Why Chastity ? Men …

Come on men, let’s get honest for a spell.

How many men out there, Jerk Off, Choke the Chicken, Slap the Monkey, or just simply, Masturbate?

Is a daily event, a multiple daily event, a really heavy daily event?

How many men out there, look at Porn ? I’m talking to YOU Straight Men, not only the Gay Men who might read this blog. Is Porn just the action taken when you choke your chicken, or is Porn a little more ingrained in your daily activities?

How many men out there, have film editing software on your computer, and do you use that editing software to edit, said Porn, you consume? And if you edit said Porn, how much Porn do you have on your hard drive, or do you have extra external hard drives connected to your desktop to house said Porn?

For you straight men, those who are married, or even for those single guys out there, is Porn part of your sex life with your wives, or significant others?

If you are like my parents were, what they did inside the house and even outside the house, was radically different from what they did behind their bedroom door. Were talking BDSM … My father had a book that I found on a bookshelf in our house at one point titled “Hurt Me Please.”

If sex is an issue, does it include Porn, or Not ? If sex is not an issue, as in, you don’t have sex, or your sex life is not what you wanted or expected, or your partner/significant other suffers from a mental condition that has just wiped sex from your proverbial plate, do you masturbate to make up for the fact that you don’t have sex

a) as often
b) not as often
c) it’s non-existent?

The problem with my own sex life is this: My husband is Bi-Polar. And this began over 14 years ago, after he suffered a break down and ended up comatose on the sofa for eleven months. The doctors gave him so much medication over the primary dosing period, all that toxic medication wiped part of his brain away, and we never saw it again.

What does one do when you remove passion, human touch, and sex from the equation? For most men, that would constitute divorce proceedings. Even for our women who read here, Porn is just as equal a “thing” as it is for the men. You don’t get a pass in this conversation.

We might have had sex, a handful of times, in the very beginning, but now, sex is the GIANT White Elephant in our living room.

My husband likes to Masturbate when I am not home. That’s the God’s honest truth. I’ve walked in on him coming home from work or a meeting a few times. He like to roll joints on my desk as well, not anymore though. We just don’t talk about it, nor do I want to talk about it. Mental illness does a serious harm to sex lives.

We don’t talk about sex, at all. I have my sex life and he has his. And as long as it does not infect any other portion of our marriage, that’s all and well for me.

I turned to masturbation because sex is non-existent. But after so many years, masturbation got boring and only repetitive, and I needed to just fucking STOP ALREADY. So I did.

The fact that we don’t have sex, just reinforces my desire to go it alone, and do my own thing. Which I have done for the whole of our marriage. Even in sobriety.

People who suffer addictions, it usually just isn’t One Thing. I have heard Bob tell me that when he went into rehab, his intake counselor told him that “If you have a problem with One Thing, you probably should not do Anything.”

Sober men, talk about sex A LOT. They talk in secret, though NOT in a meeting setting. Sex is an undercurrent that electrifies the men in my community. Newbies want to have sex, and we tell them, no relationships in your first year. What do I tell them instead?

If you have to get off, then choke the chicken.

That advice is a double edged sword, because if you have an addict in your midst, it might not be just drugs and alcohol, it might well also be Pornography.

With the dawn of fast internet and the various choices of porn online, I don’t know a single man, who I know, who does not employ porn, in their spare time. They just don’t tell me how often they choke the chicken.

But if you ask any man if they masturbate and they answer NO –

YOU KNOW THEY ARE LYING !!!!

So advising on sex issues is not something I do a lot. I listen more than I talk. Only my best friend and I speak of, and practice Chastity. It’s not something you tell your friends in a meeting. Oh I have a chastity device, do you wanna try it on for size? Um, NO !!!

One of my guys and I talk about everything, i talk about everything with all of my guys, but more specifically, one of my young guys, I’ve been working with for a couple of years.

At the end of Spring, pornography became a topic of conversation, and so we did not talk about it much but after a little while, we both realized that Porn was more of a problem, and I took that thought to bed with me for a few weeks, until I had that prophetic dream at the end of March, and that dream gave me a solution.

For the life of me when Chastity rose out of nowhere, and some of my friends had chastity cages and were playing around with it, I was like
“HELL NO Nobody’s going to take my dick away from me … “

I put chastity, in the I’ve seen it in action, but not for me, file.

Fast Forward to April 1st, this Spring. All that changed.

The chastity run began for me, it came a month later for my best friend.

We nipped his problem in the bud, and my life has changed in ways I never imagined. I’ve eradicated my Porn habit. I’ve removed all my Porn from my computer, and I’ve been in chastity since April the 1st 2019.

Chastity is a simple device. Some of them can be very pricey, but if you know what you are looking for, and you do some homework for yourself, once again, you need to know where to look, I can help you there.

I’ve spent a fair chunk of money on several devices, for myself and one for my friend, which he paid for at the end of his run, because the CB-6000 runs $200.00 CAD. And the BON-4 runs $180.00. My Rage Cage ran me $115.00.

If you want focus, If you want some down time from touching your dick, if you want to stop masturbating, or masturbating so much, or you just need a break from a possible addiction to internet porn, then chastity might be for you.

Ask Me … Don’t be shy, we are all men and women here.

The first step in solving a problem is to recognize that there IS a problem.

Wednesday: Playboy

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A Young Donald Trump on the cover of Playboy Magazine, 1990.

When my family moved into house number two, in Miami, when I was in second grade, it was a serious upgrade from our two bedroom duplex in Homestead Florida, where we first hit land when we moved from New Britain Connecticut to Florida, in the early 1970’s.

In 1992 – When Hurricane Andrew ran over Florida, Homestead Florida was wiped off the map. It was like a nuclear bomb had gone off and destroyed everything, and I mean EVERYTHING.

It took more than ten years to rebuild that city to what it is today.

Anyways …

My brother and I went to-day care after school for many years, until the day I staged a revolt in the bus taking us there, and I demanded our private bus driver to take me home. That day I got a key from my mother, and she went back to work, full-time, and I became my brother’s keeper for the rest of my life.

We were, what you could call, “Free Range” kids back then.

We knew how to go home alone after school, open and lock doors, in relative safety.

We had “neighbors” back then who paid attention to everyone else’s kids, because we usually wound up, in someones family room or back yard climbing trees and such.

I was more interested in family secrets. My brother did not like nor love me, because my father bred that kid to hate me from the word Go.

I spent every alone hour rifling through every little secret my parents had to themselves.

And I realized that what my parents SAID in the open and the Scripture they preached so vehemently, was NOT the same as what they did behind closed doors, namely, their bedroom door.

You would have thought my father had a Degree in Theology. The way he preached.

I HAVE DEGREES IN THEOLOGY AND WORLD RELIGIONS TODAY, IN FACT…

My parents lived a secret life, that nobody knew about, except me. However, I did overhear, one night, them discussing their sex life with the neighbors, whose daughter was a friend.

Back then, pornography was alive and well, (in the early 1970’s). It had been around a while, because my father had box upon box of porn stacked in a closet in the garage. Over the years, I did a lot of reading. I was in grade school. By the time I hit the sixth grade, I had already figured out what side my bread was buttered on.

I relate this story about Hugh Hefner.

There were, back in the hey day of the Great Miami Beach, big hotels, with huge chandeliers in their lobby’s, the family visit past time, was to drive up Ocean Drive, and Collins avenue, to peer inside those hotels as we drove by.

There was, also, a Playboy Dinner Club on Miami Beach.

My brother and I were so lucky one night, when my father took the family, my mother included, to have dinner in said “Playboy Club.” The women were beautiful, in their skimpy outfits with their bunny ears and powder puff tails. That’s about all I remember of that night.

I wasn’t interested in women.

My father’s reading habits were varied. For the rest of my years, through puberty, my father left pornography in the bathroom, where he would indulge.

They thought their secrets were safe, they weren’t.

I don’t think they really thought that their kids would indulge in a little smut every now and then while we contemplated our navels sitting on the toilet.

Never … Ever …

Along side the Reader’s Digest, was Playboy, Hustler and a little magazine called “Variations.” This happened to be my favorite smut. Because it included stories about men.

My father came home from the Viet Nam war, in the 1960’s with a skeleton. I was named after that skeleton, and for the rest of my life, my father abused me mercilessly, telling me that “I was a mistake and should never have been born,” even knowing that he had named me after a soldier he loved, who was killed in that war, and when he came home and had his first son, he named me after that soldier in honor of him, only to turn around and beat me senseless every chance he got.

My father, being the good father he thought he was, one night, took me to The 94th Aero Squadron restaurant, alongside the Miami International Airport, to give me my Birds and the Bees talk.

That restaurant still exists today. I have a link on my desktop to the webcam atop that building, to watch jet liners take off and land.

I was approaching puberty you see, and he thought it wise to give me a hand up, while with the other, He Beat and Abused me Severely.

The closer to homosexuality I got, the harder the beatings got as well. Because on the Down Low, he was reading Gay Porn, and I had come to believe that if it was good for my parents, then it was good for me. And if they could do something deviant, (I did not know what deviant meant back then) I could do something deviant too.

And everything would work out for me.

Well, it didn’t.

I had ample years to prune my puberty tree. I knew before I hit junior high that I was gay, but I had to “Play it Straight” for the cameras. Girlfriends, Prom, Dates, you get the picture.

I never once, openly admitted I was Gay. Not Once. I never said those words to my parents. But by the way my father abused me, and my mother allowed it to happen under her watch, they both knew, whether I said those words or not.

“Mom and Dad, I’m Gay.”

I think we can all agree, that every pubescent boy growing up from the early days of Playboy Magazine, till today, probably credits Hugh Hefner with their first orgasm, or quite possibly, their first wet dream.

There was, back in the day, a radio show, that I used to listen to late at night, on my little transistor radio, with the little single ear piece. Back then, on the radio, there were these, what I like to call, “Alternative Variations” on the dating game phone call in shows.

Back then, gay was done in secret, at night, under the cover of darkness, because God forbid, someone find out that you were gay, or that gay even existed, “In community!”

My father gave me the ammunition to build my secret life, that he was living. The same secret life, behind closed doors, and behind my mother’s back.

My father would never admit, to his grave, that he leaned Gay, while “Playing it Straight” for the cameras and the progeny he spawned.

When I hit twenty-one, my shrink, a friend of the family, had taken me aside and gave me some sage advice.

This is what he told me to do:

I want you to go to the local Gay Bar. Park the car, and go inside. Sit down on a stool and relax. Have a drink, hell, have two drinks, and see what happens. He also told me that alcohol was going to be the lubricant that was going to magically make me acceptable in the gay community of Miami. That was the WAY IN …

My alcoholism had already taken off by then. The first night, I was legal to drink, the race was on. And my alcoholism grew to steroid proportions.

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I moved to Orlando to be Gay because thats where every gay boy comes Out of the Closet and also, in Orlando, every gay boy worked at Disney World.

Which was TRUE.

My twenties, were a blur. Alcohol, Sex, Drugs, Irresponsibility …

Until the years that I began to work for Todd. A year before I was diagnosed with AIDS, 1993, through until Todd and Roy moved to San Francisco, in 1996.

I was twenty six when I was diagnosed with AIDS. My family did not want to have anything to do with me, and to this very day, they don’t have anything to do with me.

I got sober on August 23rd 1994. That lasted until my fourth year of sobriety.

I had a two-year window to learn everything that Todd would feed me, in learning how to survive AIDS, what to do in case of emergencies, and those PEARLS of wisdom he dropped into my life.

With Todd gone from my life, I could not keep it together. People in sobriety were very mean. When I spoke at that meeting at three years sober and was told by another alcoholic that “They did not condone people like me and that I needed to go away and not come back” my fate was sealed and my slip was not far off in the distance.

On my thirtieth birthday I legally changed both my first and last name.

EMANCIPATION…

In my thirty forth year, I moved from the United States to Canada, SOBER.

So here we are, mere weeks after my fiftieth birthday this past July …

On December the 9th, 2017, I will hit Sixteen years of Sobriety.

Hugh Hefner is dead. And Probably every boy with eyes to see, has probably, one time or another, thumbed through a Playboy magazine.

As Catholic as my parents were, and as staunchly, they believed that homosexuality was a sin, punishable by death, pornography was part of our house hold. My father left it out to be consumed. And I did.

I don’t know anything about my brother, save we grew up in the same house. He went on to marry and have three kids. And going on thirty years now, he’s never said a word to me edgewise. I don’t know him, nor his family.

And the last time I saw my mother, was on New Years Day 2001, in Miami Beach, for all of twenty minutes while my father waited for us to visit, while the car was running, parked in a fire zone, in front of the building I once lived in.

When I moved to Montreal, my mother cursed me saying that “If either one of them got sick and died, that nobody would call me nor tell me where they were buried.

I never spoke to my mother again, but three times, in the past sixteen years.

Last Summer, 2016, I called my mother to tell her that my cousin Carol had died.

Her response …

“You were a mistake and should never have been born.”

You know, at forty-nine years old, those words still stung. It took me months to get over hearing her say that to me AGAIN. Having heard those words come out of BOTH their mouths for the whole of my life.

That’s my truth about Hugh Hefner and Pornography.