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

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

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

Why?

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

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

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

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

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So how do I put a stop to this?

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

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?  

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.

Recommended Reading - Let's Discuss Buttplay Sans Shame

Study Claims More American Men Are Being Hospitalized For Having Foreign Objects Stuck Inside Their Rectum • Hollywood Unlocked

The reason men are into buttplay is not necessarily because they're homosexual / have same sex attraction.  That's a stereotypical generalization.  The reason lies in individual guy's relationship to their anus / rectum.

As we all know, this part of their body is only just a hair lower than a guy's scrotum.  Naturally, proximity to genitalia often results in experimentation - especially at adolescence (in tandem with discovering masturbation).  As such, that experimentation can result in discovering this "dirty" part isn't necessarily immune to tactile / erotic stimulation (inserting digits / objects).

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It was during a Samson Society intensive weekend a few years back when I first divulged (publicly) using anal sex toys unashamedly.  I mentioned it within a story (which I'd penned) that I was tasked with reading.  It was one of two tales (story of shame / story of blessing) that each man had been asked to write in advance of the weekend "share time".  I don't recall which of the two stories contained this particular detail (I certainly didn't expound on it).

A fellow Samson attendee and I were chatting later on (the following day), and he began weeping (tears of deep-seated shame) whilst privately acknowledging being able to relate to my buttplay travails.  I came away feeling conflicted as a result.  On the one hand, I was glad to have had the courage to share, but too, that particular detail, to me, wasn't meant as a bombshell confession.  

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I'll never forget Silas 1.0 blessing my admittance to using anal sex toys regularly.  We were en route back to Jackson from Lafayette, LA where I'd accompanied him to his DUI arraignment (June 2016).  I came away feeling seen and heard.  Soon thereafter, I gifted him a stainless steel buttplug with a thankful heart.

We never spoke of my interest in buttplay again, and that was absolutely fine by me.  Simply knowing that I'd had the courage to divulge this to someone I trusted so completely...that, by far was enough.

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Anatomically, the rectum isn't at all like the vagina.  It's not designed to be penetrated.  As such, it's very easy for men to injure themselves.  Sometimes to the degree that surgery is needed relative to correction / healing.

Years ago, I won a local essay contest, and as a result, had the privilege of befriending one of the other writers (at the awards ceremony).  I felt compelled to share my story (over a meal) with this young man, and as a result, he opened up similarly.  As a result, he was the first guy I had the privilege to meet who had the courage to admit to receiving a tear in his anal sphincter (due to being sodomized by a well-endowed man).  He went on to describe the ordeal in enough detail for me to realize just how unique the anus / rectum truly is.  What I mean by that is this:  It's certainly a pleasurable part of the body to stimulate, but again, as stated above, it's not at all like the vagina.

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Sodomy between men is sin (as is fellatio, mutual masturbation between men).  Women who enjoy being sodomized should no doubt reserve this activity for their husband, and hopefully, he's in agreement with her wishes.  I don't believe there're all that many husbands enamored with the notion of penetrating their wives in any other location than their vagina / mouth.  Nonetheless, no doubt, there're couples who make sodomy part of their bedroom routine.

Brokeback Mountain (2005) or "The Gay Cowboy Movie" starring Heath Ledger / Jake Gyllenhaal is a recommended film to screen.  It fully fleshes out the consequences of men crossing flesh lines (becoming sexual).  

There's a scene in that film where Heath Ledger's character, Ennis Del Mar, attempts to forcefully sodomize his wife whilst being intimate, and this is supposedly a consequence of his ongoing backwoods shenanigans with his close friend, Jack Twist (played by Gyllenhaal). 

What's interesting about both that scene as well as the (one) sex scene between the two men is how unnatural / forced it obviously is (pragmatically) for them to participate in.

I truly appreciated the filmmakers for realistically displaying this.

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Yes, there are women who experience pain / discomfort during vaginal intercourse.  Based on my understanding of this, many of these women are having a physiological response to being penetrated that's rooted in underlying emotional issues stemming from any number of culprits (anxiety, body issues, past abuse / assault, etc.)  Too, there're women who have physical issues that also can cause pain / discomfort.  

But the majority of women do not experience this.

The vagina is a self-lubricating, warm pleasure hole for a man's penis to repeatedly penetrate.  And though there're a small percentage of women who can actually be brought to orgasm via this repetitive experience, most need a little help from their clitoris.  Hence, the gentlemanly approach to vaginal intercourse is to allow her to orgasm FIRST.  

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For those of you who've never experienced dialoguing with your Silas / other Samson brothers regarding a personal topic like buttplay, my hope is that you'll someday take that leap.  Especially if you're participating therein, and simply know within your heart that you need to be heard / acknowledged regarding the matter.  Releasing that and not being judged for it is a massive gift.

I've heard so many stories involving everything from nipple play (self-stimulation) to "inflating one's belly" whilst masturbating, and all of these somehow get lumped together into dark, shame-filled corners of men's psyches (which oftentimes provoke ample tears).  Corners that can very well end up serving as jumping off points for risky, dangerous behaviors.  Behaviors that can lead to serious injury, if not death, because they tend to mutate within that darkness.

Be encouraged to bring everything into the light in due time.  Never forget that the men within this community are just as male as you are.

Advocating For Your Children (Including The Dunces / Queers)

What does it mean to be an advocate?

This is a complicated ask.

Advocacy isn't merely voting in favor of another person.  It's actually using your intelligence to understand that person firstly (to the best of your ability) prior to supporting them (customized) therein.  This is a time-consuming process that requires your complete focus on someone other than yourself.

To do this (advocacy) well, you cannot establish yourself as more (better) smart, more (better) straight, more (better) anything.  Otherwise, true advocacy cannot occur.  For advocacy is the purest form of sacrificial love between two human beings.  

In summary, advocacy is a bottom-up support.  It's attempting to elevate another person relative to their value TOWARDS THEMSELVES.  From there, others around them (hopefully) buy into this (infectious) self-renew and continue forward with the trend (thereby accelerating the elevation).

Individuals who'd benefit from advocacy - for whatever reason - cannot or will not advocate for themselves.  Regarding the latter, if they've been brainwashed to believe they've no / lesser value, advocating on their behalf will be that much harder to pull off successfully.  This is due to the codependency that tends to result from said brainwashing.

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Parents of multiple children who refuse to advocate for certain offspring befuddle me via their discriminatory behavior.

Here're two thoughts that come to mind:

-  Isn't a parent - by default - qualified to be the ideal advocate for their children?  Particularly if they're a biological parent?

-  What benefit (to the parent, in particular) is it to withhold advocacy from one of multiple children?

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Please consider the following disclaimer:  I'm not referring here to rebellious / disobedient / delinquent children.  

Instead, I'm referring to children who aren't homogeneous amongst the ranks (within the fam).  Perhaps they're NOTICEABLY less intelligent, less masculine / feminine, etc. than the other offspring.  As such, they're in need / owed (I would argue) - to an even greater degree - of parental advocacy.  

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Therefore, what might this advocacy actually look like?

For discussion's sake, let's say you are the parent of four beautiful children, all over the age of eighteen.  Two of these children are up and out of the house, living as productive, responsible adults.  But one of the remaining two is noticeably less intelligent (& always has been), and this dramatically impacts his short-term memory.  Yet, he's far more athletically built (larger skeleton) than his (other male) siblings.  

As such, wouldn't you advocate for this child, specifically as it pertains to his athleticism (noticeable physical strength / prowess)?  And don't assume I'm referring to team sports here.  What about strength training, CrossFit, etc.?  Activities that are biased towards athleticism without the requirement of above average intelligence.  

Wouldn't advocating for your child's customized success therein likely reap substantial benefits within his self-esteem, thereby improving your relationship therein?

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But what if you, as the parent, didn't speak that strength training / CrossFit language due to you yourself not having an athletic bone in your body?  What then?

You reach out to someone who does and entrust them to become your child's advocate (whilst keeping a watchful eye).

This is not rocket science.  Yet, I'm beginning to believe the (parents) embarrassment problem (towards their dunce / queer child) doesn't lie within the brain.  No, I'm now convinced that this is a heart problem. 

These parents simply do not care to either enmesh or burden themselves with the notion of advocacy for this specific offspring.  Hence, these children are left to flounder / rot on the vine.  

But why?  This only hurts them in the end by burdening everyone within the family that much further.  

I'm so confused.  What's the benefit of deeming a child - as I've described here - a lost cause?

What Is One of The Necessary Roles Of Journalism? To Promote Decency (Whilst HOPEFULLY Making You Think)

Illinois woman discovers dead husband in closet months after disappearance | Fox News

Hoarding is an extreme form of obsessing over oneself / one's inner thoughts.  It's a deep-seated bondage relative to one's psyche that manifests itself via chronic, compulsive consumption (purchase & stockpiling) of goods.  Oftentimes, for a hoarder, the cable television channel QVC or the URL, Craigslist / eBay, is on par with Internet porn for a Samson guy.

Hoarding is exploiting one's individual rights (related to consuming) within epidemic proportions.  It is being the ultimate PERSONAL advocate to such a degree that no one else's "well-being" is of concern except your own.

Nonetheless...

The greatest gift to the hoarder is the difficulty therein in hiding their problem (especially when the corpse of a loved one is unearthed within the hoarded goods). 

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Immediately following our wedding, 26-years ago, Angie and I moved into our first home (an upstairs 2-bedroom apartment in Ridgeland).  We ended up leasing that flat for four years, and throughout the majority of that time, a hoarder lived beneath us.  I know this because of how apparent it was looking from the outside in.

Though I didn't consider myself a snoop, it was easy getting a clear view inside whilst circumnavigating to the back of our building (in order to empty our cat's litterbox).  I vividly recall how shocked I was the first time I glanced into her windows, particularly relative to her kitchen.  (Keep in mind that her flat's floor plan was identical to our own.)

Our neighbor's hoarding became so problematic that we (upstairs) began experiencing an ant invasion (they found their way into our staples within our small pantry).  Soon thereafter, I approached our downstairs neighbor.  With her being single (with one elementary age daughter), I didn't care to rat on her to management.  As a result (I'm assuming), the ant problem did subside, yet in no way did her overall living conditions improve (based on my continued indiscriminate / concerned observations).

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Chronic porn use is exploiting one's individual online rights (related to consuming) within epidemic proportions.  It is being the ultimate PERSONAL advocate to such a degree that no one else's "well-being" is of concern except your own.

The greatest curse to the chronic porn user is the definitive vacuum by which they exist within. 

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My first hope regarding finding support as a same-sex attracted Christian man was via reading online blogs (2007-).  These were blogs written by men who looked to be walking the same road I was attempting / had been attempting to navigate.  I knew there'd be no formal support available from my church (I'd looked hard) or within the community (here in Mississippi) at large, and that the professional journalism community (religious or secular) certainly wouldn't touch a story like my own with a ten-foot pole.  

These blog writings that had been published online were like a breath of fresh air within a vacuum.  And many of these men talked too of their struggle with chronic gay porn consumption (which I very much could relate to) now that the Internet was on the scene!

This is why I write here and encourage others to do the same.  Consider it an ode to that first gasp of resuscitating oxygen.

My hope is men can find hope before their inward obsessiveness results in the collateral damage that so often is the inevitable.  Perhaps this blog (journal) will in some way offer support as those aforementioned ones did for me - all those years ago.

Decency:  conformity to the recognized standard of propriety, good taste & modesty, etc. 

Sucking Babies Into Sinks = Slicing Into Rob's Last Nerve

The first time I heard an involved in Christian men's ministry guy admit (to an audience) having impregnated a girlfriend, only then to have her abort his child, became for Rob - numero uno - revolting reveal.

And I believe it has much to do with me being a bastard child myself (who thankfully wasn't aborted).  

But these fornication / mother aborting reveals aren't few and far between (within Christian men's ministry).  Abortion happens.  Often.  And deep-seated regret ensues.  As such, I tend to just get more and more disgusted / outraged with it.  For I consider the practice of abortion to be shockingly barbaric.  

Hence, I've come to realize this is one thing I absolutely DO NOT agree should be shared outside of a professional counseling session (where secrecy is "guaranteed").  I just don't want to be exposed to that level of darkness.

And I realize, for some of you, befriending repentant pedophiles is in and of itself the ultimate revulsion.  I get / respect that.  Nonetheless, from my point of view, murdering children from inside a mother's womb in no way equates. 

All that being said, I can't control what Samson guys (or any guy) choose to reveal about themselves or their stories.  Hence, I at times find myself between a rock and a hard place with a knee jerk reaction that proportionally offends (Rob the asshole).  

Abortion is pervasive yet polarizing.  I just don't know exactly what I'm supposed to do with that portion of a guy's story whilst buckling under the emotional weight of said reveal.

In closing, I feel singled out by this.  And this also disturbs me that much further.  I wonder if there're others out there who feel this topic should only be shared with pastors / counselors / therapists.

Let me be clear:  I'm abhorrent to the notion of divulging abortions to anyone but someone who's specifically trained to receive it, therefore if this is either directly or indirectly tied to your story, please don't share it with Rob.  I'm not your man.  We can dialogue about anything else that you feel so moved to share.  Just not that.

Was I Making A Selfish, Irresponsible Move Or Not?

Your grown ass man brain is best served by a consciousness that practically protects it from emotional harm.  You have a God-given skull to protect it from impact / falls, but emotional harm, your skull cannot guard against.  Instead, it's up to your consciousness to recognize that risk and manage it accordingly (to the best of its ability / within reason).

My experience with feeling dejected by a mentor (immediate supervisor of mine at a college I was employed at throughout 2013) did SUBSTANTIAL emotional damage to my brain.  I had never experienced anything like that before, at least to that degree.  And this experience, mind you, wasn't drawn out / within a season.  Instead, it occurred over a period of 15 minutes.  It's important to note that my sensitivity was significantly amplified due to how needy I was at the time.  Desperate for help, inclusion and love, but instead, I was met with the exact opposite.  It was not unlike taking a sledgehammer to the temple.

As such, I made an immediate attempt to minimize further damage (professionally, emotionally).  Hence, I was convinced that the best way for me to pull that off was to pack up my bags and leave.  And not just from the institution itself (which was quite easy to do since I'd been fired), but also from the small town we were residing within (in order for me to work there).  All of that occurred over the next +/-30 days.

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For me, the surefire way I became cognizant of just how eviscerated my brain had been was as follows:

I've always loved, loved, loved screening films at the theater (from childhood onward).  Post aforementioned dejection (I was 41 at the time), I could no longer do this without crying throughout the entire length of the film.  And those tears were falling on behalf of how undeserving / unequipped / unable I believed I was to have an enjoyable experience of any kind (but especially one as nostalgically reliable as a cinematic one).

In essence, it felt as if this time-tested memorable love of mine had been poisoned outright via these massively negative feelings.  And I suppose, in a way it was.  It took 5-6 years 'till I actually felt confident enough to screen a film in a theater setting once again.

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A sizeable proportion of your vulnerability to feelings of dejection is wholly linked to the degree of respect you have for that other human being.  Whether that's your employer, friend, spouse, sibling, parent.  Have a massive amount of respect for an individual?  Be aware of how that will expose your heart to their critiques - both positive and negative.

Whilst saying all of this, please don't in anyway discount your own inner critic.  I'm referring to that voice inside your own head that's adjudicating in real time, most every move you make.

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Back in June of  '20, my wife was in a rehab hospital (in Jackson) having had a stroke a few weeks prior.  Too (at this time), the pandemic was in full swing, therefore most everyone had shifted their mentality relative to physical contact with other human beings.  And lo and behold, a prospective (sizeable) business client came into focus (referral) - literally overnight -, and I reacted reflexively therein (in kind).  

The prospective client though was far, far away from the Jackson Metro.  Farther than any client I was then working with.  

Nonetheless, I made the trip, and in the end, they agreed to work with me and the solution I proposed for their business.  In fact, it literally was a picture-perfect (climate / cultural) fit.  And this client has not wavered in their loyalty to Rob since that first juncture.

Taking all of that into consideration, because of how absolutely torn I felt whilst making that first trip in June of 2020, I dread making the annual return trip (which I'll soon be doing).  For I remember clearly how doggedly my thoughts punished me for choosing to "leave my wife's side" (if only for a few days) during her "time of need".  Was I making a selfish, irresponsible move or not?  

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Yesterday evening, my middle daughter and I attended a banquet at the college she'll be attending this fall (as a freshman).  The banquet was held within a ballroom that I was asked to make a short presentation within back in 2011 whilst working as a Staff Architect for the State of Mississippi.  I remember what I chose to wear for that event as well a handful of the distinguished alums' reactions whilst speaking (me attempting to make eye contact with my audience).  I also remember my face heating up in shame as I spoke, and me wondering if anyone noticed my blushing.  

I remember sitting down after my few minutes of having the floor and berating myself internally for what I considered to be a completely worthless effort.  Wishing all the while that I was someone else entirely, both regarding my looks and how I sounded / presented myself.

Yet last night, once again, here I was within that exact same space all these years later.  Celebrating my daughter's achievements alongside hundreds of other parents.  Working to respectfully set in motion via my physical presence, her soon-to-be collegiate career.

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Angie (my wife) and I grew up together (we were friends within the youth group) at First Baptist Church Jackson.  She was one year (class) ahead of me, but nonetheless, we were both outcasts that gravitated towards each other platonically in kind.

When she went to Baylor after graduating from high school (Jackson Academy), two of our youth group classmates (within my class) joined her a year later out in Waco.  One of these young men, soon after his freshman year whilst being a student there, somehow remarkably - reinvented himself entirely.  

This reinvention occurred within the vein of him becoming absolutely zero effeminate acting / sounding.  Whilst making these mods, he also shed his southern drawl entirely.  This resulted in an exceedingly red-blooded, "all boy" / "man's man" kind of guy (which he most definitely was NOT during middle / high school) that coherently existed going forward.

I believe it's important to note that after his time at Baylor, he began working as a sociologist prior to becoming a (quite successful) published author, and then onto being appointed (at a remarkably young age) a University President.  Having heard him speak / preach from the pulpit (within the last decade) at FBC Jackson, it's astounding the level of masculine confidence that now radiates therein.  

It's literally as if Dr. Armitage from the film, Get Out, worked his neurosurgical magic (but on a white man), and I'm serious as a heart attack whilst saying that.

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In light of me choosing to not reinvent myself entirely (immediately following the aforementioned job loss), I can say that heading away from the pain (and those inflicting it) was a very smart move.  Considering those pragmatics, there was also a lot to be gained from not running too terribly far away (we returned to Jackson from the Mississippi Delta).  

I'll also leave you with this.  There's a lot that can be gained by re-living the past via future experiences.  Taking those settings / circumstances even, into account within that recognized present (where you're at today versus back then).  It presents a new perspective that can work opportunistically to re-frame the past.  That being said, we must permit that re-framing to happen.  And that can be awfully hard to do when we're still wrestling with unsettled feelings from the past.  

Was I making a selfish, irresponsible move or not? 

Find A Way To Exploit Hope(fulness) As A Means To Strengthen Your Resolve To Choose Something Other Than Porn

My favorite attribute of my oldest daughter is her choosing to be hopeful.  She's wired opportunistically / positively, and it's infectious, and this certainly points her in the direction of her forecasting to be as such.  When you first meet her, her positive wiring might come across as trite, but it doesn't take long to realize that she's working her grey matter towards being a genuinely hopeful young lady.

This has worked in her favor relationally as a college student, particularly as it pertains to accruing friends.  Her cohorts gravitate therein in response to her more (seemingly) adult-like point-of-view (versus the stereotypical pessimistic adolescent).

Our other two daughters are optimists too, though it's most pronounced within our youngest (middle schooler).  As such, she's quite the anomaly as a tweenager (having become somewhat of an outlier as a result).   

Overall, I'm firmly resolved to thank God for their positive bents versus one that leans negative / pessimistic.  That being said, keep in mind that I'm biased in this regard for I too am an overall opportunistic / positive individual.  And you can blame my parents for this (they modeled it / passed it down).

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A handful of Samson guys that I / I've regularly chat(ted) with aren't the optimistic-types.  I actually find this refreshing and uniquely contrastive.  But what I am beginning to observe is how demanding their temperament can be relative to them compulsively turning to lust to emotionally placate / regulate.   

For an example, I offer the following (this scenario is based on hearsay):  Negative feelings encroach in response to doing some run-of-the-mill (psychological) assessment work and from there, reflexively - compulsive sexual sin pacifiers are feverishly grasped at.  

This is just one example of a negative (temperament) feedback loop.  And frankly, I do believe it's quite a tough one to rewire, particularly as a loner. 

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All this begs the question:  Can a melancholy Samson guy counteract this temperament?  More specifically, can he rebel against his emotional instincts long enough for him to choose to drawdown the necessary hope to directly combat his circumstantial kneejerk lustfix?  And can this leeching be sustained rhythmically enough - over time - for him to remove himself out his fatalistic rut?

Inquiring Samson minds want to know... 

Let's make an attempt at defining what hope is firstly before speculating further.

Hope is a feeling that's earned via intellect (mindfulness, if you will).  As such, I believe, it's much harder for dumbass people to experience it in droves.  Intellect powers sharp memories (both good and bad).  Memory is key to feeling hopeful as it serves as a framework relative to the (potential - in tandem with or opposite to) future.  

Compulsive behaviors such as drug / porn use "clog" / "cloud" the brain's synapses (proper thinking ability), and this is akin to making a person dillweed-like.  Therein, they lose their proper framework (smarts).

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Here's a specific example of how drug-use can steal one's ability to instinctively choose hope.

In 2012, a prominent local (Jackson Metro) attorney's son committed suicide.  Now, you must know that I have no reason to not believe wholeheartedly that this boy was also akin to choosing hope (sprungboard off of a positive mindset) as much or more as my aforementioned oldest daughter.  He was one of three boys, but unfortunately, he'd turned to both selling and using drugs whilst living / working out west (gap year post high school).  His prominent parents, in response to his heart-rending death, chose to take part in a speaking tour where they read his suicide note, indirectly warning audiences across the region of the dangers of drug use (whilst beautifully interweaving "Armor of God" scripture).  It was massively courageous on their part to give so freely out of their pain and suffering.

Thank you Taggarts!  (Some of my local heroes of the faith.)

One of the most interesting statements their son made within his suicide note had to do with his pre-suicidal mindset.  He noted the contrast between how drugs had noticeably diminished his intellect (primarily memory) in light of where he had been (pre-drug use).  From there, he renounced any hope of seeing his prior intelligence return.  This fatalistic assumption fostered his hopelessness which led to his suicide.  

And that was pretty much the gist of his hopeless letter.  A letter, again, written by an optimistically tempered, overall positive-minded young man who just happened to make some poor choices relative to drugs.

It's important to note that many professionals believe that chronic porn use can affect the brain similarly, particularly if it's coupled with masturbation.  

And that's what makes it and drug use notoriously difficult to see beyond / out of.  A number of therapist tagline this the "shame cycle".

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Once again:  

All this begs the question:  Can a melancholy Samson guy counteract this temperament?  More specifically, can he rebel against his emotional instincts long enough for him to choose to drawdown the necessary hope to directly combat his circumstantial kneejerk lustfix?  And can this leeching be sustained rhythmically enough - over time - for him to remove himself out his fatalistic rut?

Attraction is key.  Whether you're within an in-patient facility or working through a recovery program like Samson Society.  You must find yourself attracted enough to someone (who's far enough into their own personal sobriety) to trust them with your heart.  From there, their hope can transfer to you, effectively counteracting your persistently hopeless state of mind.  

What might impede this from happening?

-  Sometimes attraction is never given an opportunity because recovery colleagues aren't considered worthwhile enough (up to snuff), or simply the group itself is privately labeled a "freakfest".  

-  Clinical depression has reduced the man's outlook to nothing but intrusive emotional pain.  

What promulgates / perpetuates this attraction process?  

-  Spending time together on a regular basis.

-  Asking really good questions (cross referenced).

All the while being vulnerable.

Welcome Back, Addict

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

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

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

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

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

What about this guy?  Is he truly addicted?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Those Times I Did Not Die For Being So Normal

I've documented this prior within previous posts, and I'll say it again.  When I was a teenager, my parents' home at 197 St. Augustine Dr. had the most publicly accoladed landscaping / hardscaping within our 'hood.  The summers, in particular, is when its beauty peaked.  Bob & Darlene poured hours and hours each weekend (during the Spring / Summer months) into keeping it perfectly manicured.  

Their house's lot was on a prominent corner, therefore that 50% of frontage provided ample opportunities for gawkers to inspect.  And even our backyard was easily viewable from the street, thanks to the traditional picket fence gapping.  But upon nightfall, like most backyards of its day, it was bathed in darkness unless there happened to be moonlight to illuminate one's surroundings.  

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I've no idea where my idea to masturbate in the backyard originated from.  Back in the late '80s, I'd no access to "solo sex" videos / photos of guys masturbating by a pool or sprawled out on a bed.  But I do believe there was an instinctual pull towards unabashedly presenting my scrawny frame towards the heavens, all the while taking a wait & see approach as to whether or not I might be struck dead for doing so.  

All and all, there's no denying that I did want to take enough of a calculated risk to experience the ramp up in intensity (excitement) that I expected therein.  And when I refer to that specific risk, my only fear was being shamed by my father (upon getting caught).  

Years earlier (during middle school), my dad had covertly spied on me in my room in an attempt to catch me semen-handed.  And he achieved success.  From there, he intensely shamed me for masturbating while I believed to have been home alone.  Therefore, a precedent had definitely been set if I were to be caught (again) doing this, yet not only did I feel it worth the risk of facing Robert, Sr. again, but too some semblance of newfound dignity needed to be cultivated via this risk.  Dignity that harkened back to what I atmospherically referenced earlier. 

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The absolute weirdest truth to how the majority of fathers rear sons is their insistent avoidance to extensively / unashamedly dialogue relative to masturbation.  Dads simply refuse to discuss it.  They'll tell you from one end of the spectrum to the other what their experience is / has been with every other topic under the sun, but they'll never mention one word about masturbation.  Why is this?  What is the big deal?

My only guess is there's so much implied shame baked into the topic that the thought of broaching the subject feels monumentally emasculating.  And this especially seems to be the case if the man is in any way religious.  

On the opposing side of this instructional vacuum is the MIND-BLOWING PLEASURE that's at the fingertips of every adolescent boy.  A pleasure that's fueled by his physical self as it rapidly & awkwardly develops into a man. 

But I digress.

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Summer nights is when I mainly remember sneaking out the back door of my parents' abode to masturbate on the wooden swing (which was within 50' of the rear facade of the house).  

What's hilarious (to me) about these numerous escapades is what I chose to wear.  

For Xmas one year, I had received an extremely lightweight, just barely over the knee, cotton bathrobe.  The fabric was graced with a tightly repetitive candy-striped pattern, and it had a matching tie looped in around the waist.  This along with a pair of flipflops was my attire (until it wasn't).   

What was it about being buck naked on that swing in the dark, gazing up at the stars?

I think it was my way of getting out from underneath the ignorance of my earthly father, and from there, attempting to make peace with myself under the watchful eye of my heavenly father.  Or, to loop back to what I commented on prior, it was my attempt to find my dignity in spite of a familial situation that had taken it from me.

In closing, these adolescent experiences proved to me that sexual release does not have to be tied to sexual fantasy / lust.  And this was a marked truth that's remained with me to this day.

Photography Of Naked People. That's An Entirely Different (Read: Much More Captivating) Thing Than Naked People.

And interesting read:  Bradley Cooper, Benedict Cumberbatch and the Golden Age of Nude Men - WSJ

The School of Architecture, back in the early '90s, had a photography studio within the building.  It was staffed by a dedicated faculty member who - as far as I know - oversaw its operation exclusively.  We students were encouraged to have our models / drawings photographed at least annually in order to "build our academic portfolio".  From there, that portfolio would then represent our skillset as we looked to land a job post Mississippi State University.

When I was a third-year student, I was assigned to a small group of exceedingly creative peers, and we decided to execute our mundane site analysis project (which had been assigned to us) via an over-the-top Avant Garde video presentation.  One of the students within my group did have a laptop (a rare find back then) with an early version of Photoshop on it, but none of us had a video camera.  Therefore, we sought to "check one out" of the school's photo studio.  

Our group had a blast filming / editing / presenting our project.  The end result was extremely unique.  And for the most part, I ended up being the cameraman throughout its production.  This was my first foray relative to using a video camera, and as a result of this, my curiosity definitely peaked as I thought through what I potentially could do with said video camera in my spare time.

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I had the good fortune to backpack throughout Europe during the summer of 1994.  I was with a group of mostly architecture students, all young men from MSU.  As such, we visited most every architecturally relevant site we could throughout the eleven countries we visited during those two months.  Antiquity is on prominent display throughout Europe.  As such, commissioned sculptures are displayed throughout, much of it depicting prominent historical - Biblical / mythological figures, etc.    

One thing that you notice within the ubiquity of this 3-D art is that full / semi-nudity isn't / wasn't / hasn't been out of the ordinary for Europe.  

Hence, there are plenty of breasts, vaginas, and penis / testicles beautifully rendered (usually in stone).  And these figures' physical features no doubt add to the overall aesthetic.  They're striking yet not at all salacious.

In line with this general observation was my distinct first encounter with this European norm.  I've no doubt their culture of "reduced / zero shame" crystallized within my mind just a few minutes after disembarking from our flight into Paris.  As such, throughout the airport there were supersized print ads featuring semi-nude models, and these were on display prominently.  Over and over again.  

Being an American reared in Mississippi, I'd seen very few images of women revealing their breasts.  Hence, I remember instantly feeling exceedingly uncomfortable whilst encountering these very normalized images.  Shameful really.

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Growing up as an only child, I had no brothers - either younger or older - to grow up alongside.  Hence, there was no 24/7/365 familial measuring stick for me to associate with / compare myself to.  Too, I was not at all an athletic boy.  Therefore, locker room / gang shower experiences weren't ever part of my narrative (which I was very much thankful for).  

Hence, when I did have a handful of isolated changing room experiences during my early teenage years, the end result unfortunately was me coming away feeling exceedingly less than my peers.  So much so in fact that I only sought further to loathe my physical self (in contrast to what I considered my masculine ideal).  And this wasn't as a result of how I was treated / perceived / adjudicated by my peers within that changing room setting.  It wasn't that at all.  Every bit of this devastating shame was internalized.

It was as if someone's intent was to eradicate any semblance of self-dignity that should have taken root as expected.

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What I didn't realize as an adolescent (nor understood how to respond positively to) was how starved I was to make peace with my masculine - physical self.  Hence, photography of semi-nude male models did make one clear cut statement to me.  And that was that these individuals were where I wanted to be.  Yes too, I enjoyed the salaciousness behind many of these images, but deep down, I saw people who'd decisively understood their intrinsic physical value.  Or at least I thought I had. 

Now of course, regarding photography, this was all a ruse.  But I didn't understand how photography (especially photographic imagery) really worked, nor what much of its true intent was.  My ignorance was truly being taken advantage of (mostly by Satan).

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Now let me circle back to those private ideas I dreamed up whilst serving as the cameraman for my fun-filled, overly creative site analysis (architecture school) project.

Filming oneself masturbating was no doubt really intriguing to Rob and having an empty dorm room to do so in (combined with access to a video camera) sealed the deal.

The funny part of this story is what I decided to lubricate my toolset with as I was "performing" within my first solo video. 

Dishwashing liquid (Joy, Dawn, Palmolive) ARE NOT choice lubricants for self-pleasure.  But I didn't know this until firsthand (sorry) experience.  Yes, there was certainly enough viscosity provided coupled with a very pleasant fragrance, but dishwashing liquid is designed to clean dirty dishes.  Really dirty dishes.  Dishes that have burnt food clinging to them from last night's dinner party.  

Therefore, when you apply said liquid to bare skin, particularly very sensitive, very elastic skin (like your genitalia) and rub it in for 10-15 minutes (sans water), the end result is going to be bad.  Really scary - I'm never going to be able to reproduce - bad.  Like so bad that you're convinced that your junk isn't going to pull (sorry) through.

The lesson here is DO NOT ATTEMPT THIS AT HOME.

Nevertheless, Rob learned a boatload about what photographic imagery truly represents via this humorous DIY encounter with his own ignorance.

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When lust occurs relative to a photo / video, you're lusting after light.  Do you realize this?

      

And it's light that's professionally manipulated.  With an intent.  And that intent, if the photographic imagery is successful, can really mess with / impress upon your mind.  And this is especially true if you're a child.  For children have no clue as to just how expertly that light has been manipulated relative to its intent.  Therefore, they are sitting ducks.

With the advent of digital photography, the ubiquity of much malicious intent has perpetuated some serious mental health issues amongst both young people and the young at heart.  For they seemingly cannot remove themselves from the light.  They're puppets.  Consistently not at peace.  Enslaved to something they do not understand that they're constantly bombarded / faced with.

Educate yourself.  Unpack how you yourself came to be so transfixed by light.  And then go spend a lengthy period of time in the locker room (within reason), at the pool, on the beach.  Put on some dark sunglasses, take off your shirt, and be mindful of your place there amongst the semi-nude (or perhaps completely nude if you're not in America) throngs.  

Light isn't real.  Its intent cannot be trusted.  Learn from your mistakes.  You're no longer a boy.  Refuse to be manipulated any longer.  

Have You Too Been Hoodwinked Into Idolizing The Human Body?

One of the first lessons you learn within the Philosophy Of Architecture class is the most jarring, and that is that beauty IS NOT within the eye of the beholder.  As an architecture student at Mississippi State University from '90-'95, Philosophy Of Architecture was a required course as a sophomore.  Therefore, all of us second year students endured this enlightening experience there during our fall semester.

So obviously, this begs the question:  Who then does decide what's beautiful and what is not?  The critics do.  And these individuals have earned the right to do so.  For a great critic is far more experienced in doing so than non-critics.  They're experienced and educated.  And no, this doesn't always make them right, but it does up the ante relative to their adjudication batting average.  

Therefore, if you're ever wondering why a certain fashion trend is hot, paint color, or kitchen motif, you have only to look to the critics to thank (or loathe) for this.

To sum this up, I'll work to make a present day statement that should resonate with many of you.  Chip and Joanna Gaines built their fortune / influence on their roles as critics.  Though it may seem that their popularity is anchored in their million-watt smiles, it is not.  Instead, both of them are incredibly gifted critics, and this means that their ability to adjudicate beauty - within single-family homes, home furnishings / decor - is off the charts.  And to be as equally weighted as they are, in this regard, as a couple, is rare indeed.  

The Gaines have harnessed this talent by packaging it within a super approachable Texan folksiness that's made them a fortune.  Thanks be to God that their show wasn't dubbed Fix-a-fucker, otherwise, there'd be that many more westerners (& otherwise) - then there already are - saddled with chronic porn consumption issues.

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99% of architecture students (back when I was a student) weren't athletic and very few were involved in Greek life.  But, there was one student who was a couple of years behind me that did serve as a male cheerleader, and as such, donned the mascot ("Bully") costume for a handful of seasons.

As such, this young man was most definitely athletically built, and this made him stand out like a sore thumb amongst the rest of us.  But, it didn't help matters that this physically anomalous student was completely at peace with "exposing" his body.  Therefore, during the spring semester, as the temps were beginning to climb, it wouldn't be unusual to see him out sunning himself within the architecture building amphitheater.  I can remember specifically feeling torn between what he obviously saw as naturally pleasurable versus my own powerful - almost instinctual - urge to idolize his flesh.

Fitness magazines, published for men, which were readily available on magazine stands during the mid-'80s, offered me the opportunity as a middle schooler to idolize those images therein.  And, of course, the publisher didn't care who purchased the periodical or whether someone was idolizing their photos.  All they were interested in was sales.  

I can vividly recall the shame I felt in having to explain to my mother (she couldn't help but notice the grape purple bag) that I'd purchased an "Exercise For Men Only" mag from our local K&B drugstore.  

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Paul Freeman is an Australian photographer whose repertoire is nude or semi-nude men.  And more often than not, the men he photographs aren't within a studio space but within much more naturalistic environments.  If you look at his work, it's apparent that he's a superb critic of the male body, yet the images that he publishes aren't - at least to me - titillating in the least.  

So what separates his work from what I was exposed to as a young boy within the aforementioned fitness mags?

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Pornography's sole purpose is to illicit a titillating response.  Early exposure to porn versus non-pornographic imagery that respectfully celebrates the human body can short circuit a boy's embracing / understanding / appreciation for the beauty that lies within both his own and others' flesh, particularly if he's unsure of his own "fleshly worth".

More often than not, this exposure occurs during adolescence, and as I alluded to earlier, this can be a decidedly unbecoming development within the life of a teenager.  For he knows he's being taken advantage of, yet his hormones (& perhaps his home life, etc.) are seemingly working in favor of this private curse.  It's a bad, bad scenario that's especially prone to screw up a kid's head if it happens to be within a vacuum.

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As a side note, all forms of body augmentation from anabolic steroid use to breast implants to tattoos, I would argue, stem from man's idolization of the body versus appreciation.  And this is because, these augmentations are "permanently" enhancing the body to be more in line with someone else's ideal (either real or photographed).  

For example, an athletically built man who sees an anabolic steroid using athlete is likely going to immediately notice the size differences between his own drug-free body and that of the juiced dude.  Similarly, a woman with regular sized breasts, encountering her artificially endowed sister, can't help but notice her silicone implanted chest.  And finally, an ink-free individual, rubbing shoulders with someone he admires - who happens to be expertly tattooed - may very well soon obtain his own first tattoo.

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So what's the recipe for success in recircuiting our brains to see pornography for what it is (cheap, intrusive, disrespectful, debilitating, harmful, poisonous, toxic, explosive, robbing)?

I would argue the first step is recognizing where you were (& how exactly) initially hoodwinked by Satan to elevate / idolize the human body as you did.  And from there, invest a boatload of time in unpacking that deceit (perhaps alongside a trained professional) prior to working hard to forgive yourself for so much shame and guilt that you really weren't solely responsible for experiencing.

In closing, remember that God created man in his own image (including his sex organs).  We are image-bearers.  God too, created sexuality, from the reproductive process itself to arousal and everything in between.  We are not meant to be ashamed of our sexual desires, nor are we meant to not see each other through a sexual lens.  

Lagniappe