Bill Ervolino learns a hard lesson about wearing shorts in public (northjersey.com)
Sunday, June 5, 2022
Saturday, June 4, 2022
My Need To Be Seen / Pursued By Men I Respect (& How Porn Defaults To Fulfill That Need)
All of my issues with gay porn - for the most part - have a common denominator of attempting to fill a void of feeling isolated from the universal community of men.
When I was a senior in high school, I purchased my first Playgirl magazine, and this was the first time I saw photos of completely naked men. Though I only held on to the magazine (the year was 1990) for 3-4 days, in looking back, it opened my eyes to how disgusted I was with my own self. And that disgust was rooted in simply not feeling comfortable behaving / being seen as a man (& I'm not referring to conformity). Now, you must know that I certainly didn't feel like a woman (at this time in my life or ever). Instead, I simply felt worthless having no perceived masculine identity whatsoever.
What did this Playgirl magazine actually provide for teenage Rob? Two things.
1)
Being semi-nude (shirtless) is a normal "celebration" of being male. Being fully naked too, isn't frowned upon, though it's relegated to specific settings where men gather (locker rooms, skinny dipping, etc.).
The pictorial of one Playgirl model, in particular, blew my synapses because he was so natural looking, yet it was apparent he'd no shame regarding his physique. The young man was probably 5-8 years older than I at the time. He was below average height, had average size junk and did not in any way look manufactured / manicured. Hence, he had loads of body hair and even minute skin imperfections that hadn't been airbrushed away. And yes, he was in great physical shape, but it reflected his no doubt athletic prowess more than vanity (this guy was not a pro bodybuilder).
All of this added up to this complete masculine comfortableness that I longed too to have. This I could emotionally latch onto via porn.
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2)
On the flip side of that comfortableness, there was the allure of symbolically being known by those you're putting your trust in. As a teenager, no one knew anything about my sexuality except me and God. And though I refused to loathe my sexual attractions towards men (believing they were a result of a number of circumstantial factors), I desperately needed to be known (as every teenager does) by someone I could trust with this (& the rest of myself). But there wasn't anyone - that being a real person - for me to be pursued by in this regard.
Therefore, I fantasized about being known by my middle school youth pastor, classmates at school, etc. Eventually, these fantasies migrated to photos of semi-nude men on greeting cards and in wall calendars, all of which lead up to the Playgirl magazine purchase. Every fantasy had a theme of known Rob being relationally pursued.
Subconsciously, the aforementioned naked model in the Playgirl pictorial, I felt, was being known by me - as the viewer, and he had been known by the photographer & his crew likewise. This blew my mind, but I didn't at all understand what was truly happening inside my brain at that young of an age. Today, thankfully, I'm beginning to.
In the past, I've joked during Samson Society meetings about having a secret desire to be a porn model. Taking the notion of being known to the extreme served as the root of that joke.
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What served as the breaking point for Rob regarding these needs not being met?
2013 (I'd just turned 40) was the year I worked in Cleveland, MS as Delta State University's Campus Architect. About six middle managers, all mostly close to my age, reported to me, and each of them had minions beneath them. This entire grouping was nothing but men, all of which were laborers overseeing everything from campus landscaping to HVAC systems. The perceived authenticity / comradery between these men left me feeling extremely isolated. Naturally, I turned to our pastor at Covenant Pres Cleveland for help, but he freaked out at even the slightest hint of discussing sex / sexuality. Eventually, I once again turned to gay porn / writing on a now defunct blog to cope. Doing this on my work PC is what got me fired.
I came away feeling so rejected and ashamed. But, it was through that pain that God ushered me into Samson Society in August of 2014.
Samson Society serves as a petri dish for being known authentically. The meetings provide a framework, week after week, for sharing / presenting oneself to the group, and from there, there's opportunity to connect one-on-one in order to be known that much more intimately.
Each of the two resolutions I cited above are too resolved (in my mind) within the Samson community. The only difference being (between it and gay porn), is Samson Society takes much more work / commitment / patience.
And since Samson guys are actual - living / breathing - warts & all relationships, they're much richer / diverse / nurturing / sustaining / helpful. But too, that being said, as with any close friendship, none of these relationships are without setbacks, disappointments, and pain.
I love to consume porn, but I love what Samson Society has offered me as an alternative more. Thanks be to God for Samson Society.
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Thursday, June 2, 2022
Tuesday, May 31, 2022
Sunday, May 29, 2022
A Holiday Weekend To Listen (To My Wife)
The reason my wife fell in love with Rob was because I chose to listen to her. For I had not a straight bone in my body. Nor was I a hyper-competitive male looking to make my "first million" by age 30. Nonetheless, Angie didn't give a shit about those things. Instead, she became entranced with my interest in her / her state of mind / her hopes & dreams, etc. Why was this so important to her?
Angie grew up in an ultra-dysfunctional household where everyone constantly walked on eggshells relative to her mother's untreated mental illness (borderline personality disorder) and (seasonal) alcoholism. BPD's primary descriptor is an intense emotional self-focus. To the point of obsession. And this preoccupation with one's emotional frame of mind is absolutely sacrosanct, therefore within Angie's family, this was the overarching delineator within the real-time family dynamic. Hence, Angie was, by definition, the overlooked, emotionally neglected child, who did her darndest to simply keep the peace.
To give you an idea of how intrusive / domineering my mother-in-law's BPD was / is, I can still recall one Easter holiday where my parents hosted lunch to include my grandmother (now deceased) and Angie's parents. My grandmother, of all the Turners, was quite the intelligent woman, and she ended up seated, during lunch, next to Angie's mom (whom she'd never met). Before everyone departed from the festivities, my grandmother pulled me aside and stated, "There's something wrong with that woman."
And she was so right.
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Over the past 3-4 months, Angie has been singlehandedly cleaning out her mother's +/-3,000 single-family home. The house was built in northeast Jackson in the early '80s, and the majority of the interior / exterior reflects how it looked when my wife was a child (she's in her early 50s today). Our two youngest daughters have also been pitching in relative to this monumental task, but all in all, it's been left to Angie.
My mother-in-law is physically capable to assist with this effort, but she chooses not to. Instead, she simply hovers around Angie and the girls, talking incessantly. My mother-in-law is one of those individuals who says EVERYTHING that comes to her mind. And she's an extremely intelligent woman. Hence, her CPU is always providing plenty of fodder for her to articulate. Unfortunately though, my mother-in-law's age is / has been taking a toll on her short-term memory, and this is what's prompted the (post hand wringing) decision to discard all of the garbage / refuse out of her house. Ultimately, all parties involved have decided that she must move out of her abode soon. Living independently, especially considering the squalor (which isn't going to miraculously disappear), is no longer an option.
You might be wondering why I haven't assisted with this effort. It comes down to my mother-in-law feeling threatened by my presence. Therefore, it's been left up to Angie to see this project through.
One side note: Angie does have one brother, and he too lives in the Jackson Metro. He's in his late 40s and is in superb health (unlike my wife) with zero responsibilities (he's childless) other than working the night shift at a local hospital and feeding his beloved pooch. My mother-in-law absolutely adores him for he can do no wrong. Yet, in spite of him agreeing to pitch in with this effort early on (he actually met with Angie and her mother at their childhood home to discuss at the beginning of this year), he's been a complete no show (despite repeated cries for help).
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Today is the 2-year anniversary of Angie's stroke. And, by God's grace, she's not had a second one (that we're aware of). This is an amazing gift from God because many stroke patients are not so fortunate. She's been quiet today, and I know it's due to her reliving what went down on this day in 2020.
She and I pray often, thanking God for both her stroke in 2020, my job loss in 2013 and other events within our marriage that brought great, unexpected suffering. And we do this because suffering has the potential to increase faith. She and I would like to believe that this has been the case for each of us, thanks to those terribly difficult events.
My job this Memorial Day weekend is to pay heed to my wife by making myself available to her with both ears open. Tomorrow, she'll return to her mother's home to continue forward with the cleanout. My hope is that before the day is done, we'll have a few additional minutes to connect; just as we did so effortlessly during our dating years. Listening to Angie is the greatest gift I can give her. She is (like all of us) is hardwired to receive.
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