It's Been Ten Years Since I First Stepped Foot Into A Samson Society Meeting!

Over the past ten years, I've attended at least one Samson Society meeting a week.  August 2014 at First Baptist Church Jackson (Summit Counseling suite) was when that first meeting (involving Rob) occurred.  I had met with Mr. Don Waller (facilitator of said meeting) on one occasion, and from there, he ushered me into his group (which at the time was the only Samson Society meeting in Mississippi, as far as we knew).

There were +/-9 men in that first-for-Rob meeting, 3 of which (including me) struggled with same-sex attraction.  Having those two other brave men there meant the world to me.

I was in so much emotional pain due to my PTSD (fallout post job loss) that I would have taken any group referral, no matter how outlandish, seriously at that time.

Don was smart to not provide me with any preview of what Samson Society was.  Therefore, I walked in blind, with eyes wide open towards a ministry that seemed as approachable as all the others I'd been invited into (throughout my life).  For at that time, nothing could seemingly stop my emotional hemorrhaging.  I truly had lost all hope and therefore wasn't capable of trusting anyone.    

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As a same-sex attracted man, I can wholeheartedly say that what's kept me involved throughout these ten years has been my overall love for men.  That along with my servant spirit has allowed me to never grow tired / weary of this ministry.  

Regarding the latter, though that phrase, "servant spirit", may sound Titleist, what I'm referring to is my temperament.  In no way does it imply that I'm a "better Christian", more like Jesus or anything of the sort.  

I simply enjoy serving others.  Especially if those others have testicles dangling between their legs.  This makes me a type B personality which is unusual for Samson Society demographically.

As an aside, there are times when other men taunt me for executing kettlebell swings at the Y, citing my need to "wear a cup" (they do appear somewhat risky if they're executed correctly).  More often than not, I'll respond that I'm actually a eunuch.  That immediately shuts them up.

In many ways, I behave as a Biblical eunuch (though I do have my testicles) within this ministry.  Over the years, a lot of Samson brothers have taken advantage of that position.  Whilst looking back, I'm very appreciative of that.  I listen without being able to relate to much of what they've / they're experiencing, and I find that being heard is all they truly need.

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Because cross talk isn't allowed within Samson Society meetings, I 100% of the time feel heard and seen.  Because there's no requirement that you speak on the suggested topic, I feel free to open up as I feel so moved.  In other words, if I want to talk about Butt play, I can.  If I want to talk through how difficult it is to sometimes manage my feelings of shame (within certain circumstances) due to my homosexual desires, I can.  If I want to talk about how beautiful I find it to be to observe men pleasuring themselves (especially when it involves semen), I can. If I want to talk about how fortunate I feel to observe a beautiful man unabashedly peel off their shirts (within an appropriate setting), I can.

I loathe hearing men make some sort of attempt to "speak into my life" within a group setting.  I also despise group exercises that insinuate / relegate camaraderie or tribalism.  To me, this harkens too much into the political / religious / cult realm, feeling fake and forced.

Samson Society resists this emotional posturing outright (based on my observations).  And I love that.  As such, you can hate the guts of everyone in the room but still benefit tremendously by simply being present (& that's why it will never be church).

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Mr. Nate Larkin and his sweet wife are my heroes.  Leading via weakness is where it's at (if you ask them).  He's the antithesis of Dr. James Dobson, Franklin Graham, etc. (men who incessantly critique - for attention and donations - everyone and everything around them).  Nate simply knows how to sit back and enjoy time with other men.  Whether it's his BFF Aaron Porter or Samson guys at the Summit.  I love that about him.

For I too just want to bask in the maleness (enjoying the view) whilst feeling / being seen.  It's an intoxicating experience that powerfully affirms me myself as an image-bearer.  I grow stronger and more self aware as a result.

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In closing, I love to push boundaries.  Especially with guys within Samson.  I like to see how men might react to stories / questions that are tough to hear.  

Because I'm here for my recovery, I'm far less fearful of offending someone (plus taking risks = feeling masculine for Rob).  And sometimes, these "tests" result in some real growth pertaining to our friendship.  Other times, the friendship implodes as a result.  Because of whom I am, I rarely feign sincere loss if the latter occurs.  For I have memory and more often than not, a record of that man via his writings, audio journals, etc.that I can look back on at my discretion (which I often do).

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One final note.  

The men who've attempted to woo me into a sexual relationship have been few and far between within Samson Society.  Remember, it takes two to tango.  That being said, you're always going to have guys who simply do not believe that homosexual activity is sinful, and when they see just how sincere I am (most Samson guys are) pertaining to my / their sexuality, some simply can't seem to help themselves from dipping their toe in the water (to check the temp).  

I think of a lot of this stems from these men desiring a virgin / Samson lay.  And I get that.  

One dude used to ask me repeatedly, "Are you sure you've never had sex with another man?" (hint, hint).

That horny old Catholic fart.  

Here's to another ten years!  

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.            

The Night He Got Jumped By His Former Youth Pastor / It Took Two To Tango / Was This An Isolated Incident? - Stories That Resonate

It is not getting any easier admitting to my neediness.  Over the past quarter (& then some), my wife has been working 12-hour days (home office), and because she's a night owl, most of her workday has been well past 5 PM.  As such, a typical evening (throughout the workday and weekend) consisted of tiptoeing in order to not disturb her grind.  And it was my privilege to step up in this regard.  

Since she became physically disabled due to her May 2020 stroke, a lot of additional housework naturally fell on my shoulders.  Thanks be to God we live in a manageably scaled home (with a small yard)!  Too, only having one additional kidlet (of three total) at home (who's the epitome of obedience and cooperation) to feed / tend to, helps tremendously.

My wife is quite ambitious and very, very capable as a sole proprietor.  Her clients almost immediately recognize this, and therefore lean into her professional services (she's a CPA).  

But where does that leave our marriage - during ramp up / intensely busy seasons?

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Twice last week, I delved back into gay porn.  And of note is how I hit repeat regarding one video I stumbled across in particular (this is very rare for me to do).  The models within this particular vignette were having some passionately dramatic sex, and I mean passionate with a capital P.  In fact, there was more emphasis therein than on your typical hyper close-up genitalia shots.  It felt more like a Hallmark version of Colt Studio than anything else.

But what was truly relevant was the following.  It felt like a porn video made exactly for me for such a time as that / this.

Thursday, (4/11) I began to reckon with just how emotionally needy I truly am at this time, having endured this last quarter.  

My wife and I went out to eat Saturday night at a fairly new restaurant close to our abode.  It was fantastic to steal away as such!  But man, we have a long way to go pertaining to regaining our regularly scheduled marital footing, and it was apparent that neither of us wanted to admit to this.

Nonetheless, both of us realize that marriage is seasonal, and that there'll always be emotional connection pauses that occur, circumstances being whatever they may be.  

They are so not fun though, and arguably leave us both vulnerable to outside forces / temptations.

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Years ago, I attended a Samson Society story retreat over a weekend.  This was my second story retreat, and I was happy to once again support my old friend, Mr. Chris Inman, therein.  A fellow attendee shared a "story of shame" that Saturday afternoon involving his former youth pastor jumping him late one night.

Apparently, this story retreat attendee had (post high school) further befriended, as an adult, his youth pastor.  As such, the youth pastor had divulged his struggle with same-sex attraction (he was single) to this now married with multiple small children (with another on the way) man. 

That friendship naturally matured and continued to warrant time together, and during this particular then recent juncture, the two men were sleeping over at the youth pastor's place.  And that's where the unexpected sexual advance occurred.  

As a result, the younger man immediately fled the scene.  The understandable reactional stress motivated him then to reach out to his parents for support.  Frustratingly, they (particularly his mother) felt their son was overreacting, taking into account the tenured friendship as well as the youth pastor friend's spotless platonic / parochial record.  

At the conclusion of this tale, all I clearly remember is this dude was tremendously angry.  Tremendously angry.  At both his former youth pastor friend / mentor as well as his parents (combined with the world at large).  

I've thought about that story for years and years.  I attempted to follow up with the guy not long after the retreat was over in order to hopefully understand / flesh out more details, but to no avail.  He was absolutely not interested in talking to same-sex attracted Rob (can you blame him?).

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Last summer, a new potential friend (completely unaffiliated with Samson Society) literally fell out of the sky into my sphere of influence.  My aforementioned younger daughter and I had volunteered for a Saturday mission trip (with our church) to Greenwood.  This new friend volunteered too in spite of his family not being a member of our congregation.  If you've read previous blog posts, hearing of this guy is old news.

What makes this new friend so special to Rob is twofold:

1.  His physical presence is intimidating.  This coupled with his reserved persona only add to his exceedingly foreboding posture.  It's important to know that my masculine archetype is very much in line with physical attributes that telegraph the notion of "mysterious threat".  I have no idea why that is.  I've just learned to roll with it.

2.  I'm his first true "big city" (urban / suburban) friend outside of his extended family.  Hence, I want to serve him well as such, being mindful of my influence.

He and I are geared up for around-the-bend warmer days.  Days where we can take our girls swimming, kayaking, exploring the Mississippi out-of-doors.  These are anticipated future memories that engender me with sizable opportunities to BE SEEN whilst seeing him vulnerably.  

I cannot emphasize enough how restorative these experiences will be to my soul.  Our friendship was so embryonic last summer that what few we had like these felt almost surreal - for both of us - in and of themselves.  Mostly due to how unexpectedly initial common ground we found both of ourselves enjoying.  As such, summer 2024 awaits...

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The questions before I close.

-  Will I ever truly come to understand how effectively educated I've become via Samson Society in terms of healthy (modeled & otherwise) male-to-male relationships?

-  By receiving the raw emotion (positive or negative) from another Samson guy, in light of his experience with the unexpected, does this exposure qualify as truly vicarious or is it simply me being a novel spectator?  Furthermore, what constitutes either side of that experiential equation?  

-  Knowing that my new local friend isn't a Samson guy, will that insure, to some degree, the longevity of our friendship (less competition / him not being a pervert as I am)?  

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Samson Society emphasizes recovery, and it most certainly should.  But, an indirect benefit, is the opportunity to become immensely respectful of brotherly love male friendship - both inside & outside of this community.  Regardless, those couplings truly are supernatural - especially here at middle-age.  And, of course, they're absolutely just as, if not moreso, supportive therein within their own unique way.

Thanks be to God for men, image-bearers of the living God.  

     

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.

When Rob's Reality Intersects With Normal Hetero-Masculine Reality (Outside Of The Controlled Environment Of Samson Society)

Computational failure.  That's what it feels like.  

Imagine observing an automobile unsuspectingly being driven along a nondescript street, and suddenly, it begins to fly.  Soaring higher and higher into the sky as if by some unseen nonrational force that affects nothing else around it.  

When I overheard the two guys from across the gym floor agree upon the statement that one had so confidently purported, just seconds prior, that's when the emotional laws of nature, for me, went all Calvin & Hobbes.

And I'm still feeling incredibly helpless whilst attempting to process that experience.  Again, computational failure.

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Most Samson men are heterosexual.  And that's because Samson Society serves as a microcosm of the world around us.  It has been my privilege to effectively & efficiently befriend countless of these heterosexual guys, throughout the past almost ten years, via the Samson Society landscape.   

What exactly is the Samson Society landscape?

It's the Neutral Zone to use a Star Trek term.

Essentially, a space where antagonism / posturing is neutralized because once inside, specific identities are dramatically downplayed therein.  Think of it as the space between two separate realities / territories.  A space that offers safety in spite of it being almost incomprehensible unless one's entered into it (by means of personal crisis).  

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Throughout the many years I've strength trained at our local Y, there've been plentiful days when a lovely fellow (female) gymgoer has been on the floor too.  I first remember seeing her working alongside a private trainer, but when that trainer relocated (years ago), this middle-aged goddess continued forward on her own, discipline intact.

The only words we've ever spoken to each other - through the years - have been formalities.  Nonetheless, it's obvious there's a mutual respect / comfort-level there.

I suspect that she's single.  Perhaps divorced.  And overall, compared to most every other female that graces the space regularly, this woman is, hands down, one of the most physically / emotionally attractive.  There's a certain youthful poise that radiates from her as she goes about her workouts confidently.

We'll call her Gina.

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Back in 2004, I had the good fortune to travel with a lighting (fixture) representative and his best friend (an electrical engineer) to San Francisco, CA.  This was a combination perk / educational trip funded via the lighting rep.  As an architect / specifier, I'd been on numerous trips like this one, though with neither of these two.  

The night before we were slated to leave (to return to Jackson Metro, MS), the three of us went out for an early dinner.  It was a beautiful California evening.  In spite of this, it seemed to quickly morph into an awkward meal due to me being a teetotaler / uninterested in sports, etc.  As such, the dialogue eventually waned before turning stale.  It didn't help matters that we'd been together for +/-3 days straight (this was before the smartphone revolution) there in that idyllic California city.  

As we eventually made our way back to the hotel for an early-to-bed closure to the evening / trip, I could sense more and more strain between myself and these two besties.  

Why?

They both desperately wanted to conclude our trip via a redlight district, guys-night-out finale, yet they didn't feel at all confident confiding in weirdo Rob regarding. 

Now, this was never voiced by either (married) man, but it was apparent (I'd known both of these work colleagues for many years).  For they were red-blooded, hetero-masculine males (who were far from home).  Plus, the night was young.

I found myself between a relational rock and a hard place.  Was I behaving like a true friend / being true to myself or simply a redneck fuddy duddy? 

Ultimately, it wasn't the thought of me being surrounded by naked women (strip clubs) that was off putting.  Not at all.  It was me being present, within said strip clubs, with my two, dear hetero-masculine Mississippi friends and having to computationally endure their reactions therein sans my brain exploding.  The thought of having to endure that is what turned my stomach.  

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Mid-week last week was when the aforementioned eavesdropping occurred.  One of the two (male) gym-goers who was involved in the exchange was very familiar to me, and, just so you know, both had been mulling around the gym floor for a morning class to soon start.

What was said when they spotted Gina checking in at the front desk wasn't at all hetero-masculine unusual.  The men both agreed wholeheartedly (with sly grins on their faces) at the declarative statement, immediately upon its release.  Even I, as the overhearer, found it not at all out-of-line with my limited understanding of hetero-masculine reality.  

Nonetheless, I'm still unable to process it completely.  For seeing that car simply go from roadgoing to airborne continues to befuddle me.  What the fuck just happened?

It's shocking to me how much I exist within my own reality.  We all do really.  Isn't that unnerving?

I'm hoping to lean on a dear (hetero-masculine, non-Samson) friend, later on this week, for assistance in understanding where I should go from here.  

Ultimately, what naturally went down relative to this beautiful female's presence last week, there at the local Y, offered me a glimpse of something I'm so not familiar with.    

I'm truly at a loss at this point.  And, at the same time, so very grateful.  For I want to understand that which doesn't come instinctual for Rob.  

Why?

I have a deep respect for normalcy and hetero-masculine men in general.  Thanks be to God that planet Earth isn't populated solely by Robs (it would be far less interesting).

Jesus January's Premature Conclusion

If you look back at my Mid-January Update post, everything that's stated there still holds true today, therefore I've decided to prematurely conclude this challenge, a week or so in advance of the 31st.

I thought I might find additional insight within the latter half of the month, in line with the first half, but that's simply not been the case.  Instead, I've simply found myself rehashing what I've already taken away, with no new revelations emerging.

The most interesting part of this entire challenge for me has been how easy it's come about to throttle back on routine simply by no longer categorizing the behavior (& then treating it therein) as such within my mind.

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I eat the same breakfast foods every morning.  I run the same route twice a week.  I strength train at the same facility twice a week.  I worship at the same church, sitting more or less on the same pew.  I drive the same route to and from my office during the workweek.  And on and on.

You see my point.

All of these facets of my life fall into the camp of routine.  And rightly so.

One's sex life certainly should not be treated as such.  Otherwise, one is cheapening the required work relative to identifying when and exactly how this portion of one's life should be most honorably (& maturely) addressed.

In conclusion, it's important to always remember that sexual activity can wait and wait and wait.  There's nothing about it that's categorically required behavior.  Now, when I say that, I'm simply referring to sexual activity in clinical terms.  For we are not like the animals who behave instinctively / driven by reproductive fertility cycles.  

And, of course, the more we wait, the more satisfied we'll be with the sex when we do choose to act due to how our sex organs are designed to function as men.

And yes, we are men.  Not teens (anymore).  What then do you desire for your sex life as such?

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.

Healthily Spotlighting The Intense Pleasure Of Youthful Masturbation

Friends of ours have an adolescent (homeschooled) son who's freaking them out via his interest in (compulsiveness regarding?) women's shoes.  

How did this come about?

They've unintentionally barged in on him wearing mom's stylish dress shoes (buck naked) whilst lying down on his bed, and they've taken note of his Internet search history (images of stylish women's shoes).  

This boy is the only biological child of this couple.  He does have an older half-sister, but she's college-age and therefore out of the house throughout most of the day.  

Their son isn't effeminate, but he has had a lot of trouble (sitting still / becoming distracted) excelling within a traditional (school) learning environment.  Hence, he's spent A LOT of his time under his mother's wing, at home, while his peers were being educated within a classroom setting.

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Years ago, a Samson brother described to me how he spent a portion of his adolescence covertly trying on his grandmother's stockings as a sensual ramp up to masturbating therein. 

As an adult, this man eventually ended up a convicted felon due to his penchant for voyeurism (Peeping Tom).  This unsettling behavior (I would argue totally unrelated to his short-lived stocking fetish) unfortunately did grow forward out of adolescence.  Being a schoolteacher at the time of his indictment, this criminal turn-on sent his educational career / family-life into a tailspin.  

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My father spied on his only son (when I was an adolescent) until he was successful in confirming that Rob was indeed masturbating. From there, he immediately confronted me as if he'd never been a horny adolescent boy himself.  As a result of this, I only redoubled my efforts to be covert whilst pleasuring myself.  All the while, I unfortunately lost a tremendous amount of respect for my dad.  For it was one of those critical moments where I was almost more ashamed for him relative to his ridiculously incompetent parenting skill (regarding this specific milestone) than actually how I came to feel relative to being singled out like some teenage pervert.  

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When Bill Clinton was POTUS, he appointed a black woman, Dr. Jocelyn Elders, to be Surgeon General.  She may have been the first black female to do this, but her appointment was short-lived due to her views on educating children regarding all forms of sex education (including masturbation).  

This occurred in 1994.  

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I had a Samson brother dismiss the notion of him being qualified to rear a son due to his fear that the boy's scheduled puberty would inevitably cause the dad to crater relative to becoming sexual with his son.  And this man had no history of either being molested or molestation.  

Nonetheless, he did rear two daughters and is now a grandfather (of an adolescent grandson).  

I'm convinced the gaping holes within this man's own upbringing, as it pertains to being respectfully educated regarding all manner of male sexuality, had left a sizable blind spot.  A blind spot that somehow put him on some sort of private, moral blacklist. Therefore, he'd convinced himself that ignorance via poor nurturing had carried forward into parental disqualification.  

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When a boy moves into puberty, a lot of frighteningly fast physical change is taking place, but the most shocking one is his penchant for experiencing sexual arousal.  And those experiences won't necessarily have a rhyme or reason.  

Let's remember too that adolescent sexual arousal is a whole-body experience.  In turn, traveling down that particular rabbit hole of pleasure (via masturbation) is also going to involve the entire body for the teen.  Hence, it is, by default, a nuclear-scaled experience.  

And this is why it is so important for adolescent boys to have an older, trusted male in their corner to help them put proper words to what they're experiencing and why (especially when unexpected bodily fluids start showing up).

And yes, even if they enjoy masturbating whilst wearing their mother's high heels.  

In closing, what's so very polarizing about Dr. Jocelyn Elders is that as a black female, she actually had the guts to address these topics - for the record - running headlong into political / societal controversy.  

Considering that, I have to wonder.

What if she had been a he (Dr. Jock Elders) and preferably white.  Would some semblance of a productive dialogue been kickstarted back in 1994?  

In closing, shouldn't it be influential men from their positions of power / authority doing this sort of heavy lifting?

For the majority of us had a youthful masturbation experience similar to the one I had with my own dad.  Hence, there're bound to be chronic blind spots throughout the manosphere that most of us can relate to.  

Why isn't this topic being addressed publicly with some needed care / respect?  Particularly considering the ridiculous ease of access to pornographic material that's been part of western culture for decades now. 

Enquiring minds want to know.

(& btw, whilst looking back, I wish I too had been wearing my mother's high heels when Robert, Sr. decided to spy, yet again, on me as the overly horny adolescent.)

Lagniappe

Profound Sensitivity Whilst At "The Beach". (Childhood Past Overlapping With Present Experience.) Unintentionally Exhuming Teenage Trauma.

I requested of my parents that we take a beach vacation when I was a sophomore in high school.  At the time, I was around the age of 16 (I'm an only child).  My parents, concurrently, were in their mid-30s.  The year would have been 1988.  It's important to know that we'd never "beached trip" prior, though we had visited the Mississippi Gulf Coast (which has a less than picturesque beach).

I believe I made this specific "beach trip" request due to what I'd heard from a close friend relative to her family's beach vacations.  My friend's dad was an attorney, and each summer they integrated their beach trip in with the Mississippi BAR convention in Miramar Beach, FL.  My friend was a drinker and as such, very socially adept.  Too, her stunningly beautiful cousin from CA would fly in to join her relative to this annual summer beach vaca.  

It all sounded so COOL (despite the fact that I was anything but cool).  Why not give it a go with my family?

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My older two daughters and I just returned from Miramar Beach, FL this past weekend.  I was there for work (convention), and my daughters tagged along.  This specific convention, I've attended each summer for close to a decade.  It's an exhausting affair, though overall - typically - very productive / enjoyable.  

Miramar Beach is home to a 2,400-acre resort that was spearheaded in the 1980s.  It's at this resort where this annual convention has been held since 2015.

Too, it was at this same resort, back in 1988, that my parents and I vacationed when I was 16.  As such, it was my first time there.

As you might imagine, what I experienced at 16 at Sandestin was far different OVERALL than what's there today.

Except...

The same hotel building my parents and I stayed in back in 1988 is still there (though it's been rebranded as "condos").  

In fact, surprisingly, my girls and I stayed in that exact building last week while we were there.  As a result, I had no idea how profoundly influential our accommodations would turn out to be.

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Immediately upon inhabiting our assigned condo (hotel room), I felt a profound sense of sadness / insecurity that I couldn't shake for the entire four days we were there.  It was like a dark cloud that hung over me each and every day.  It's important to note that adjacent to this repurposed condo building is the original conference center for the resort.  Because our assigned condo (room) was at the end of the building, my girls and I would typically navigate through said pre-function conference space (entering & exiting the building repeatedly throughout the day).  

As a sixteen-year-old, I was notorious for exploring unfamiliar buildings.  Hence, I'm certain I did a fair share of exploring of this mid-'80s conference center.

To be more specific, because I was sharing a hotel room with my parents, I feel certain I was on the hunt for "off the beaten (sorry) path" public restrooms to masturbate within (sitting on the loo within an enclosed stall).  This pre-function conference space had restrooms that would have fit the bill exactly.  For whatever reason, as a teenage boy, doing this was just rebellious enough to satiate that adolescent season.

In fact, I used these restrooms last week (only for what they were designed for, thank you very much) often while we were there (as we entered / exited the building).

I know all this sounds ridiculously over the top bizarre, but...

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Immediately upon my girls and I returning home on Sunday, (7/23) afternoon, I facilitated the "Brain Changers" virtual Samson Society meeting (I just barely made it), and it was literally during our breakout session that everything began to crystallize within my mind (Summer 1988 past overlapping with Summer 2023 present experience).

I cannot underestimate how much I loathed myself as a sixteen-year-old boy.  Whether it was related to my body image, my sexuality (struggles with unwanted / intrusive homosexual desires), or my penchant for escaping via masturbation (often inside bathroom stalls), all of this compounded my disgust.  It was a private disgust that I wrestled with constantly.  

That sixteen-year-old Rob is alive and well inside my head.  Unbeknownst to me, I essentially re-traumatized him last week relative to our 2023 accommodations (being identical to his in 1988).  

How is this possible?

I have no idea.  I'm no brain expert.  But I can tell you this:  my sixteen-year-old self is in there.  And he remembers / is just as sensitive as ever.  Especially when the experience(s) were tough for him.  Plus, he was a budding architect at the time (I embarked into architecture school at 19).  Hence, buildings, in particular, made distinct impressions on his / my budding psyche.  

Having gone through this, I feel yet again humbled.  It truly is unbelievable how profoundly influential childhood experiences are relative to our present-day adult circumstances.  

(No Longer In) Bondage To The Thrust

I never would have known my local Samson friend was so spellbound by hot women 'till we had (a repeat) restaurant lunch.  As such, a troupe of high school girls traipsed in, and eventually sat adjacent to us.  These were pristine, rich, white girls wearing the latest designer clothes / hairstyles.  There was 6-8 of them, and they were all bubbly and giggly as they carried their sizable pocket computers like individual bars of gold.  These girls were undoubtedly students at the across-the-highway private academy, and they were there at this restaurant on "lunch break" (having driven their parents' BMWs and Mercedes-Benz across the way).  Likely many of them came from heady stock - CPAs, surgeons & prominent business owners, having been expectedly pampered throughout their short lives.

At the time, this friend was my Silas 3.0, and the tension he was experiencing due to the "availableness" of this troupe was impossible to miss.  I remember feeling powerless and a bit annoyed but altogether grateful as well that I wasn't in his intensive heterosexual shoes.  

All in all, I vividly recall him being visibly distraught as he forced himself to not glance their way.  It seemingly took all his strength in order to NOT capture / captivate / become spellbound by their sexual prowess.  As an aside, him wearing his work uniform likely only added to the intensity of this moment, serving as a reminder of his past, pre-conversion (Christianity) hedonism with many a similar lay.  

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Saturday, (7/1) my wife and I executed our typical weekend workout at the local Y.  Never before had I seen one particular mid to late 20s man in there prior.  His upper body was lean and svelte, but his legs - damn his legs - were stunningly beautiful.  

Stunningly beautiful legs = muscular, hairy, beautifully proportioned.  Bulky thighs / calves, seamless knees / ankles.  Tan flesh.  Either dark or blonde (leg) hair.  And they must be long, thick hairs that drape over the muscled flesh like a silk carpet.

This young man was no doubt athletic.  Perhaps he was a runner or a rock climber or both.  He could have been a varsity / collegiate (baseball) catcher.  Anything requiring that constant crouching down that builds lower body strength and the subsequent mass.  For that's where his strength lay.  Lower body.

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Well over a decade ago, I showed up to sing (routine Wednesday night rehearsal) in our church choir at Lakeside Pres, and the melodic tenor (who was a new guy to me and the church in general) sitting adjacent was wearing shorts (as I was).  He was around my age (late 30s at the time), and due to the stunning beauty of his long legs, I literally came close to creaming my shorts as we sang to the Lord - our austere Presbyterian tunes - over the course of that hour.

Let me repeat:  these were some stunningly beautiful legs, and they were close enough for me to (accidently?) rub up against.    

The owner of said legs was married (his wife too sang in the choir), and as a couple, were also new to the area.  Not long after this up close legebration, they decided to move away to greener pastures which resulted in him taking his stunningly beautiful legs (as well as his incredible voice) to the Pacific Northwest.  Not long after that, I stopped singing in the choir, covertly mourning my loss.

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The summer after I graduated high school (1990), I had to take College Algebra before entering into the freshman architecture school curriculum at Mississippi State University.  I took this course, along with English Composition I, at Holmes Community College's then newly opened Ridgeland campus.  

Upon entering the latter's classroom, I found myself sitting across from a handful of high school (Madison-Ridgeland Academy) peers (two girls and one guy), one of which was a varsity athlete (football, baseball, track) who I'd never once spoken to.  It's important to know that at our high school, the boys weren't allowed to wear shorts.  Hence, blue jeans were the norm.

To my delight, there was no such dress code here at community college.

"Trevor" was wearing athletic shorts during that first day of English Comp I and every day afterwards.  Our class met thrice weekly for +/-90 minutes, therefore I had a front and center view of his stunningly beautiful legs each and every day we met.  This entire experience served to both captivate and suffocate me simultaneously.  For it both enlightened and horrified Rob as to what he was primarily attracted to in certain other men.

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Masculine sexual activity is all about thrusting (movement of the erect penis in and out of the wet vagina).  There's no way around this.  That thrusting is done via the lower body.  The entire porn industry is built upon this animalistic movement.  This beautiful movement that powerfully personifies the act of intercourse.  

Interestingly enough, my Silas 2.0 masturbated by humping the couch / bed prior to ejaculating within his briefs.  I'd never met another guy who did this.  He refused to masturbate any other way, having "taught himself" this technique as a boy.  That dry humping, of course, is a thrusting movement that's lower body executed.  According to him, he only needed 60-90 seconds to climax therein via this technique (efficiency was first priority for this Samson guy - in everything).    

To summarize, this lower body thrusting is decidedly heterosexual intercourse anatomical vocabulary.  As such, the lower body of a man may very well equate to this visually.  And that is definitely the case for me.

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To circle back to the young man my wife and I encountered this past weekend at the Y, he not only had those aforementioned stunningly beautiful legs, but he also was very polite.  He and I spoke a couple of times, throughout our time there, as we crossed paths during our respective - 90-minute - strength training workouts.  

But what didn't occur - in the very least - was me becoming "in bondage to the thrust" as a result.  Instead, I simply acknowledged what I witnessed, and went on my way.

How did I accomplish this at this stage in my recovery?

I honestly don't know.  

Yesterday, during our "Brain Changers" virtual Samson Society meeting, the word was FREEDOM, and this narrative of mine (what I've encapsulated here) was front and center.  But, even having a full 24-hours to ruminate on this further, I still can't pinpoint what's specifically occurred to free me from these shackles.

Maybe it's simply that I've met my quota for stunningly beautiful legs.  I can tell you that I've been so very blessed to know enough men with tree trunks - as I've described here - that perhaps I've simply leveled up as a result.  It's as if that guy, "Trevor", from high school (who sat across from me for two summer months at HCC within English Comp I) has been sexual with me via the countless tree trunk brothers in Christ I've intimately (keyword) befriended since 1990.  

For I wanted nothing more than to be pursued by this guy.  That's what my sexual fantasies - involving him - revolved around.  Him befriending me prior to us having a homosexual relationship.  All throughout that summer - post high school.  

Let me be more specific.

All three of my Silases have been men who I've experienced intimacy with - on a level (I would argue) - that equates to a sexual relationship.  

To take that statement a step further...

Even without the exchange of bodily fluids, the mystique of their individual manhood(s) I've had the opportunity to observe / experience - up close and personal.  Besides these formal Silases, there've been countless other men (mostly within the framework of Samson Society) who've provided me with similar experiences.

Each of these experiences has uncovered more and more of what I longed to know and understand about men (including my own individual, reflected manhood) back in 1990.  

It's just taken a really long time to get to this point of me now knowing enough to properly level up.  

Relationships take time and SO MUCH WORK.  They're the exact opposite of sexual fantasy which are cheap and thereby overall worthless.  

I have been so blessed by Samson Society.  I realize it when I have experiences like I did this past weekend at the Y.

Lagniappe

A Wife's (Marital) Sexual Charms / Scorecard = A Husband's Sexual Faithfulness To His Marriage...!?!

Is the wife in anyway responsible for her husband's faithfulness within their marriage?  That's the ultimate question as it pertains to the title of this post.

You've likely heard husbands comfortably saddle wives with the responsibility of keeping their libidos satiated / tamed.  Some of these men are pastors who've boldly made those claims from the pulpit.  

Again, Is she responsible in this regard as the wife of her husband?

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This is about as cut-&-dry an issue (for some men) as making weekly date nights a priority for married couples, or husbands bringing their wives flowers once a week.  

And we men, overall, like cut-&-dry.  It simplifies by shirking the responsibility solely onto someone else.

A recent "experiental" video that was presented (as our topical jumping off point) within the virtual Samson Society meeting I regularly attend featured Mr. Robbie Harvey (YouTube) talking about serendipitously "depositing love / goodness" into his wife (daily) and receiving two-fold love / goodness in return.  Every time.  Now that's manly cut-&-dryness.  It's reliable and easy to understand whilst being quite covertly manipulative / passive aggressive.

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If you were to look at marriage as a kaleidoscope relationship that's rotating (& thereby transforming) - to some degree - daily (if not hourly) versus a static, formulaic program, I'm convinced that it not only will be seen much more accurately but appreciated / extolled far more relative to its ever-changing, complex beauty.

As such, blanket active / reactive statements regarding marriage would immediately be pushed aside as inappropriate / unfair / stupid.

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I'm convinced that Satan lures husbands into this over-simplified fray by exploiting their hardwiring as problem solvers who may very well be biased towards performance (as many men are).

If that's you, be wary of this sort of dumbass thinking towards marriage.  It's dangerous, ineffective, and a huge waste of time.  Unless you're married to a robot woman.

"Momma's Been Married Five Times."

A few weekends back, I had lunch with a friend from church as an embarrassingly tardy follow-up.  He's one of those (surprisingly cool) middle-aged men who's a contrarian (taking his own upbringing into consideration) relative to his marriage / rearing of his own children.

When he and I dined together initially (pre-pandemic - 2019? - I honestly can't recall exactly), I vaguely remember him chatting a fair amount about his devout Christian mother.  He likely mentioned (the embarrassing truth) her marital track record then, but it must have blown past Rob without registering.  More than likely, I simply had forgotten about this curiosity.  Or perhaps, I felt a pity overflow (for him), and therefore simply refused to allow it to stick.  Considering this latter assumption, I cannot underestimate the fact that today, he presents himself as a really nice guy who simply found himself (as a boy) within the line of fire as a result of his mother's issues.

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I have a deceased uncle whose second wife (& mother to three of my cousins) is now married to husband #6 or maybe #7.  She's - at present - essentially estranged from some (if not all) of her three children due to this chronic romantic recklessness.  

Back in the early '80s, she was repeatedly unfaithful (with her eventual second husband) to my uncle which subsequently resulted in their divorce.  

There's a story that I've heard my father (& another deceased uncle - my dad's younger brother) reminisce about relative to some of her infidelity hijinks during this time.  It has to do with the two of them accompanying their brother (her then husband) on an "adultery stakeout" in small town Mississippi.  The punchline zeroed in on her large breasts stalling her from escaping out of her lover's bathroom window (supposedly topless) in reaction to her husband (my suspecting uncle) banging on the front door.  

I recall the first time (+/-15 years ago) I heard my dad and his younger brother awkwardly retell this heartbreaking tale.  For everyone knew that it was her husband's punitive - after the fact - physical reaction (he assaulted her) that gave her clear legal credence to ultimately file for divorce (& gain custody of my cousins).  From there, their beautiful three boys were gone forever.

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I never really thought about / considered women being compulsive sex consumers until I became involved in Samson Society.

Years ago, a former parishioner at Lakeside Pres was referred to me (as the then facilitator of the Lakeside Pres Samson Society group).  He and I had dined casually once prior, but circumstances being what they were now, our second sit-down was not at all as jovial as the first.  As a result, he agreed to attend his first (& only) Saturday morning meeting.

The first statement out of his mouth was (during share time):  "My wife is a sex addict.  That's why I'm here."

That's the one and only time I've ever heard a guy make that statement within all the hundreds and hundreds of Samson meetings I've attended since August of 2014.  

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I've known of a few older Samson guys who've married much younger (& understandably hornier) women.  Youth = vitality (particularly as it relates to libido).

But that's not what I'm attempting to address here.  This has more to do with women who've allowed sex to become perpetually disproportioned relative to its influence / relevance within a romantic relationship.  And what makes this so weird to wrap one's brain around has to do with how the majority of women approach sex overall.

Sexual activity for a woman is 99% of the time rooted in the notion of security.  Even if it's an illusion or fantasy.  

Women participate in intercourse believing for those few minutes that their lover is their "knight in shining armor".  It's a powerfully securing experience for them that promulgates feminine orgasm.  Anatomically, with men "going into" women with their penises, the act itself demonstrates this consensual act.  Otherwise, it's rape / assault.

As such, sex for women is never cheap because their heart (either literally or fantastically) is involved each and every time it occurs.

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But there are those women - no doubt - who're moreso like (some) men regarding sexual perspective.  Hence, it has become a methodology or technique to control / use / abuse, and as such, they themselves see no need for being "protected" / "heart connected" by / to their lover.  Instead, it's simply a pleasurable experience that satiates their horniness for such a time as that.  And this drives them onward, brandishing their seductiveness to whomever they wish to use within their orbit.

To me, this is an ugly description, but especially so if it happens to be your momma.  Yuck.

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In closing, when I worked at Delta State University in 2013, I had the good fortune of befriending one of my employees - to the degree that I circumstantially (conflict of interest) could.  He was an absolutely beautiful (physically & emotionally) pagan man with such a sweet spirit.  I was so fortunate to know him for those fast-moving twelve months.

What truly drew us together was him choosing to (reluctantly) answer my questions about his upbringing there in the Mississippi Delta.  And part of that commentary inevitably centered on his mother.  

This man had no issue labeling her a "whore".  This was shocking to hear, but nevertheless, he described how pervasive her routine was at bedding men throughout the impoverished region during his growing up years.  

I imagine, taking his physical appearance into consideration, that she likely had been equally as attractive in her own right.

After Rob was fired from that institution in September of 2013, Angie and I did share one last meal with my work friend and his wife.  Afterwards, he and I sat out on his patio, and I awkwardly shared my story (to the best of my ability at the time).  

From there, we quickly lost touch as our family returned to the Jackson Metro.

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The Bible addresses the women I'm attempting to describe here.  One of the most famous is actually within the lineage (bloodline) of Jesus (she was a prostitute).  

I know so little about what promulgates women like this, yet I've seen firsthand the tremendous suffering / shame their own sexual brokenness can cause.  It brings me pause, furthering my respect for men who carry this matriarchal legacy with them - day after day.