I Attended a Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous Meeting
On the urging of a platonic female lesbian pal, I went to my first meeting of Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous. It's a 12 step program with the same sharing, etc., as AA. Although they kept talking about sobriety. I'm not sure what that means in a sex addiction context.
Most of the guys were poor married souls in their 50s there for a supposed addiction to internet porn.
As I recall marriage, it consisted of the woman getting more controlling, more bitchy, more dried up, more virginal. Who could blame these guys for checking out some hot babe on the internet taking it up the ass or sucking it till it blows all over her face? They just want to feel, even if a shadow of the feeling, of the excitement they had with their wives when the relationship was young, back when Jane respected Tarzan and regularly sucked his cock and put her feet behind her ears. Now there's a hundred more pounds of Jane and those feet couldn't get in the same time zone as her ears, and at the same time she got less sexual, she got more religious and now says things like, "We need Jesus in bed with us when we contemplate making love."
Look, these people didn't "contemplate making love" in the beginning. They fucked. So what happened to that dirty little whore who was so wild twenty or thirty years before? She's talking to Jesus about G-spots? No, she's watching Oprah and spying on her husband's internet history.
At least these guys weren't out with a fifty dollar girl with her head below the steering wheel. Yet they were wracked with guilt for their misdeeds.
As for me, I'm the love junky. The next female who shows up at the candlelit table will be girl #116. At least three relationships to the winds, each one more drama-filled than the next. How could I screw up a love affair with a 5'10" Gwenyth Paltrow lookalike with a tiny waist, curves like a racing yacht, mile long legs, platinum blonde hair, bewitching green eyes and D-cup fake boobs? This woman worshipped me. There was nothing she wouldn't gladly do for me. Five minutes didn't pass without her telling me she loved me, and the last time we fought before the big breakup, she raped me to get me out of my mood (and it was so goddamned good). Why would I let that go? Idiot that I was, I couldn't commit. I wanted to go on to that next sexual thrill, find that perfect romance.
I was the love junky. The other people with their porn and their guilt, what the hell did they know about love addiction?
I'm going back, though. Why not? Maybe the next time Sandra Bullock or Claudia Schiffer glide into my life, I'll be at peace and I can love a woman fully and completely.
Until then (ahem!), how YOU doin'?
Playboy Author Boy
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