Step

First 12 step meeting. Well so far the study of addiction is a fascinating hobby. I am learning all about behavioral addictions and the chemical processes involved. Being addicted to sex and gambling and spending act as a distraction, that is obvious. But the addict in obsessing about the activity is tricking the brain into releasing chemicals including dopamine as a means of controlling his mood. I do that. The fixation is rarely the sexual act itself but the hunt, the quest. Spending all hours of the night on the internet searching porn pics for that perfect image. The One. The one that will get me off. I will spend hours searching Craigslist bulletins or Manhunt, searching for the perfect image. Or the high of attention, people admiring cock pics, begging for my attention. That is the high, the distraction from pain, from feeling.

I got to the chapter of the book describing the Love Addict, and that is probably 80 percent of my addiction. I will get lost in the fantacy of falling in love. I can fall in love at first sight 20 times in a day. My body obsession, my sense of humor, style of dress, praciticing sexy smirks in the mirror-- all means to hook HIM. The perfect guy. The guy going to love me, obsess over me.

The first meeting was nice, nerve racking at first. Terrified to go inside, I spent 20 minutes talking myself in and out of going. Finally I went and found it to be the most unmenacing encounter ever. Very nice people happy to help others who have problems they can relate to. Duh. But then walked in HIM. The one. Sat right next to me stretching his legs out to touch my sneakers. Short Dark and Hair, just my style. Bulging muscles and chisled features. I sat patiently listening to others speak their stories of exhibitionism, arrests for public indecincy, staliking, you name it. All the while I felt his piercing brown gaze on me. I'd roll my eyes to feast on his manliness and he'd roll his eyes away dicreetly. He'd rub his neck and the sound of scruff, the prickly scrub of man. Imagining my scruff against his, against his hard muscles. I adjust my pants.

Then he spoke. His worn leather voice, adjusting my pants again. He was the only other in the room, the only other Sex AND love addict. Like me. Alike. His story was mine. Not sensational, not dire. Real for me, identifiable. I AM IN LOVE. They ask all the newbies to raise their hand, that's me. The perfect invite, the foot in the door. My Man took it. "So first time huh." The most beautiful eyes. Objectifying me. I need this attention. Telling me it will be alright, telling me to keep coming back. With those Fuck Me eyes. He would treat me right, with experience.

They are no fools at the Sex Addicts Annonymous. Spoken an uncountable amount of times was the warning to not have sex with fellow addicts. Do not describe in details acting out. Do not mention specific names or locations. Do not arrouse fellow addicts. But at the same time we are encouraged to reach out, help one another, even exchange numbers. It isn't fair for us sex addicts. It's not like you go to the Nacotics Annonymous and speak directly to a rail of coke, or the Overeaters Anonymous and share your woes with a buffet line. Here we are talking to one another in the only language we know, "Fuck Me." Of course I thank him for the encouragement, thank him for the support, in MY fuck me eyes and rehearsed smirk, While he adjusts his pants.

I am trying to beat the bully. I was that kid on the playyard. Mean and pushy, but obviously lonely. I would love to make them cry, humiliate them. I was so good at finding their weakness and prey on it, abuse it. And I can't stop it today. I do it in bed. I find the weaker man, the nerd, the insecure. I flatter them with the prospect of going home with a hot guy. Allow them to give up themselves to a butch hottie. Then there is the challenge, the ass. Blow jobs were for highschool, I need penetration. And I am undefeated. If they get into my bed they leave with a smile on their face and an ass full of cum. But not for long. If I can get out the door without leaving my number even better.

Bootie calls are off my repetoire. I don't have to break hearts just because I am good at it. I can't bully anymore, can't humiliate, it tears me up too. I actually am starting to like people, last night i felt. I had an emotion. It has been 3 weeks since the last drink, 4 since the last smoke. 5 since the last bootie.