Confessions of a Crack Whore

I am a crack whore. There, I said it. Okay, I am not really a crack whore – but I have a confession to make, and I figured this will take the sting out of the confession. Also, this post is not for the meek of heart, or the weak of stomach. And it is definitely not for those under 18, or under 21 in some municipalities. This is a big girl post – so be forewarned.

Last week, I spoke about a strong woman – a woman that wrote about a very deep and personal experience. I was deeply moved by her, in both her ability to share and willingness to "put herself out there". At the time, I wanted to share something deeply personal with me, but, er, I chickened out.

Actually, I once, months ago, asked Dr. ~Deb to allow me to post on this subject on her blog anonymously. I wanted to tell my story, but I did not want it to be attributed to me. Talk about a chicken.

Well, here it goes. Deep breath for real. You see, fellow bloggers, I have an addiction. I am a sex addict. And it is not as titillating as it sounds. I remember snickering about this addiction in college – really thinking that there is no such addiction. It was just people who liked sex a lot and did not want to take personal responsibility for either sticking their thingie in other peoples' orifices or letting others do things to their special places. I am talking about a compulsive behavior that completely dominated my life.

I am not an expert on this addiction – but I have read a whole lot about it. I am not going to talk about what I have learned; you can read that in a book. I am going to tell you about my experiences.

I started out, innocently enough, looking at pictures online. Yeah, I had seen Playboys when I was growing up, but I wanted to be these women, not masturbate to them. And, yes, I had access to these magazines so in the back of my mind, there was nothing wrong with the images. Personally, there is still nothing wrong with nude images – but it throws my life completely out of control. Wrong for me.

I started looking at men mostly. I mean, there were some women's asses receiving penises and all, but my first concern was with the male penis. Then I started collecting images, looking at other images, and then cataloging all of the images. I would feel ashamed, guilty and the like, and stop looking for some time. Sometimes days, sometimes as long as a month. But I still needed to go back to the images.

When the modem fired up and I heard it start, my nipples would go hard. I masturbated to these images, felt guilty, and spent many unproductive hours after hubbie went to sleep. Heck, I was even let go from a job because of my performance. Surfing for images online.

Then I started chatting online. I was so good at cybersex. I am quick-witted, I type fast, and I can describe things well. That and a dirty mind, and you are off to the races.

Again, this really impacted my life. By this time, my sex drive was practically nil with hubbie. Yeah, he complained, and yeah, we had sex occasionally. But it went from the wonderful sex – us becoming one, sharing wonderful experiences, etc. to mechanical sex. Really tragic.

Again, it went from spending hours doing this, more hours thinking about it, and more tragically, not being present for the one person I was supposed to be sharing my life with. I would abstain for a time, feeling guilty, and then back to my normal routine, nipples hard when I would hear the modem, and back to masturbating to images.

Then it spiraled completely out of control. Before, I convinced myself I was not hurting anyone. It was not true, but plausible. And then I started fucking strangers. Fucking friends. Fucking everyone. I would stop for a while, then start again when the temptation grew too strong.

Some of you would say, "You were just having fun. No big deal."

The big deal was that I was ruining my marriage, my work life, my spiritual life, my whole fucking life. There is a lot more than I will put to words right here, right now. I scared the crap out of me the first time I had unprotected sex in a bathroom of a club. What the heck was I thinking? Problem was that I wasn't. Sex had a hold on me, and I was not making rational choices.

A couple of things you might have noticed during my time here blogging: (1) I write erotica, (2) I refrain from using pictures on this site, and (3) I don't masturbate.

About my erotica – this has to do with what I have felt, what I have done. I don't typically masturbate to my own erotica, or, for that matter, any text erotica. But most of my erotica is one particular type. Interestingly, last week, I posted some erotica, and Monica said in the comments, "Nicely tied up, but the story overall lacked your usual roundness and softness. I'm not sure I would have recognized it on a group writing page like your other writings." Okay, I actually wrote it, but she was right, this was a different type of erotica, one that I don't normally write. This would be the type of erotica I would write when experiencing a relapse. Bad Leesa. But it is true.

I don't view erotic pictures, and I probably can't ever do this again. I am not saying that nudes are good or bad, but they start me in my downward spiral. Several times MT Leesa has offered to share some of her pictures. I would love to see them, partly because she is a photographer, and partly because she is a cutie. But I can't. Some pictures don't affect me that way, but I can never tell. Muse took some New York pictures of her in a window. The sun was coming through, and everything glowed gold. They were beautiful pictures of a beautiful woman, and they did not put me in the downward spiral.

I don't masturbate. Not that masturbation is bad. In college, after I figured out how to masturbate in private, it was a small relaxing part of my life. Now, I don't know if it will cause me to do things I have trouble controlling. And I am sure some of you are thinking, "Weak Leesa, can't control her sexual feelings." First, I would like to say, "Fuck you, ignorant bitch." Er, I meant to type: you may think I am making this whole thing up, but I tell you that these feelings/urges are so overpowering. You don't give a rat's ass about the consequences. You just do it. And then you feel awful about it.

One of the most popular books on the subject is Dr. Patrick Carnes' 1983 book, Out of the Shadows: Understanding Sexual Addiction. You can still go to the local bookstore and pay cash for this book if you think you may have a sexual addiction or if you just want to learn more about this. If you think you have a sexual addiction – do not buy the book instead of seeking professional help. Seek professional help.

I know several are saying, "Sure, Leesa, cry me a river. This is just a bunch of BS." Well, maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. All I know is that once I was treated for my sexual addiction, it helped my depression, my marriage, my spirituality, and even my sex life. I am still healing, but I have been doing so for a long time.

Sure, I joke a lot about sex. But that does not fuel this at all. I am learning what does. That last erotica did. Bad Leesa. Again, I feel shame for that. I nearly lost my marriage because of the addiction – and I can remember Prata once asking what made me cheat on hubbie. He could not understand it at all – he is an extremely rational guy, and it baffled him. Perhaps this explains things a little better. I don't know.

I have really struggled with sharing this – but I have seen so much in the past few days, the strong woman, another woman going through a hard time (her hubbie may have the same thing). I don't know. I am breaking all of the rules here – this post is way long, it is too personal, and there are too few jokes.

And I am not the typical sex addict – I am female, and I think 4 in 5 diagnosed sex addicts are male. I was not abused sexually as a child – most were. Funny thing is that when early research in this field was talking place, they found a lot of prostitutes were sex addicts. I mean, getting paid to feed the addiction – sort of brilliant and sad at the same time.

Comments are okay, but not necessary. This is a dirty post about a dirty subject. Some don't believe that this exists, and some don't see it as a problem. Men have asphyxiated while masturbating in a closet (clear bag over head) – nice image for the daughter and wife to see. Some have performed illegal sex acts. Others have driven into trees while masturbating. Sad, sad stories. Hopefully someone reading this may do as I have done and sought help before their live spiraled out of control. Or maybe this will encourage tolerance.