can remember on several occasions being stunned by her Sunday morning look.  

I knew her husband well enough to know that he was 100% onboard with her ecclesiastical seductiveness.

He maybe attended one or two Samson meetings overall (when I facilitated an in-person meeting there at the church).

It was eye opening to say the least.

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As Christian men who are looking for help with compulsive sexual sin, so many parachurch ministries decry:  "Look Away!  Look Away!  Look Away!"

I'm not so sure this is truly the most reliable long-term solution.  

Jesus loves boobs.  He created each pair with utmost attention to detail.  Can we not lean into his example by learning to appreciate sans capitulating to default lust?  

Where / How Do I Find A CSAT (Certified Sex Addiction Therapist)?

 Go here.

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

The Earnest Wife (Puppeteer). Am I Happily Married To A "Doormat"?

During my first Samson Society meeting back in August of 2014, I met a younger man who'd also lost (two, actually) jobs for breaking company policy (IT / personnel).  I wasn't at all sure how to feel about that connection for I was still deeply overwhelmed with shame / grief therein (my similar job loss occurred in September of '13).  

He was very friendly though and did not discount the role his wife played in his recovery.  This piqued my interest.

This younger professional man's initial job loss came during a season where their young family was (as the Turners were) living in small town MS.  They'd been there a good bit longer than our one year, and therefore had made more platonic connections.  As a result of his job loss, his wife promptly "threw him out" (his words) of their house which resulted in him bunking on a friend's couch for +/- one week.  Eventually, he found another job (civil engineering firm), and after that seemingly reciprocal termination, they found themselves looking for work either back home (AL) or somewhere in Jackson (they landed in "The Bold New City").

At some point during all of these fits & starts, my new friend's wife declared that her husband was "someone she didn't recognize".  

I really became dialed in at this revelation for I knew that what she actually meant was:

"This part of you that's so drawn to sexual content / salaciousness / flirtatiousness with the opposite sex, I refuse to acknowledge (though I've been aware of it all along)."

In other words, pretend to be someone else.  Everyone likes you better that way.

I believe it's important to know that his wife was deeply religious, having come from a deeply religious family.

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A much younger, mentally ill Samson brother was quick to call out "doormat" wives within our then troupe.  The year was probably 2018.  In that regard, the husbands married to these ladies were Type A, dominant males.  This younger man obviously felt as if wives shouldn't be submissive?  I have no idea.  

Of course, this raises the question of what actually is / qualifies as submissive.    

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My second architect bossman (1996-2006) divorced his first wife (the mother of his two young sons) due to her being "unreasonable".  This man was / is ten years my senior (he hired me when I was 24).  Now, he'd been intensely hands-on with their second son (birth - preschool), leading me to believe his wife was an educated, working full-time professional (this man, my boss, had since remarried - to one of his employees).  I was never given the opportunity to meet Wife One but oh, how I longed to.  I absolutely wanted to understand more about his terminology.

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Last year, I reached out to a Samson brother who'd posted grim marital news on Slack (on Xmas Eve).  From there, we began to chat weekly.  He'd been separated (but only during the daytime) from his spouse for awhile, living instead at his sister's home (20-minutes drive away).  He been readily dismissing his siblings / parents' criticism of the arrangement (they wanted him back living full-time within his own home).  Instead, choosing to vouch for his wife's demands.

Keep in mind that she was a homeschool mom (to three young children) with bizarre health issues that were / are seemingly undiagnosable.  In fact, one of those bizarre health issues convinced her to demand that they build a new home in lieu of living comfortably (except for her) where they were residing.     

My Samson brother too had lost a job (D-day) via breaking his employer's IT policy.  He'd also executed a full disclosure with his wife under the guidance of a therapist.  I believe it's important to note that his job loss and all the complications therein resulted in suicidal ideation.

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Another Samson (younger) brother whom I've communicated with for a number of years ranks within the top 3 pertaining to intelligence / career success.  He's a brilliant guy who's in turn making money hand over fist.  In spite of his drive / vocational stardom, he's recently endured an "in-home" separation from his spouse.  

Too, she's feeling more agreeable now that his pocket computer is locked down, leaving him unable to go online.

Now, when I say brilliant whilst describing this young man, I'm not referring to just a high ACT / SAT score kind of brilliant.  I'm talking about - change the world sort of brilliant.  

What's interesting about his situation is he's terrified of his wife and her threats (particularly related to divorce).  

Yet, they spend almost all of their free time together.  Whether it's playing sports or vacationing (together with their two small children).  

Another interesting note is his wife is of Mexican descent (he's white).

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And finally, another Samson brother attended last Sunday's "Brain Changers" virtual Samson Society meeting (that I facilitate), having (earlier that Father's Day) been humiliated by his wife (in front of their adult children) via her chiding him pertaining to his "untrustworthiness" with computers (pocket & otherwise).  He was so distraught at her crass disrespect (he was in the middle of doing vacation research for their family) that he was visibly shaken.  I didn't know what to do in response.  

But I can tell you what my kneejerk reaction was.

Hire a divorce attorney yesterday.

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My wife recognized three things back in 2013 (D-day) regarding Rob, her husband:

1.  He'd been honest with her regarding his struggles with sexual sin since their formal engagement in 1995.  

2.  He'd been actively looking for help ever since.  Particularly in line with technological advancements (digital smut's viral availability).  

3.  The emotional fallout tied to his job loss had been devastating to him personally as well as their marriage, considering the risk they'd both taken to execute the new vocational role (with three small children).

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What frustrates me about my friendships with Samson guys, who're either married or seriously involved with the opposite sex, is how disjointed my feelings become regarding WHAT I HEAR of their spouse / spouse's reaction.  And this is due to the overlay of my own spousal support therein.  

I suppose too that I truly believe marriage is a sacred yoking between two very imperfect people.  People who didn't choose marriage to begin with in order to not recognize the desire for integrated, ongoing support.  Especially considering the unpredictability of culture / technology / life and how they intersect personally with each of us as individuals.  

In closing, I often hear Samson guys disclosing how their wives don't feel safe around them anymore.  

As strange as it may sound, I don't know why any woman could find a man attractive who's completely safe to be yoked to.  Men, by definition, are masculine in the sense that they will things into existence that weren't there prior.  They're also disciplined and resilient in line with this pursuit.  Hence, yoking oneself therein will result in risks that far outsize the security baked into a life lived alone.  This is what makes men men, and it's what makes marrying a man so enticing.

Intimacy With Men Lives On Via Memory & Technology

Sledge's birthday is 2024's Memorial Day.  Leading up to his birthday, each year, I re-listen to his audio journals & re-read his personal analytical work that he so fearlessly sent my way back in 2018.  Sledge was 28 at the time, and I was 45.  We'd met due to his willingness to step into the Samson Society meeting I facilitated at Lakeside Pres.  At the time, lust was a sizable part of his life, and he'd found himself convicted therein whilst hearing a mutual friend of ours share his testimony (prior to referring his audience to Samson Society).

Sledge needing psychotherapy and likely meds for clinical depression, but this wasn't apparent to me initially.  Instead, what jarred my attention (whilst parlaying my analytical thinking), to the massive degree that it did, was just how head-over-heels enamored he was of Rob from the moment we met.

Why did this matter?

Sledge loathed MS.  Everyone in MS.  Except for me and a woman at work that he'd grown fiercely attracted to.  This combined with his brilliance made for quite the enigma.  

So, how did he end up here within the Butt Crack of the USA?  Essentially, his relentless efforts to climb the corporate ladder begrudgingly brought him here.

At this time, Sledge was newly married and actively working to reproduce (he & his sweet wife already had one offspring). Regarding his spouse, I'm fairly certain she knew her husband was mentally ill (she was a healthcare worker) yet was too afraid to put it into words.  For Sledge had a razor-sharp tongue and zero tolerance for criticism from anyone sans using it in kind.  Plus, they'd tried couples therapy to no avail.  Nonetheless, she gave him what he seemed to care amount mostly.  Her desire for sex.  And this he obliged from her with absolutely zero resistance.  For Sledge received seemingly otherworldly amounts of affirmation via cunninlingus / vaginal intercourse.

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It was around this time of year (early summer) when I headed to south AL for 5th / 6th grade church camp.  This was a weeklong affair at a humble venue containing absolutely zero out-of-the-ordinary (from what I was used to in MS) natural beauty whatsoever.  It was a flat, forestry landscape with a relatively small lake.  Therein, each humble building was interconnected via gravel path / road.  

It was only our church, First Baptist Church Jackson, that participated, therefore there were no opportunities to intermingle / befriend with fresh faces.  In total, around 30-40 boys & girls were present for this scorchingly hot summer break week.

The year was 1985.  Van Halen's game-changing album had just come out (in fact, they'd even performed in Jackson at the MS Coliseum).  It defined this era pertaining to what it meant to be a young white male.  

During the late evening of the day we arrived at the church camp, I headed to the communal bathroom, there within the boys' bunkhouse, to brush my teeth.  Mid-way through my brushing, I heard the lone shower (that was being used) turn off.  When the curtain was raked violently across the rod, our collegiate chaperone, Dan, put his wet, naked bod nonchalantly on display.

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Sledge's audio journals were meticulously narrated / recorded.  The degree of vulnerability within is unlike any Samson deliverable I've ever received (& I've received A LOT of deliverables over the past decade).  

When I first listened to them back in 2018 (immediately following their gifting), the density of the recordings was too much for me to process with any real foresight / diligence.  That, along with how positively intimate they were, short-circuited my understanding of just how needy this young man truly was at the time.

It was almost like seeing him too (through that 1985 wall mirror) naked and wet, right there behind me, for such a time as that.  As such, I did what I only knew to do.  Smile awkwardly and continue forward with my teeth cleaning routine.

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Dan's collegiate frame was awe inspiring.  Both his impressive height and muscular build classified him as intimidating.  Not to mention the thick sandy brown chest and stomach hair that added years of maturity to his 22-year-old self.

And then there was his junk.  

Let's just say, I didn't even know where to begin to process what rested there moistly between this stranger's legs, though when I now come across Ezekiel 23, it easily harkens back.  

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Sledge's upbringing hadn't been normal, and he was just beginning to truly wrestle with the ramifications of that truth.  I could not relate to his growing up years for it all seemed so pejorative.  Particularly considering how intelligent / grounded his parents seemingly were.  

And then from there, his college girlfriend (who eventually became his wife) allowed him to become her dorm room fuck buddy.  And this went on "out of spite" (according to Sledge) in light of their parents' desire to see them complete their higher ed prior to marriage.  

What served as icing on the cake though was the fact that Sledge's dad was a pastor.  A devout, average-sized congregational pastor who loved both his wife and three children immensely.

At this time, Sledge was wondering out loud about pivoting and becoming a pastor himself.

And here I was just standing there at the sink minding my own business...

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Throughout my life, I've never ceased relishing the memory of seeing our collegiate chaperone's freshly showered physique, there on private display, in all of its glory.  For though I'm certain there've been plenty of greater than or equally beautiful men for me to admire, my unexpected exposure to him, at such an impressionable age, taught me such the important lesson.

Timing is everything.  Therefore, be alert.  Some of the most (eventually) fruitful & memorable experiences of one's life may very well occur when you're least expecting it.    

Lagniappe

Compromises Made To Recovery Work Add Up Over Time / Place = Expected Behavior

My middle daughter and I were in AR last week and whilst there, we had dinner at a memorable Hot Springs sports bar.  The restaurant was tucked in the corner of a strip shopping center adjacent to our hotel which made it too convenient to not pass up.

The early evening was just beginning to see some drizzling rain as we brought our travel-weary / empty stomachs through the pair of storefront doors.  The sports bar was understandably dark inside but very clean and spacious.  Despite the fact that it was a weekday evening, there were a number of middle to upper-middle class patrons enjoying the friendly atmosphere.  With live music playing and sports channels supersized (projection) on most walls, there was plenty to take in / relax by.

We enjoyed dining on high sodium, high fat appetizers combined with homemade chili and pizza.  It was extremely satisfying and had we been drinkers (middle daughter isn't quite old enough to drink yet but bear with me), a cold beer(s) likely would have only made it that much more enjoyable.

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My first Silas (we cross pollinated; therefore, I served as his Silas in kind) was an alcoholic.  He'd unfortunately (fortunately?) received a DUI a few weeks prior to walking into his first Samson Society meeting back in the early fall of 2015.  This served as his primary motivator to move into recovery.  

Internet porn consumption was also, at the time, a big part of his life.  And most of this was occurring at his office.  Surprisingly, this behavior was unrelated to his alcohol abuse.  

He would tell me stories of how sports bars were his "second office" whilst out of town on business (he traveled 3-4 times a month).  Per the man:  Once he'd successfully located a familiar-looking one (early to mid-afternoon), he'd situate himself at the bar with his laptop / cellphone ON GO ready to down as many craft beers as conceivable.  This would go on 'till the wee hours of the morning.  From there, he'd oftentimes find himself so inebriated that he'd no idea how to find his way back to his hotel, therefore he'd simply black out along the perimeter of some random retail parking lot.  Therein, he'd sleep off the booze there amongst the freshly mulched Indian Hawthornes.   

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As a Christian, we're called to be imitators of Christ.  Also, I'm filled with the Holy Spirit, therefore in and through me my behavior should exude this.  And it does, yet I cannot deny that my flesh comes along for the ride.  My flesh has memory.  History, if you will, that reflects my past (recent / distant).

Over the past 8-9 months, there's been a newbie at the Y who bears a striking resemblance to a very popular, very handsome television star.  The defining attribute of this actor is his impressive, arduously sculpted frame.  

Let's just say you could take 1.5 Robs and pack them into this muscular 40-year-old dude.

I took the initiative to introduce myself to this newbie a month or so ago, and he's now reciprocating the cordialness when our paths cross, even going so far as to discreetly track my movements in and through my improvised strength training routines.

I don't feign the attention / interest, for I know it harkens to our now familiarity / newfound friendship.  Plus, all of this forecasts tighter connection / trust.  And who doesn't desire that?  I certainly do.

What's challenging though is how two-faced I feel.  Why?  I'm reminded constantly, whilst in his presence, of how awe-inspiringly attracted I am to him.  For there's truly not been another masculine archetype (of my own) within that space (during my lengthy tenure) who's appearance / presence wasn't on par with his own.

And unfortunately, me no longer politely ignoring him has indirectly exacerbated my desires.  Desires which aren't by any means not ruefully kept in check, but far less easy to reign in whilst dilly-dallying with gay porn lackadaisically.

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If I were my aforementioned Silas 1.0 (from 2015), eating dinner last week within a nondescript sports bar in Hot Springs, AR (even with my offspring) would have been woefully irresponsible in regard to my never-ending recovery.  As his Silas, had I found out about this stupidity, I would have questioned it outright.

Comfortable, familiar, private settings, I would argue, can be the driving force behind a mindset of permissiveness.  Place = expected behavior. 

I'm no theologian, but Jesus did embody his humanity at 100% combined with being God also at 100%.  Yet, according to Scripture, he did not Fall into sin.  

I believe much of this had to do with his eternal perspective.  A perspective that pitted his knowledge of all things up against the temporary bliss / novelty of sin.  

I am not of the opinion that he had any sort of God-enhanced humanity which positively impacted his senses, provided him with supernatural physical endurance, etc.  

His mind was the mind of God and therefore the outlook of God.  Heaven, no doubt, was his home.  And therein, he never allowed its address to ever be but a thoughtful heartbeat away.

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Presently, I use gay porn mostly at work, and this pays homage to the beginnings of me becoming captivated by it.  Work setting(s) represent familiarity in regard to this escape.  They're my version of a sports bar.

What's happening though is these casual gay porn interludes are eroding my ability to be Christ-like to the degree (actively but mostly internally) that I'm called to be.  Particularly within settings like the Y (where I've recently made my new friend).  And the resulting problem isn't the fragrant allure of the revolving door that wafts within my proverbial nostrils.  Not at all.  Instead, it's the reassurance of an IDENTITY that's sure to be re-accredidated within my mind.  An identity of compromiser.  Cheat.  Time-waster.  Fraud.  Even self-flagellator.  

You've seen these young people cut themselves to draw blood.  Seemingly, they do this within an oft mindless state of consciousness.  From there, the pain / woundedness therein from these small lacerations reset / solidify their IDENTITY amidst the soothe.  I can relate to this.  For what's occurring privately within my mind (w/ my newfound friend) at the Y represents the scarring I've received from my own poor choices.  Specifically, it decrees that you ARE A PHONY / FRAUD due to the undeniable dermis damage. 

Please pray for me.  Pray that I'll stop compromising.  It's hard enough to be Jesus-like without the negativity / aroma of shame off-gassing from every sanctified pore.  It's like smelling your own body odor with no readily available escape from one's own reek.  

It's so weird how I fall back to an IDENTITY that I know will only hurt me further.  It proves how much disdain I truly have for my own self.            

Rob's (Adolescent) Self-Pleasure Hidey Hole

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yet...

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

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

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

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Fast forward to today.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mutilated Genitalia (Certification Of Merit?)

Things have changed within the "mainstream" ("higher-end" production value) gay porn landscape.  

When I first gained access to the www, back in 1998, I was immediately transfixed via the anabolic-steroid enhanced bodybuilders, spray-tanned and posing in all of their naked glory.  And it was their bodies, photographed completely naked, that stood out.  I'd seen plenty of bodybuilders / fitness models photographed semi-nude (newsstand) but nothing like this.  These models had no doubt seen the monetary gain in shedding what little clothing they had left, and many of them went on to partake in "gay for pay" roles that, no doubt, brandished them a sizable payday.

Let me provide some commentary regarding that last sentence.

"Gay for pay" consists of heterosexual men who're willing to engage within gay sex (solo masturbation scenes, homosexual fellatio and / or homosexual sodomy scenes) onscreen so long as the profit margin is to their heterosexual liking.

As such, with the properly prescribed erectile dysfunction medication within their systems, these bodybuilders were off and coming (no matter their sexual orientation)! 

And obviously, the audience was there to consume these images / videos (like me) due to the unbelievable vision of it all.  Despite the fact that all of us consumers knew - deep down - that everything we were watching was fictionalized.  In other words, none of these beautiful men were actually sexually aroused by any of these other men.  Instead, wet vaginas and beautiful breasts combined with a slender / hourglass feminine figure is what they truly desired.  It's just that didn't pay nearly as well.

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Fast forward to 2024.

Today, gay porn seems to now fall in line with gay for gay.  As such, these videos consist of actual gay men having intensely authentic gay sex (solo masturbation scenes, homosexual fellatio and / or homosexual sodomy scenes) on camera.  

Though prescription meds are certainly still a go-to as erectile insurance, much of what you see today within these videos is legitimate lust between two men.  This represents a 180-degree about face from content that's decades old.  

And many of these men aren't vying for recognition as anabolic-steroid enhanced bodybuilders.  Not at all.  And that's due to the fact that a sizable number of them are outright physically beautiful men who're simply in tiptop (natural) shape.

So, what's behind this change?

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The Internet is what's brought the same-sex attracted male into community and that community has demanded normalization (zero bias) through and through.  And it's achieved this primarily by normalizing gay sex.  Prior to the Internet, the tiny minority of same-sex attracted people were confined to wherever they found themselves on planet Earth.  As such, the notion of sodomy (or any other form of same-sex sex) only served to (mostly) disgust mainstream culture.

Today's (20–30-year-old) gay porn model has been reared online.  Hence, they're living homosexual lives that are as mainstream as apple pie.  Gay sex equates to hetero sex equates to gay sex equates to hetero sex.  That's how they've been taught to see our world.

Gay men typically seek out multiple sex partners in line with their typical modus operandi.  Monogamy isn't usually of interest to them.  This is a fact.  By definition, porn is anchored in the expectation of actors engaging with countless sex partners.  

What better candidate is there then for gay porn than naturally great looking, same sex attracted men who've been brought up into this digital age?  Gay sex equates to hetero sex equates to gay sex equates to hetero sex.

There's none better.  Yet, I would argue, witnessing "the real thing" versus the fantastical from decades past, can be jarring.  Read on.

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Have you ever seen gay porn models - beautiful, healthy, great looking gay porn models - who're sporting cock piercings?  Again, I'm referring to gay porn performers who're extremely handsome, great looking, same-sex attracted men versus creepy looking sadist-types with ink from stem to stern.  

I have and it's absolutely shocking to witness.

Do you know what I'm referring to when I type cock piercing?

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Why would I ask this question?

The very existence of cock piercings (and ultimately proliferation of) serves as testimony to just how mainstream homosexual sex has become.  

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A man's penis isn't meant to be pierced for any conceivable reason.  Not only is it a profoundly unremarkable organ aesthetically (hanging their unassumingly between men's legs), but its anatomical purpose is tied to the most important component of civilization's very existence - reproduction.  

The penis isn't like an earlobe which symmetrically frames one's face.  Instead, it's a more like a 11th finger that 99% of the time stays "deflated" and stowed.  

By having the penis mutilated with a piercing is to not only denigrate its very purpose, but it places tremendous visual emphasis on a portion of a man's body that's purely functional.  Not to mention the tremendous health risk involved with this procedure. 

But this is obviously not the point of view of gay men.  Particularly gay men who're having sex with other gay men onscreen.

And that's what's beginning to become apparent within today's gay porn.

The penis is now the earlobe of the gay porn actor.

There's a lot that's truly fucked up about that.  So much so, that it sheds a tremendous amount of light on the today's gay porn industry.

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I so wish I could sit down with some of these men and find out how they came to the place where they're at.  I'd like to know what thought process they went through to choose to mutilate their penises via piercings.  

And ultimately, I'd love to know of those men who came to that place where they suddenly realized the bill of goods they'd been sold before fleeing for help.

Pray, dear readers, for these men and their salvation.  Versus the demise and eternal death that awaits them (& all of us) if we're not rescued from our depraved selves.

The Samson Society Multiverse

When I first stepped into a Samson Society meeting in August 2014, there was only one meeting (in-person) for me to attend, and that was the Wednesday at 6 PM CST meeting at First Baptist Church Jackson (Summit Counseling suite).  That in-person meeting is still going strong.  It introduced me to a men's ministry that's changed my life for the better.  

But I didn't stay within that group.  Eventually, I migrated to the Grace Crossing Samson Society group (Gluckstadt), attending there for +/-1 year.  

The initial FBC Jackson group had a particular flavor that was quite therapeutic while the second group I attended was more relational.  Neither group was better than the other, though the contrast opened my eyes to just how different Samson groups can trend.  

From there, I started my own group (Lakeside Pres).  And, of course, mine became somewhat eclectic.  A combination of what I'd witnessed within the previous two, inaugural Jackson Metro Samson groups. 

That Lakeside Pres Samson group continued on for almost four years (2017-2021).  We met on Saturday mornings at 7 AM.  

Two in-person groups spun-off from the one I facilitated.  One in Brandon (39042) and then Pearl.  

I then dived into the virtual Samson Society groups in December of 2021.  "Make Thursdays Great Again" was unlike anything I could have imagined.  It was the Price Is Right version of a Samson Society meeting, all thanks to the electrifying facilitator, Mr. Justin Schwind.  It literally became one of the highlights of my week (Thursdays at 7 PM CST).  And it's still going strong.

After royally pissing off a newbie Samson brother who too was a regular "MTGA" attendee, I made a discreet exit (I did not want - in any way - to hinder his recovery via my continued presence).  I pivoted into "Brain Changers" which meets on Sundays at 5 PM CST.  "Brain Changers" was a familiar return to what the Lakeside Pres Samson meeting (that I facilitated) felt like, all those years earlier.  

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I hear more and more of Samson guys committing to multiple Samson meetings over the course of one week.  Many of these men attest to attending a meeting every single day.  

If you're familiar with the virtual Samson Society meetings, this commitment is doable (there are multiple meetings on the schedule for each day of the week as well as multiple types of meetings - some that allow cross talk, book studies, etc.).  

Why do this?  Why commit to attending a Samson meeting every single day?

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I believe the best answer to this question is as follows:

To directly combat compulsive sexual sin.

What does that mean exactly - compulsive sexual sin?

Compulsory:  Required, mandatory, obligatory

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When you're in bondage to compulsive sexual sin, you need solid grounding / commitment to recovery, therefore a once-a-week Samson Society meeting likely isn't going to suffice.

Let me repeat that:

When you're in bondage to compulsive sexual sin, you need solid grounding / commitment to recovery, therefore a once-a-week Samson Society meeting likely isn't going to suffice.

What's the true benefit of this approach to recovery?

It's twofold.

Firstly, during every 24 hours, you're spending one of those within a Samson Society meeting.  It serves as a recovery datum / opportunity to reset that's difficult to ignore.

Secondly, it forces you out of your own head.  Exposing you to fresh faces each day.  Faces that bring a specific color to the meeting.  Countless, unexpected hues drive away boredom, feelings of repetitiveness.  Think of it as the Samson Society multiverse.

This rigorous approach is highly effective for those who are just "too far gone".  

Think of attending a meeting a day in the same light as prioritizing an hour of exercise each day relative to being in tremendously poor physical health (& therefore on your death bed).  

It's exactly the same tenacious, turbocharged approach.  

For those of you who're in bondage to compulsive sexual sin, be encouraged to intentionally counteract this frame of mind by exploiting the availability of Samson Society meetings - to your recovery's advantage.  You will not regret the time invested / commitment therein.

Jesus January - Mid Month Update

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

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

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

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

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

Why am I doing this?

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

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

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

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

Let me repeat that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We'll just have to wait and see.

Hold The Line For The Man Who Can't Hold It Himself (It Takes Two To Tango).

A sizeable amount of my time each December goes to gifting clients with cookies and calendars out of appreciation for their patronage.  And I hand deliver many of these whilst road-tripping my way through various regions of the state of Mississippi.  It's an exhausting affair - both physically & emotionally, but an expected wrapping up of the year as a business owner (that was started by my parents, well in advance of me becoming affiliated with their company).

Northeast Mississippi is where I spent this past Thursday, (12/7).  Whilst making my way through Starkville, I was reminded of my college friend, Perry, and the last time we spent any time together. 

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I first met Perry in late summer of 1990 during my first summer (freshman year) of collegiate band camp.  He was in my assigned clarinet squad within the Mississippi State University Maroon Band.  Obviously, he too played a clarinet, and arguably, was far more adept at it than I was.  Perry had an older brother who played tuba (from what I recall), and as such, he seemed to know and be known by most everybody within the massive 300+ instrumentalist / flag-bearing group.  Perry was a brilliant guy who was one / two-year(s) my senior who always seemed distracted.  Always.  It was almost as if he were living a double-life (which he was).  

It's important to know that Perry and I stayed within the same assigned clarinet squad throughout our college careers (he took an additional year to graduate, having changed majors midstream), therefore we spent an awful lot of time together (fall semesters) relative to that nerdy troupe.  

Long after we'd both graduated from college (sometime around 2007), I awkwardly bumped into Perry in Clinton, MS at an (very poorly attended) ex-gay conference that a local church hosted one Saturday.  I don't recall how I came to know of said conference, but nonetheless, I was absolutely stunned to bump into my old friend.  Perry's countenance immediately reflected the explosion of emotions he was feeling therein.  For on the one hand, he was exposed whilst on the other opportunistically intrigued.

Nonetheless, as this incident attests, I didn't know this guy well at all (nor did he know me with any clarity).  And whilst looking back, I'm grateful that I didn't for such a time as that (college days).  For Perry maintained a devout Christian identity that nary a moment hinted at deviancy, yet his true nature had him constantly on the prowl for male partners to bed who were fellow students or otherwise.

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A year or so after losing my job at Delta State University, I reached out to Perry, asking to stay the evening there within his humble Starkville abode in advance of a CEU class (related to maintaining my architecture license) being hosted by MSU's School of Architecture.  Keep in mind that I'd only been involved in Samson Society for a short stint (I attended my first in-person meeting in August of 2014) with this overnighter having occurred sometime around 2015-2016.  

He agreed to this, and it was during our short time together that I finally had him cornered long enough for me to get some answers as to who he truly was, how he got there and where he was headed.  

Perry was hopeful we'd have sex that evening.  It was so apparent to me that it was almost laughable.  I vividly recall attempting to make conversation, suggest an activity like watching a DVD (he had an extensive film collection), 'till finally he agreed to openly dialogue about his past (which effectively extinguished his libido).  I vividly recall us sitting in the tiny den of his 2/2, with one lamp burning in the corner of the room, as he allowed me to interrogate.  

His answers didn't surprise me in the least except for his tales relative to cruising for gay sex during our parallel college careers.  Me not picking up on any hint of this activity during our time together at MSU during the early '90s did effectively stun.  For Perry never cussed, drank, and was always at church (with his parents who resided in Starkville, per my recollection) each and every Sunday.

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After we turned in that evening, sleeping through the night within separate bedrooms, Perry ferried me to a downtown cafe in anticipation of a sunrise men's breakfast Bible study that he regularly attended.  Once we arrived, he quickly began messaging folks regarding their absenteeism.  And it was then that he realized his error pertaining to which Saturday morning (of that particular month) had actually been calendared for this event.  

So, we sat in awkward silence whilst methodically downing our scrambled eggs and toast.  

For Perry had to have recalled that I hadn't had sex with another man ever, and in turn, that I'd not had any intentions of starting with him (relative to what had not gone down during the evening prior).

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There're an awful lot of men, Christian or otherwise, who categorize homosexual activity as discriminately sin-free.  And I believe the root of this adjudication has to do with it involving two consenting genders pleasuring each other outside of the bounds of sexual mechanistic cohesion (in other words - to them, it's not genuine sex sans a vagina).  And many, if not the majority of these dudes, had their first sexual experience (whether predatory or consensual) well before adulthood.  Hence, as adults, there's a harkening back to experiences which categorically feel more childishly rebellious than they truly should.

Most therapists who subscribe to counseling men who actively have sex with other men (& who're looking to pivot away from those behaviors) attempt to anchor their commentary in the notion of masculine maturation via growing up and into a form of manhood that leaves behind these types of behaviors.  The cultural blowback to this approach though is those select few men who radiate not one iota of masculine immaturity / pubescent reckless abandon yet who wholeheartedly embrace sex with other men as their preference.

What then?

It's a great question that I don't have an answer to.

I do know this though.  After finally coming to a point of understanding Perry's complete story, to the degree that I was granted, I saw a complex human being versus the smart-ass jokester / transparency dodger I'd always known.  And it was that complexity that I wanted to explore further versus his genitals or his ass or any other portion of his average Mississippi manbod.  For even if Perry had been an Adonis (which he most certainly was not), I don't believe I would have felt differently.

Give me a man's story, warts & all, any day of the week.  That's intimacy.  White hot intimacy.  For it's the one thing I've always longed to obtain from the gay porn models who boldly pose / perform under the watchful eye of the camera lens.  Why?  To instantaneously immunize myself from those seductive trappings.

"Rob, I'm Concerned About Our Mutual Friend. It's Obvious That He's Setting Himself Up For Failure."

I've received two telephone calls regarding this.  And YES, my old friend's recent statements / position (via hearsay) do sound concerning, but I'm not going to spend any energy researching it for myself.  

Why?

Because I've seen this pattern with him numerous times before (we've known each other for over 15 years).  

And that's the differentiator.  Had there not been a precedent(s), I would immediately speak up.  

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When I was a boy, I distinctly remember my aunt regularly calling our house late into the evening to ask my father to go retrieve her husband (my dad's oldest brother / my uncle) from the local watering hole.  These calls would often come around 11 PM or after, and the next day, I would sometimes ask my mom about it.  Eventually though, I stopped asking due to the fact that they became so routine.

This happened for a number of years until my uncle became unemployed due to health issues.  From there, he'd drink at home during the day.  I distinctly recall stopping by his duplex back in 1993 in order to drop off a paperback copy of The Firm.  For the film by the same name had just been released, and I thought he might enjoy reading it.  When he came to the door, I could smell the alcohol on him.  Within just a few minutes, he passed out there in his small living room, falling to the carpeted floor like a sack of concrete mix.  Afterwards, I made a discreet exit after leaving the paperback on the coffee table.

I never returned to his abode until I was asked to assist in relocating he and his wife out and into an apartment not far from this location (decades into the future).  

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Past personal struggles with chronic sexual sin, particularly regarding pastors, can result in men like Mr. Nate Larkin.  Men who write tomes which serve foundationally as the cornerstones of recovery ministries.  

Sometimes therapists are borne out of this.  Take Mr. Jeff Schulte of Tin Man Ministries (Jeff served as a keynote speaker at the 2019 National Samson Society Retreat).

But these are exceptions.  Mostly, men with this story should simply move into personal recovery exclusively versus attempting to pivot their pastoral "calling" towards a public-facing attempt (either for or nonprofit) to assist others with their sexual sin.  

Why?

IT TAKES A MASSIVE AMOUNT OF HUMILITY, AND I WOULD ARGUE, MOST PASTORS DON'T HAVE A TRULY HUMBLE BONE IN THEIR BODIES.  

 Hence, they simply resort to pulling a Jim Bakker.  And that's so pathetically sad.     

A Man's Greatest Aphrodisiac Is His Perceived Ability To Provide A Woman With Security. Enter Prince Coitus.

During my high school days ('88-'90), there was a late-weeknight call-in "sex talk" show that was broadcast on cable television.  Mind you, this show wasn't available via premium channel, and it was not filmed in front of a live audience.  Instead, it was perhaps on some fledgling network in a fairly nondescript studio (similar to Larry King Live!).  Very rarely would I be up late enough (11 PM CST) to chance upon it (too the male host was incredibly obnoxious), but one night I do recall paying it heed due to there being a very handsome young man on set as an "in-studio guest".  

What intrigued me most about this particular broadcast was how this handsome bachelor proceeded to coolly articulate his rationale behind his (& other men's) nonchalant approach to promiscuity.  From there, he took it a step further and explained his thinking regarding how his female lovers choose to perceive him as a playa.

And this guy may have been prostituting himself to women.  I honestly can't remember.

Nonetheless, as a 17-18-year-old teenager, this served as an excellent lesson regarding cheap, hetero, sexual relationships.  As such, it truly has stood the test of time as I've lived out my life.

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The cul-de-sac we've lived on for 23 years is home to ten other "garden (small) homes".  Six of the overall eleven are 3-bedroom while the remainder are 2-bedroom.  There're three (not Medicare-age) singles living within these single-family homes, two of which are "relationally active".  

What I mean by that is both have significant others that visit often, and it's not unusual for them to stay overnight, even for weeks at a time.  

One of these two "relationally active" homeowners is female and other male.  Both have children, some of which pay a visit on occasion while others seemingly come and go at will.  

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Prince Charming is how the young, handsome in-studio guest (late-night '80s sex talk call-in show) described his harem of female lovers imagining him to be as they chose to participate in relationally non-committal intercourse.  

As we know from the fairy tale, Prince Charming was Snow White's savior.  He restored her health, having come for her during her time of "eternal sleep".  Therein, going forward, it's implied that his presence radically transforms her existence which leads to abundance, joy, and eternal happiness.  It's a fate that's fit for a Disney film, and it is deeply ingrained within the psyche of our culture.

The young, handsome in-studio guest went on to describe how he could sense this mirage each and every time he'd achieve participating within consensual intercourse, based on the woman's receptiveness towards him.  He did, in fact, acknowledge his physical attractiveness (which perfectly played into her fantasies), but made it clear that each of the women he'd engaged with sexually were unwilling to spread their legs out of a raw desire to fuck (which was his MO).  Instead, they were perpetuating a romantic fantasy throughout coitus that was hinged on safety, stability, and hopefulness (that he'd surely bring abundance, joy and eternal happiness).

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Our home is positioned at the entrance point of our cul-de-sac.  As such, we have more frontage than any of the other ten homes, by far.  Therefore, me being in and out a fair amount, I can't help but see who's coming and going at all hours of the day and night.  Loverboys (& girls) make their way to our neighbors' abodes regularly, all the while never acknowledging Rob as they do so.  I find myself, at times, attempting to make eye contact when they pass but to no avail.  Me thinks this is the case due to fact that I'm no doubt a REAL, LIVE HUSBAND.

Men absolutely crave wet pussy.  As much as they can get and as often as they can get it.  Women want security.  Even if it's fantastical security.  And they'll (oftentimes begrudgingly) jettison their chaste in order to compromisingly receive it. 

What's fascinating to me is the power of the fantasy.  Females are taught, from an early age, to firmly believe in Prince Charming in tandem with what romantic love looks like.  

My question is, when do they become more involved with the fantasy, thereby removing their better judgement relative to reality?  In other words, knowing that they'd be better off, for all parties involved, to steer clear of perpetuating yet another sexual relationship, why do they allow themselves to not see men's intentions clearly (zero long-term commitment / artificial security)?  

Fantasy, within women's minds is amazingly affective.  I have to wonder if intercourse (resulting in orgasmic pleasure) doesn't further concretize the illusion as the brain releases hormones in line with the sex act itself.

Prince Coitus?