Don’t worry, it’s just art?
Where does sexual addiction begin and end?
About a year ago my wife told me that I had to get help for sexual addiction
Three books on the subject of sexual addiction and one luscious month later, I was admitting that I most certainly was an addict. Unfortunately I was admitting this mostly to rooms full of drunk chicks who were hardly condemning me. They’d laugh. My pussy addiction was on the table. They thought it was charming. Like a weird quirk. What they seemed to hear was if you’re lonely, and you have a cunt, then I’m the chap for you tonight. I got a significant bump in one night stands. This made my goomad angry. To put you in my frame of mind in those days, consider this: I had no qualms about cheating on my wife, but somehow I felt guilty cheating on the broad I was banging on the side. I mean she was blowing me in my bar (I mean in front of people), taking it up the ass, cooking dinners for me, and buying me presents. She knew I had a wife, but still. Fucking other girls 20 years younger than me and announcing my sex addiction wasn’t all that thrilling for her. She temporarily broke up with me. The she came back. My wife was telling me that I needed to find a psychologist. She knew something was fishy. Perhaps she could smell it on my dick. My wife was a royal pain in the ass. I mean this literally. Although she didn’t come from wealth her cultural upbringing taught her to act like a princess. This is common in Korea, they call the syndrome gong-ju-pyeong (공주병), meaning she has the princess disease. I would call her a diva. But seriously, was any piece of ass so good it could act like a diva? Absolutely not. I had little room to criticize her though because I was acting like a dick with a slew of bar rats I could fuck when I pleased, a Chinese puttana on the side, and a few girls I was actively chasing. Plus I had just had a very public embarrassment thanks to my ex-girlfriend-on-the-side. I was definitely a habitual womanizer. That was clear. Addiction? I wasn’t convinced, but my wife was. That meant I was at least exploring what it meant to be an addict.
The Checklist (taken from AAMFT):
- Compulsive masturbation
- Simultaneous or repeated sequential affairs
- Cybersex, phone sex
- Multiple anonymous partners
- Unsafe sexual activity
- Partner objectification/demand for sex
- Strip clubs and adult bookstores
- Use of prostitution/escorts
- Sexual aversion/anorexia
- Frequenting massage parlors
- Sexual paraphilias (a need for unusual sexual stimulation) and/or any sexually offensive behavior
Yep, check. I masturbated almost every night before bed “just to help me sleep.” I’ve already stated I’ve had sequential affairs, multiple affairs, affairs sprouting off the affairs — following my affairs was harder than charting a Gabriel Garcia Marquez character tree. Pornography, oh yeah. I watched it, curated it, archived it, hell I even made it. Cybersex, awesome! Phone sex didn’t scratch the itch but that only made me believe more that it would. Multiple anonymous partners? This one is hard for me to quantify. What makes a person anonymous? I never had my dick sucked through a glory hole but I have fucked women whose names I will never know. I’m going to answer maybe yes to that one. Unsafe sexual activity is a definite yes. Where do I begin on that one? No condoms most of the time. Jizzing in girls, fucking asses, having MFFs with bar girls, fucking in public, fucking in public in foreign countries where the locals, and often the police, are pretty hostile to foreigners — especially to white guys who are perceived as rice dick superior and pussy robbers (yes, I know I’m technically not white, but I look white so for this case then I’m white or white enough to get my ass kicked by a night stick). I called my girls cumpigs, whores, pieces of shit, and shoved their heads in toilets, under sinks, and put them in pig masks. Yeah, I suppose you could say I objectified women. I demanded sex. I never forced a girl. Never. That’s not me at all (women are too easy to ever consider that). But I certainly coerced a girl or two into sex or anal or face fucking or sharing when that wasn’t really what she was into. I mean, hell, to be honest, when a 30-year-old is seducing a 20-year-old the power structure is already all fucked up. That’s already coercion. I’m not complaining. I’m just saying it like it is. Strip clubs, never. Not my thing. Why not? Don’t know but probably too much facade and not enough fucking. Prostitutes, not in the Western sense of the word but definitely in the Asian sense of the word. Is it my fault that while shopping in Manila’s Mega Mall all the girls I picked up (what I had thought honestly) where professionals on some level? It’s not my fault. They were all “professionals” to varying degrees–even the hotel managers, the clothing sales girls, and the nurses. The nurses where whores! How could I possibly win? What’s next? I don’t have any sexual aversion/anorexia. I love massage parlors. I mean I live in Thailand for months at a time. And I certainly love sexual paraphilias (see a long list pf paraphilias here — I enjoy 1/4 to 1/2 of these). My list of fetishes is getting longer by the day but here’s a short list: latex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, sadism, plus I love sexual paraphernalia like dildos, anal plugs, and mountains of fake jizz to spray all over my partners.
Okay, I admit it. I admit it even when sober.
I’m a sex addict.
This admission led to a massive resurgence in my literary artwork. It’s funny. You may think that I’d have to drop porn and erotica but it was the opposite. I was engaging in really dangerous behavior that was jeopardizing my marriage, my business, and pretty much everything in my life. By focusing my energies on erotica I was able to make my addiction conform to me and my wife’s needs instead of my addiction making me conform to it. It was kind of like writing hardcore porn was allowing me to take my inner thoughts that I’d go to great (and often destructive lengths) to act out on people, put them in a trash bag, and take them to the curb for the men in thick gloves to throw in the garbage truck.
The lingering question for me has been where does the addiction begin and end. This is no easy question to answer. It seems to me that the very nature of addiction is a certain incompleteness to any bbehaviorthat then leads to repetition to achieve an increasingly impossible to occur satisfaction. My addiction was rooted in both sex and sensualism. I was addicted to feeling loved and having a submissive sexual partner. My wife was a wonderful lover and my equal. That left a part of my desires unfulfilled. I filled the lack by finding co-eds who came to my bar and using them for sex. It was wonderful! I had gorgeous young things kneeling down and sucking dick, giving me deepthroat with heads hanging off the bed, trying anal sex for the first time, and having sex in public. I wanted to cultivate these relationships but I couldn’t. I had a wife and a child and cheating was a total mess. It was causing me to lose control of running my bar and business, the financial lifeline to my family. Also, I was emotionally destroying these young girls who were in a relationship with a completely uneven power structure and thus falling in love with me. I was hurting them. I hurt one so badly that she landed in the hospital to get her slashed wrist surgically repaired.
Thanks to my wife’s pleading I made a change. I ceased the actual behavior that was hurting my wife and me and moved on to creating a vibrant sex life in reality. I stopped cheating. Cheating was the root of the ongoing sexual addiction. That was what was breaking our trust and making me rush to fuck other girls which then left me unsatisfied which made me search out new conquests which furthered the alienation which meant I needed more, more, more. I had identified the root cause and snipped it off like a hanging dingleberry. Reconnecting with my wife was actually quite a bit of fun (and I give her a ton of credit for investing in me). However, cutting the root problem didn’t solve all the addictive, compulsive feelings I had been building for years. Those feeling and compulsions had to go somewhere. That’s where writing became essential.
It was okay to pour all these emotions into my writing. I started with a kind of “secret journal” which became the Book of Real & Imaginary Girlfriends and then went on to write a psycho-thriller that explores some of the fetishes, mind control, and emotional turmoil that I had been experiencing and causing.
By writing these experiences I was getting therapy. My life started to make more sense. The fighting and crying scenes with my wife melted away. I started to devote myself to her sexually and made more efforts to please her. I noticed that there was a lot of things that I thought I didn’t like about her that I could fix because actually the root cause was my sexual addiction. It was quite a revelation. Trust me, we still have all kinds of problems, but the game-changers have been corrected so now we can talk and work on our problems. Family is amazing. It has become very important to me. I may have missed that if I didn’t admit my problems.
The days of single debauchery have abated, but the thoughts make for titillating reading and writing. I find myself in a case of having my cake and eating it too. My writing is like an emotional archiving of abnormal psychology, fetishism, and sexual addiction. Some people consider this taboo, but I counter that this is healthy. This is purging. This is taking my trash to the corner and then noticing that some pawn stars like the things I consider trash and want to sell them.
So to all the prudes, frigid faces, and hardcore erotica condemners I say, “Don’t worry, it’s just art!”