I was a sex addict. My attitude was not one of conquest but feeling I had a duty to satisfy women’s sexual needs.
For thirty-five years I tried to seduce every woman and teenage girl I met. I thought that each one was hitting on me, wanting to go to bed with me, wanting me to satisfy them. My mind, on one side, told me this was not so. But the other was looking for the next lady to bed.
But I grew weary of the constant prowl. And I tired of leading two lives. It was exhausting.
The crisis point came after trying to hit on two of my good friend’s wives. They were both upset and demanded I stop.
Between the shame and the energy it took to constantly convince myself that “all” these women “wanted me,” I was not happy. I was tired and not having fun.
I also had anger issues. I wondered why I did not make friends. Why didn’t people start conversations with me? I always had to take the first step. Some called me abusive. I denied it.
Eventually I saw that I lashed out at anyone who disagreed with me and that I had no patience with my ex-wife, my children or my siblings. Why was I always mad? And what was I mad about?
When my mind decided enough was enough it collapsed into a nervous breakdown and I sought therapy.
In therapy under hypnosis I recovered a memory. From the ages of three to five, four women had me perform various sex acts. One was my mother.
In my addiction, I had sought to satisfy women’s sexual needs. Maybe subconsciously pleasing women sexually seemed to be what a good son does?
The abuse led to mistrust of both men and women. Women, because my mother, who should have had my best interests at heart, had merely used me with no concern for my well-being. But I also mistrusted men from subconsciously wishing my father had rescued me. All these qualms left me angry and unable to form close emotional bonds.
I knew that I needed to trust again. And that I needed to let go the belief that my job was to sexually please women. But since sex is so pleasurable, that was not easy.
In another sense, it was easy: Since I had been so unhappy for decades I just repeated to myself that I never want to return to those times. And if I did relapse, and chose to start up again, I just told myself; look how happy you have been when you don’t relapse. That kept me on track.
But I also met a woman who was a soul mate. Making love to a soul mate is much more satisfying than “fucking” some emotionally detached pussy. I’d had so much pussy over the years I just kept repeating to myself, “Do I want to make love to a soul mate or just a piece of ass?”
My recovery required fifteen years of hard work and weekly meetings with my therapist as I traveled through the stages of progress, relapses, and forward steps again until I took control of my sexual yearnings. Do I still have urges to seduce or to be seduced? Yes, but at least now I am much more selective.
It has not been easy, but as I told my therapist, I do not ever want to return to that lifestyle. These past ten years have been wonderful. I have developed close platonic relationships with women friends. I no longer need to constantly lie to cover my tracks, I laugh more, and for the first time in my life I like myself.
When I told an acquaintance about my blog and what I write about he told me this story. I asked if he would write it up, and here it is.