Ex-OnlyFans recruiter recalls horrors of job, seeking Christ | Living (christianpost.com)
Friday, September 6, 2024
Thursday, September 5, 2024
Most Of My Hair Is Silver Now
The house I grew up in in Madison, back in the '80s, was a typical ranch house. After my parents had a small addition constructed (FL / sunroom), it amounted to +/-1,800 sf. A quirk of this house was that the garage flooded (even with the garage door closed) during a deluge. I remember having to "sweep out the garage" immediately following these rainstorms. There was always either a push or corn broom on hand for this task. But even then, the concrete garage floor would remain saturated / puddled, thereby making traversing throughout a slippery affair. And if it was mild weather, this dampness would remain for days.
When my parents sold this house (1990 - my freshman year at MSU) in order to move into a rental ('till their newly constructed home was finished), I wonder if they disclosed this quirk. For they never made any effort to remedy it. It was just one of those nuisances that we lived with throughout our time there.
Today, when you attempt to sell a home, disclosures are expected. For every house has its quirks. I remember populating my mother-in-law's disclosure statement for the home she sold a few years back. It was multiple pages of Q & A with sizable legal warnings throughout threatening legal action if the document wasn't ENTIRELY FORTHCOMING.
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My oldest friend's wife is morbidly obese. She's always been overweight, but over the past 3-4 years, she's gained more and more pounds. Now it's to the point (for those of us who've known her for decades) of the inevitable shock (especially considering their Xmas photo card).
She's also a heavy, heavy social media user (political commentary).
When I last spoke to my friend, his wife was unemployed, having been laid off from her job. He mentioned a job prospect she was pursuing that would title her "Admin Assistant" for a consulting engineering firm. This position was in line with much of her resume.
I asked him to let me know if she received an expected offer.
I haven't heard back from him since then.
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I was convicted early on within my life that "letting one's hair down" always came with a cost (physical appearance / words). And most of the time that cost (for me at least) was risking offense and, in turn, the due penalty (some semblance of rejection). Therefore, I'm constantly weighing risk versus reward herein. And, I believe, that's a worthwhile exercise to be tasked with. It strengthens emotional muscle which promotes / endorses maturity.
It's one of the main reasons I enjoy writing publicly on this blog as well as my former blog.
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Earlier this week, I had an opportunity to say "hello" to a cousin whilst meeting with a longstanding business owner client (my cousin happens to work there). He was shocked to see me. This made the rendezvous all that more special.
My personal blog, "The Architect's Garage", that was deleted in September of '13, was a combination of video / text posts that spanned +/-5 years. There was a naivety there. I'd go so far as to say an emotional immaturity. I posted thoughts and feelings that were deeply revealing within that blog. Especially as it pertained to my dad / our relationship when I was a child. As such, it reflected exactly where I was for such a time as that.
This aforementioned cousin was offended enough by those posts to alert his father (my dad's youngest brother, who he loved dearly). And though the blog had long since been deleted when I came to be made aware of this squeal, I felt something that I'd never felt before as it pertained to my family.
Seen and somewhat known. It represented an incredible leveling up for me. For it was the first time someone (within my Turner extended family) actually had the opportunity to pay attention to the Rob that I truly was / had been.
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There are folks who live to be spotlit. I believe my friend's wife falls into that category. Her physical self is a mirror to her online one.
There are others who are required (at times) to be in the spotlight. For it's the only way they can make sense of the world they're faced with. Especially regarding those who just might take the time to read the entire disclosure.
I am so looking forward to seeing my cousin again soon.
Tuesday, September 3, 2024
Monday, September 2, 2024
Recommended Reading / Rob's Cycle of Porn
The Cycle of Pornography | Evidence Unseen
My first encounter with porn (late elementary school) occurred at my uncle's apartment. I was around 4-5th grade, and it was my cousin (my uncle's son - an only child like me) who exposed me to his father's Penthouse magazines. Even then, it was the male models that I was drawn to the most. Nonetheless, I was so curious as to what sex / sensuality was. These soft-lensed, exquisitely photographed pictorials fueled my desire to learn more. I remember masturbating in the hall bathroom after my cousin and I had "had our fill". I loved the powerful arousal that occurred via these photos (tied to the clandestine investigation) which in turn made the climaxes that much moreso unbelievable.
Looking back, I had no idea what was truly going on due to being brought up in such a vacuum-of-sexual-information-household. Nonetheless, what I did know was I too (as a human being) was "wired for sex", therefore it felt imperative that I take these opportunities to learn / feel as much as possible in this regard.
In a nutshell, this was simply prepubescent curiosity mixed with availability of explicit sexual material. Did it lay groundwork for being captivated (in bondage) outright down the road? I don't believe so. That all grew out of the shame / loneliness I was experiencing as a targeted middle school faggot / loner.
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7th and 8th grade were tremendously difficult for Rob. I was miserable and as a result, had to lay low at school. I began fantasizing regularly about being pursued by older men (sexual relationships), and the most shame-filled fantasies of them all involved my youth pastor. There was no precedent for this. I'd not been molested outright, though in so many ways, the abject void of masculine affirmation qualified in and of itself.
Young men must have the masculine affirming they deserve to develop into healthy men.
I had no older (or younger) brothers. There wasn't a dad (Robert, Sr.) that had any semblance as to what healthy, customized masculine affirming looked like (much less a desire to participate therein). I loathed team sports and scouting. All of this added up to me literally being on my own.
In light of this, I stuck to comic books and music, eventually joining the poor excuse of a marching band (clarinet & later drum major) that was available to me at Madison-Ridgeland Academy. Our entourage was a sad joke, but thanks be to God, there was some semblance of a loser community for me to fall back on.
As my secondary education marched forward, I couldn't help but observe select other young men become hardened, successful athletes. As such, I took the step of including them within my sexual fantasies. This made things more personal and far more lowbrow within my mind (considering their relational closeness to me).
As such, these homosexual fantasies became my go-to daily elixir for how inept I felt as Rob. Rinse & repeat. Rinse & repeat.
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During high school, I had no problem making friendgirls, and many, if not most, were interested in pursuing a romantic relationship. But, at this point, I was now using salacious print material to homofantasize (in the form of wall calendars, greeting cards, men's exercise mags). All of this material, I consistently looked to catalog privately as I became more and more captivated by masculine beauty. By far, it was the most compelling visual find of my young existence (exponentially accelerated in potency relative to my ongoing private self-loathing).
Again, there was such the void of knowledge pertaining to what was out there regarding this seemingly intangible subject. And I craved for more and more of that knowledge. This too cannot be discounted.
If I've ever been addicted to anything, it was during this stage of my life, and my addiction was to what I perceived as masculine.
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Strength training was key to me putting a toe in the water of masculine self-affirmation. It was during my last year of college. I was living with Bob & Darlene as I was completing my 5th year of architecture school (in Jackson) at Mississippi State University. I'd asked my parents to purchase me a beginner's (youth) strength training set in high school from Service Merchandise. It consisted of a cushion bench (w/ a bolted on leg lift attachment), one barbell and one dumbbell. The plastic weights were sand-filled. A tri-fold instruction booklet, printed in black-&-white accompanied this '80s novice exercise kit-of-parts.
Four months of using this rudimentary equipment (thrice weekly) along with sit-ups and pushups - down on the cut pile carpeted floor of my bedroom worked wonders. It truly was miraculous.
Why? Because it consisted of personal, private affirming at its finest. All in tandem with me myself gaining muscle mass steadily. For once in my young man life, I felt some semblance of pride whilst seeing my reflection in the mirror.
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At this same time, I began dating my future wife. Not long after our engagement, I confessed to having a serious "interest" in pornography, but the hardest part was divulging my homofantasy life (to both her and my parents) and how it had sprung out of a deep-seated loathing of my masculine self (this had not been difficult to figure out).
What was super convenient for me was how similarly crippled my future father-in-law (girlfriend's dad) was. Hence, my fiancé had been reared by a father who was not all that much different - intrinsically - than I was. This served (along with my commitment to therapy), I believe, as a bridge that moved us confidently towards marriage.
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Not long after our wedding day, the Internet came on the scene.
Oh. My. Gosh. What a nightmare that was.
It was like moving a drunk (me) into a liquor store. And not any liquor store but one where any and all forms of liquor could be conjured up on demand. For free. And placed in the palm of your / my hand.
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The adult (explicit) - content now available via the Internet should have been sequestered. Adult (explicit) - content allowed over here / no adult (explicit) - content allowed over here. But no one asked Rob.
Instead, it was one big free-for-all. Everything and anything you could imagine, readily available, so long as you had an Internet capable device / browser. And this was how the adult content producers wanted it. For they knew that the more (& younger) eyes they exposed to their explicit smut, the more deeply entrenched their wares would become within the viewers' psyches. This, of course, would then drive demand for more as the captivation concretized.
Before long, so many (mostly men) were absolutely epidemically infected by this newfound ease-of-access-to digital smut. Including me. For it tapped into (& subsequently reanimated) my childhood coping mechanism. A mechanism that in so many ways was no longer needed or wanted at this stage of my young adult life.
Therefore, this was its true wretchedness: the monumentally tremendous unneeded / unwanted / unwarranted stress on me / my young marriage for such a time as this.
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Curiosity also played a sizable role in my steady return to gay porn. The Internet served me well in this capacity. For there was an endless supply of new photos / videos. All I had to do was search for "hairy muscle men" & voila!
Who knew there was so much historical smut out there for consumption! Colt Studio Group was my instant go-to. Especially in regard to "vintage" Colt. Seeing gay porn from the '80s was especially profound. For this was the decade of my youth. How unusual it was to reckon with the fact that all of this smut was being created on the west coast throughout my adolescence in Mississippi. Who'd a thunk?
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I sat down with a therapist at First Baptist Church Jackson in the early '00s, spilling my story and asking for help as it pertained to my being captivated by online gay porn.
I'd known this therapist / pastor since I was a boy. He poured his encouragement into me, and for a while, I felt immensely strengthened. But his words weren't enough.
What made the first distinct difference in my battle was connecting intimately with another man who pursued me for who I was outright.
Let me repeat that.
What made the first distinct difference in my battle was connecting intimately with another man who pursued me for who I was outright.
Who was I exactly?
1. Christian
2. Husband
3. Father
4. Same-sex attracted
5. Intelligent
6. Athletic
7. Articulate
8. Loyal
And so forth.
This man amounted to being my first Silas. And he was perfectly suited to Rob back in 2009.
He allowed me to healthily bask in the love of masculine affirmation. He did so via words and touch and so much steadfastness (listening ear).
During the core 10-months of that friendship, I consumed not one iota of gay porn. This was a monumental achievement / breakthrough for me. I had found my antidote.
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Fast forward to my inclusion into Samson Society in 2014.
My first (official) Silas (1.0) had so many similarities to this aforementioned, pre-Samson Society friend. And though the pursuit was short-lived, it confirmed my suspicions.
If gay porn's grip was to be permanently loosened, I had to find men who'd affirm my individualistic masculinity. And preferably, I needed it to occur in-person. For their physical energy / aura was needed for me to receive the healing I so desired.
I became then a vigilante advocate for myself. Any opportunity to receive, I gravitated towards. So often men would believe they were simply being pursued (by Rob) in relation to their need(s), when in reality, it had nothing to do therein. It was all about me and my needs. For me to be friendly was easy. But before long, when the stars aligned, intimate connection would occur. Perhaps via a gesture or touch. Maybe a short exchange of verbiage - heated or gentle. But, in the end, I was exposed to that soft underbelly that so few were / are given the opportunity to see. And it was that emotional energy that I drank down like dilithium crystals powering a warp core.
This resulted in an instant leveling up for Rob. For I was keenly aware of how privileged I was to experience those delicious, etched-in-my-long-term memory relational moments.
As such, my mantra eventually became (within Samson Society) to serve oneself wholeheartedly.
In closing, make this place about you and your needs being met. All in tandem with your deep desire to tamp down (& ultimately defeat) the morally bankrupt captivation (sexually explicit material, chemical, etc.) that's established / hardened itself within your mind.
This is my personal rallying cry. Because it's worked wonders for me.
In closing, I will forever be on the prowl. Hunting my next opportunity to be seen by men who are willing to take the time to know me outright. Warts & all.
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