Tag: porn recovery

(Dialogue)

Man, you ever feel it creep in?”  

“What—you mean that hum?”  

“Yeah. Like right now—us jawing here, close, and it’s good, but then bam, that flicker hits.”  

“Every damn time. Ain’t full-on lust—just warm, weird, like my gut’s remembering old junk.”  

“Got wired screwy—clips, scenes, whatever. That vibe—not banging, just… there.”  

“Exactly. Got me hooked—homo hum, not queer. Soul stuff, but it’d spark hot sometimes.”  

“Still does. Sitting here—your voice, your nod—it’s brotherhood, but that old pull sneaks up.”  

“Same. Feel you get me—deep, real—and then it twists, like my heart’s half-stupid still.”  

“Ain’t stupid—just trained wrong. Years of flicks—lit me up somehow.”  

“Me too. Watched ‘em—felt it—not crossing lines—but it stuck ‘til faith.”  

“Faith’s the kicker—Christ grabs it, says ‘Mine.’ Still hums, though—your laugh just now? Damn.”  

“Caught that too—your look, steady. Ain’t chasing skin—just that spark, tangled in us.”  

“Let’s name it—erotic, yeah, but not sex. Soul’s hungry—world don’t get that.”  

“Nope. Says lust or lone—bull. Scripture’s got it—Jonathan, David, souls knit (1 Samuel 18:1).”  

“Right—pure, strong. That hum? Old wiring—ghost junk. Ain’t us, not now.”  

“Still trips me—feel it, freak a sec, then what? Don’t wanna wreck this.”  

“Me neither—wrecking’s the old play. Recognize it—‘Hey, there’s the hum’—then let it sit.”  

“Yeah—see it, don’t run. Ain’t sin ‘less I feed it. You steady when it hits?”  

“Steady-ish—pray it down. ‘Lord, take this—keep us true.’ Refocus—us, Him, not the flicker.”  

“Prayer’s clutch—‘Christ, hold it, bind us.’ That hum’s a shadow—brotherhood’s the meat.”  

“Damn right—shadow don’t own us. Feel it, nod, shift—talk like this, cuts it clear.”  

“Talking’s gold—naming it strips the power. You get me—hum or not—soul’s safe here.”  

“Safe’s it—get you too, deep. That flicker? Fades when we lean in, not out.”  

“Leaning in—yeah. Old junk’d say chase it—Christ says forge it. We’re forging, man.”  

“Forging tight—this hum’s a test, not a boss. Bond’s stronger ‘cause we hash it.”  

“Stronger every time—soul over spark. You’re my brother—hum don’t change that.”  

“Nope—brother, full stop. Christ’s got us—refocused, forged. We’re good, man.”  

“Real good—tighter now. That hum? Just noise—us? Solid as hell.”

The trail cut through pines, boots crunching gravel under a wide sky. Two guys—me and him—hiking off the week’s grind, packs light, sweat beading. Sun blazed high, air thick with cedar and dust. We’d jawed for miles—work, faith, the usual—words easy, like old leather.

“Lake’s up ahead,” I said, nodding at a shimmer through the trees. He grinned—quick, sharp—and we picked up pace. Shore hit fast—pebbles, still water, pines hugging tight. Packs dropped, shirts peeled—heat begged it. “Skinny dip?” he tossed out, half-laughing. I smirked—“Hell yeah”—and we shucked the rest, kicking boots free.

Water slapped cool—feet first, then a plunge, ripples fanning out. I surfaced, shaking wet from my hair; he broke through laughing, splashing like a kid. Lake was ours—no crowd, just us, swimming lazy circles. “This is it,” he said, voice loose, floating on his back. “Damn right,” I shot back, treading slow.

Then it crept in—that hum. Bare skin, water slick, his laugh echoing—hit me low, warm, not full-on lust, just there. Old wiring—porn clips, two guys close, not crossing, sparking that itch. I caught his eye—steady, easy—and damn if it didn’t flicker in him too. “Feel that?” I said, half-gruff, testing it.

“Yeah,” he said, straight up, no flinch. “Hums—like back then, watching stuff. Ain’t chasing it, just… there.”

“Same,” I grunted, kicking water. “Soul stuff—gets tangled, don’t it?”

He nodded, drifting closer—not too close. “Always does—voice, grin, hits deep. Old reels trained it—warm, not wild.”

I exhaled—truth cut loose. “World’d say run with it—or run off. Messed me ‘til faith grabbed hold.”

“Me too,” he said, eyes on the sky. “Thought it’d damn me—warm hum, not sin ‘less I feed it. God’s bigger.”

Water lapped—quiet held us. That hum—erotic echo, not flesh—buzzed soft, lake cool against it. “Name it,” I said, blunt. “See it—don’t dodge. Ain’t us, not now.”

“Right,” he said, firm. “Feel it—nod—let it sit. Prayer’s my rope—‘Lord, keep it Yours.’”

“Same—‘Christ, hold this.’ Hums there—God’s there stronger. Soul’s safe, man.”

He splashed me—light, quick—grinning. “Safe—brother, not bait. Tangled, but His.”

I laughed, splashing back—“Damn straight”—and we swam, hum fading under water’s pull. “Faith’s the win,” I said, voice steady. “Men like us—loving real, not muddied.”

“Truth,” he shot back, treading close. “Jonathan, David—souls knit, no mess (1 Samuel 18:1). World don’t get it—God does.”

Lake held us—cool, clear—God’s grip tighter than any flicker. We ducked under—heads dunked, came up spitting—bond thicker now, not thin. “This is it,” I said, water dripping. “Brother—not hum’s toy.”

“Brother—full stop,” he said, eyes clear. “God’s here—hum’s just noise.”

Shore called—we climbed out, pebbles sharp, air cold on wet skin. Hums lingered—soft, small—God loomed big, steady as the pines. Pants tugged on, boots laced—two guys, tangled pasts, forged present. “Stronger now,” I said, clapping his shoulder.

“Damn right,” he said, clapping mine—solid, real, His.