Saturday, July 3, 2010

And so it ends...

About a year ago I had sex with this guy that I knew for a little while. He had asked me about it several times and I consistently turned him down. This one particular night I was extra bored and he looked extra tasty... probably due to the insane amounts of alcohol I had consumed in addition to that pesky boredom. It was a total bust... literally. He stuck it in for about 12 seconds and that was the end of that. I told all my friends, and his friends, because I was pissed off.

Since then, he asked me several more times to let him prove himself. I was very hesitant about the whole thing because I am not big on sexual disappointment OR premature ejaculation. I did eventually give in... after he got a girlfriend. They had been together for a few weeks and we were at a party. He sent her home and came back and fucked ME. In the following weeks his girlfriend and I became good friends. I didn't say anything for quite sometime and then she took a vacation. We had sex again. I don't know what was happening in my mind, but I decided to tell her the truth about the first time. I left out the fact that we had just fucked a night or two before I told her. They stayed together.

In the following weeks things were tense... they broke up... and then for a couple weeks almost every night he was fucking me. He talked a lot of shit saying he was going to break me off every night and how we were going to get kinky, etc. Little did I know that he was talking shit about his ex girlfriend BUT he was seeing her behind my back. Now don't get me wrong, I had and still have NO feelings for this piece of shit... I just wanted some dick, plain and simple. I am NOT cool with lies, period. I want the honest to God truth and I want to not have to worry while your cock is in my mouth that it was just all up in some other bitch. I would slice a dude's dick off for some grimy shit like that.

Some men are just disgusting excuses for human beings.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Once upon a time there was a girl that loved a boy. She loved him so much that she thought they would spend their entire lives together. That little girl was stupid and naive to think that, at such a young age, she had found her soulmate. She let that boy tear her apart from the inside out, and she was never to be the same again.

Some happy ending, isn't it? Well, that's not my ending but that IS my story. Thankfully, I'm still alive and still have the opportunity to change things. Some people handle that "young love" shit better than others. Me, I got hung up on it - everything that he said was wrong with me I fixed, I became obsessed with my weight, my hair, my eyebrows, my toenails, etc. Anything he ever commented on became an obsession of mine until I became overloaded with worries, self esteem issues, and Obsessive Compulsive-like rituals. I never evolved into the definition of "beautiful" that he wanted. Thank GOD that I see myself differently now, and I know that I am, in fact, beautiful the way I am. I don't have to pluck my eyebrows and trim my toenails every single day - nor do I need to be blonde - EVER, and I most certainly don't have to starve myself until I'm under 100lbs because "you can't fuck a fat chick standing up."

This blog, though it might sound like it, is not self-pitying. I just thought of all these things today because my friend is in a situation like that. She's trying to be someone she isn't because of what her "great" boyfriend thinks she should be. Maybe at one time I could understand that, but I have come past that point in my life, now I just want to beat some sense into her. Everyone makes mistakes, we make stupid decisions and we waste time in our lives on things that should never be relevant - but if I could save just one person from the hell that pretending creates, I would want it to be her. She is such a beautiful woman, with such a kind heart, and to see her bend until she breaks would be a tragedy.

If you lie to yourself enough you can start to believe it, and that is a dangerous power to have when someone else plants the seeds.

Monday, March 1, 2010


I haven't written in quite a while - these have been some hectic times, but I'll pop in and out, I suppose. I'm feeling a need to talk tonight.

When I was younger I was totally out of touch with reality and how the things I did affected things that were done to me. Through the years, I've seen so much, and eventually I realized that doing good things gets you good things in return, generally speaking. I had this realization when I was walking down the street, when I first moved to the city, and a homeless man asked me for some change. All I had was a 5 dollar bill and a debit card, so I just gave him the 5 dollars. Later that day I was at the grocery store and I was grabbing some bottom-shelf ketchup when there, staring up at me was President Andrew Jackson. I looked around to see if the owner was anywhere in sight, and apparently no one needed any ketchup because I was alone. I picked it up and I automatically thought back to that homeless man. It was like the two events were connected to each other somehow, and that was the final confirmation for me that karma does, in fact, exist - good AND bad.

Though I believe fully in karma and the repercussions bad actions can lead to, my sex addiction has no fear. My life is littered with dysfunctional relationships, and I know why. I've ruined plenty myself. I have single-handedly torn apart marriages, made women break up with men they've been with for years. I'm not proud of that, but it has become part of me because I was that woman once. I am now being punished for all the wrong I've done. I deserve it, I do, but I pray every night that it ends sooner rather than later and I can find someone who "gets" me.

One time, a couple years ago, I was having a party at my house. My female friend and I were playing beer pong and we were holding the table most of the night. It was a great night. There were upwards of 30 people at this party and around 2am it started to thin out a little bit. We still continued to play beerpong. My friend was really drunk and she wanted to go home, so she and her boyfriend left. About 20 minutes later, it was just myself and two or three people in my house, and her boyfriend came back. I asked him why he left her and he said because he wasn't tired and he just wanted to chill. While we were talking and smoking cigarettes the other people left and he asked me if he could stay the rest of the night with me. I said sure, that I would get him a blanket and a pillow. He said he could just sleep in my bed if I didn't mind. I just shrugged my shoulders, like, whatever, if that's what you want to do. Then he said he was kind of scared to sleep beside me because he wasn't sure if he could keep his hands to himself and he thought I would tell on him if he couldn't. At first, I stayed strong, I told him that he would just have to sleep on the couch then. I even got the blanket out for him and I walked to my bedroom. I laid down in my bed and the next thing I knew he was there. He slid his hands up my shirt and squeezed my nipples between his fingers, and he said something like, "You won't tell, will you?" Then that was it, my legs wrapped around him and my tongue was down his throat. Someone's boyfriend. My friend's boyfriend. I didn't think about anything, I just remember squeezing his head between my thighs while he went down on me and loving every second of it and how I tasted myself on his lips when he kissed me. He did things to me that night that make me blush when I think about them, and that's not an easy task. I never did tell, either. I'm pretty sure she still doesn't know about that. I haven't talked to her for quite sometime - but strange thing about it is, I don't even feel guilty. I feel *bad* for betraying her trust, but guilt is not a feeling I am familiar with.

So, now, I have all these relationship woes, but how can I be mad when I look back at everything I've done to deserve them?

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Bad Decisions

I lost my virginity in the back of a car in an alley way with my best friend in the drivers seat. It wasn't even a very nice car. I look back now and think, my God, why did I do that? From that day forward it was like an insatiable urge to me... to have a man touch me, not even to love me, or satisfy me... I just yearned for physical closeness. It made me feel empowered. Like Lil Wayne says, I had the power of the P-U-S-S-Y and that disease that overcame me that night has not given up on me since.

It's almost laughable what a woman can get a man to do for some pussy. I'm not saying that all men are controlled by it... but most will bend over backwards to get a woman to sleep with him. In the beginning I'm sure I probably wasn't fantastic in bed. I knew my way around okay, but I was just like every beginner. Let's just say that practice might not make perfect, because perfection doesn't exist, but I've gotten pretty damn close. I have never, since the age of 18, had sex with someone that didn't call me for 2nds... I've had one-night stands, but they were by my choice.

Sometimes I think about the differences between me and your average woman... I talk freely about my sexual encounters, as well as my preferences. I wouldn't turn down sex from a man just because I'm angry with him... we can argue later. I will do things and try things that most women think are turn offs. Strange things turn me on and I have fetishes that some men are surprised at. Things like that set me apart from the girl next door.

Do I hate my addiction? Most of the time. Sometimes I embrace it. I hate it because it keeps me from having a real, functional relationship. I get angry when I don't have sex for a while... and I take that out on my partner. Contrary to popular belief, not every man wants to have sex all the time, and it can get old when your girlfriend wants to fuck you 5 times a day, every single day. At first everything is all fine and dandy... but once the novelty wears off and it's "normal," the sex gets boring and you have less of it. That's when I have to call it quits. Or he will. I'll call it quits because I need to have sex. He'll call it quits because I need to have sex too much.

In my current situation, my FWB is what I would call a functional addict. He can handle his urges and doesn't freak out with lack of sex. However, he talks about it all day long, thinks about it constantly, and has stranger fantasies than any man I've ever met... but he's kept me interested now for quite some time. Maybe that's what it takes for me to be happy. There are complications in our relationship, though. Things I would rather not talk about. Not because I don't want anyone to know... this is anonymous... but because I don't want to drudge it up in my brain.

I know this blog is all over the place and I apologize. I feel that way this evening, moreso than usual. Next time maybe I'll talk about my sex toy collection, lol.

Sunday, March 29, 2009

My Realization

I didn't realize that I was, in fact, a sex addict until later in my addiction. I always knew I wasn't your average girl next door, but I didn't think it was a problem.

I don't know if it's the normal thing to do, because most probably have few enough people on their "roster" to be able to name them off the top of their head, but I keep a diary... and on the back pages I write the people I have had sex with. I had a period of time in my life - about 6 months - that I didn't write at all in this diary, and when I went back to it, I went to update my list. When I realized I had more than 10 men to add in that short period of time, I started to think I had some issues. Some women don't sleep with more than 10 men in their entire lives, and I blew that away in 6 months. That's when I resolved to go to a counselor.

I have an addictive personality. I become addicted to anything that makes me feel "good." I'm not talking about "good," as in high... I'm talking about feeling normal. I want to feel calm, and I want to feel love, and attention, like I'm important. That's why I so easily became addicted, also, to therapy. I wanted to go every single day because I had a captive audience who wasn't there to call me bad names and tell me I'm crazy - but to help me.

My therapist's name was Elaine. She was an older woman, mid-to-late 30's, with a very soothing voice and calming presence. She made me feel welcome immediately, and I sat across from her in an uncomfortable leather chair two times a week and sold my soul. I told her everything, anything she asked I answered, and I said whatever I felt or thought... which led her, finally, to the conclusion that I am a sex addict. I got so into it sometimes that our hour-long sessions turned into two-hour-long sessions. She was very accommodating, and after a while she scheduled me around lunchtime so I could have my two hours and talk to her while she ate. It seems strange looking back on it that I felt so comfortable telling this middle-aged woman all my filthy fantasies and experiences, but I did, and she never blinked twice.

Even when I was young, before I ever had sex, I was curious about it. I mean, all kids, to a certain point, are curious about anatomy and where babies come from. But me - it was different. I was curious about which hole the penis is supposed to go in and if it hurt, and how long I had to wait before I tried it. I also discovered myself very early - I think I was 9 or 10 when I had my first orgasm. I was never sexually abused, no one was overly-friendly with me at a young age - I'm really unsure as to where this all came from, but it's my reality. We talked about that too, Elaine and I, and she was determined to uncover some hidden truth about my childhood... but there were none.

Elaine gave me a prescription for Xanax, which, in case you've never heard of it, is a nerve pill. She felt it would help me resist my impulses, and by doing so, reduce them. Well... Xanax made me feel fantastic... and you should know by now what that led to... but that's another story.

While I was attending therapy we talked about ways to treat my addiction. It's not your everyday run-of-the-mill drug addict fix... it's much more complicated than that. While in treatment for sex addiction they recommend you abstain from sex (of any kind, masturbation included) for 3 full months. After that you should only have sex when you have consciously decided to do so for reasons that will be fulfilling to you after the fact, so as not to lead again into the vicious cycle that sex addiction becomes. I, obviously, fell off the wagon.

Eventually, Elaine told me that since I'd been diagnosed, I could come back once a month for follow-ups. I didn't go back after that. It was a tease to only be able to go once a month. I wanted it all or not at all, and that's just the way it was. I did okay while I was in therapy, but as soon as I couldn't have my two-a-weeks, I was back to the old me... but I still filled my prescriptions, and ate them everyday, usually washing them down with Vodka.

That's a bit of my background. I'm off to bed now, though... it's so late.

Who am I, really?

I'll just use this particular opportunity to introduce myself, so to speak. I am a clinically diagnosed sex addict, of the female variety. Half my life I have been consumed with sexual desire... and if you knew how old I was you would be surprised. I'm not a teenage attention seeker, by any means, or I'd introduce myself by name. I've left my teenage, carefree years behind. I have a family who loves me and a job where I am respected, but no outlet for the "real" me. I don't have a "boyfriend" currently... I have what the world likes to call a friend with benefits, or FWB. Strangely enough, he and I have been seeing each other for over a year... and I've been more faithful to him than any real boyfriend I've ever had. Yes, I've explored a bit with others during our current run... but what he doesn't know won't hurt him, and it was only 3 times... or maybe 4. We've exchanged "I love you's," but the mystery I cannot solve is, do I really love him, or do I love the sex? I think about that a lot, but still have not come up with a clear answer. He knows me... better than anyone else. He knows my secrets and what I really think about all day long. He is the only person I can say lewd things to all day and he's not a bit surprised. Maybe it's the freedom of speech I love, it's really hard to say.

I've always wanted to write a book, based upon my experiences. I haven't built up the courage to do so, because truly... like any disease might cause someone to feel, it can be embarrassing. It's embarrassing that something so small that people toss to the side as nothing more than a pasttime can control your life. When you hear about female sex addicts, more popularly called "nymphos," it's in a very sexual light. Men want these women... they covet them as though they have the golden ticket to life. These women who claim to be sex addicts, the ones that make it "sexy," are not really sex addicts. They wouldn't know an addiction if it smacked them in the face. I want people to know what it's really like. The constant yearning, the promiscuity that is truly unintentional, the ruined relationships, the labels, the physical discomforts lack of sex can cause... and my favorite... the inability to consume alcoholic beverages without the guarantee that I'll be having sex [[to avoid the insanity I feel, the nagging voice in the back of my head, the cold sweats, the masturbation that leads to nothing but more masturbation, the aches in my bones...]]

I'm not sure anyone will ever read this... but if you do, and you wish to take this journey through my past and my current life, welcome aboard. I'll be posting as often as I can, I'm sure. Welcome to my world.