Diary of An Unrepentant Sex Addict

Wednesday, March 30, 2005

Defining Unrepentant

When I fell off the wagon a little while back, a couple of respondents to that post reminded me of the "unrepentant" part of my self-identification. To them, my irritation at myself seemed to go against that.

Well, just to clarify, there's a difference (for me) between unrepentant and being angry at having gone against my own standards. I'm still all about feeding my addiction whenever I can (within reason). Sex is great. Sex is fun. But that wasn't the point.

The point was that I'd decided to go off of commercial sex, at least for the next 8+ months while I get my finances ironed out. I'd even made a point to go back to a provider I'd seen before, one whom I knew would provide a good "retirement" session. I needed to lay off of this.

But I went back. I didn't just go back, I went cheap and got a bad experience for it. It's not that I'm not unrepentant, I was just pissed at myself for spending the money against my wishes, and ending up with squat to show for it.

It's one thing to realize, post-coitus, that you've just fucked someone you didn't particularly like just for the sake of an orgasm. This felt more like self-sabotage, self-betrayal.

I'm still very unrepentant. And very horny these days. Maybe I'll try using my right hand, for a change.

D

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Monday, March 28, 2005

How I Learned to Love to Lick

Cunnilingus.

Such a sterile word for such a rich experience. In the film "Dangerous Liasons", John Malkovich's Valmont says to Uma Thurman's Cécile, "We shall start your education with two Latin words." (Three guesses what the second one is.) Of course, that's just the technical term. Over the years, we've come up with some truly colorful euphemisms for it.

As I mentioned before, I had the truly unusual experience of having a long string of sexual partners who were eager to go down on me while being adamantly opposed to letting me reciprocate. It was such a strange thing-- I knew how much I enjoyed receiving, and my impulse was to want to share that with the other person. Sometimes I tried to be sneaky about out, which usually ended up with me trying to pry apart a death-grip of thighs from around my head.

One, two, three, four, five partners that wouldn't let me. Along the way, I learned to consider it just as distasteful as these women apparently did. By the sixth or so, I had quit asking.

Until this one trip to Seattle...

I had been hanging out in a MUSH (a kind of combination chat/gaming server) for a while, one that was more chat than gaming. And one person in particular, I'd been chatting with quite a while. Of course, by "chat" I mean cyber-sex. And it had been getting more than just a little serious. We were already past the point of lamenting the distance between us (I in Denver and her in Spokane), and starting to theorize about one visiting the other. Then, out of the blue, my company needed someone to go to an office in Seattle and do some tutoring/coaching for a team that was having trouble with our software. We talked, and she said she could make it to Seattle just fine.

But there was a hitch in this from my vantage point-- I'd talked up a storm about going down, all kinds of colorful and nasty and delicious descriptions. In my head, I knew what to do. But I'd never done it. And now, if we hit it off in person half as well as we had online, I'd have to put my money where my mouth is. Errr, put my mouth where my words... eh... you get the picture.

So, cutting to the chase. In person, she was a knock-out. And she seemed to be happy with what she saw in me, as well. After dinner and a first kiss under the Space Needle, we ended up back in my hotel room. And we were all about the humpin'. I mean, you'd think neither of us had had sex in a decade or more. We went nearly non-stop for 3-4 hours that night, another 1-2 when we woke up, and in the shower as well. To this date, it still stands as my most amazing 24-hour period. And of course, you can't keep a woman consistently entertained for that long without heading south.

I pretty much just winged it. I did my best to do things the way I had described them. And I guess I did all right, because she was certainly contented when we finally stopped for sleep. I tried to pay attention to her reactions, but to be fair I think I was too nervous to do much more than try and keep my grip when she started bucking her hips.

So, a little while after this was when I entered into what would be a 5-year relationship. It was also the first person I was with that I knew from the outset to be bisexual. I didn't know just how bi, though over the years she eventually told me more and more lurid stories. But I digress. She was pretty generous with her oral favors, but she was also pretty sure that she deserved equal consideration. I explained my history to her, and she was just floored by the number of women I'd been with who resisted that. She assured me that I would never hear a complaint from her, so feel free to go for it whenever I felt like it.

And I did. But I was still clumsy, inexperienced. And here, for the first time, was someone who not only let me to go down, but had first-hand experiece on how to do it. And so began my "apprenticeship". It wasn't long before I was going down like a natural. Oddly-enough, she wasn't quite convinced that I liked it, that I was doing it for any reason other than a sense of obligation. I tried to reassure her, but I guess because I was so hesitant at first she couldn't quite believe me. I had to think of a way to convince her of my sincerety.

So, for five consecutive nights, when we went to bed I went down on her. I stayed on it until she came, even the nights when it took nearly 20 minutes. When done, I would clean up and get back into bed. I would not let her return the favor, nor would we fuck. Five nights. No breaks.

On the sixth night, we made love like it was our first time together. (And on the seventh night, we rested.)

Since then, I've been pretty comfortable with my skills in that area, and I try to work it in with everyone I'm with (within reason, given the limitations some sex workers impose). I often get almost as aroused from that as I do from receiving it myself. One person here in California was feeling insecure (shades of my first lovers), until I placed her hand on my erection to show that I was indeedy enjoying the act of giving her head.

Is it any wonder I'm an addict? There is so much to enjoy, so many places to lick, stroke, nibble. I can't believe that I left one off of my list for so long, but I'm committed to making up for all the lost time. Oh, and at least one of the first five later confessed to me that she had been horribly wrong to stop me-- after she got married and her husband talked her into it, she vividly understood what she had been denying herself all those years.

Dausa

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

Oh, The Risks We Take

I took a big risk earlier today. I told a friend about this blog. Surprisingly, I haven't told many people that I consider myself a sex addict. This is a close friend, and I felt safe telling her. Funny thing is, she mentioned a friend (whom I also know) that she suspects may suffer from the same problem.

(Of course, addict that I am, my mind immediately began racing. She noticed this and started giggling. But I wouldn't actually try to act on that revelation, because that would be taking advantage of privledged info. And I may be a sex addict, but I'm not a cold, calculating shit.)

This Is Mild, Compared to Past Risks...

My sexual history isn't quite fraught with risk. I'm not stupid, just often desperate. But there have been some episodes, for which I'm relieved (and no small part amazed) that I haven't tested positive for any serious STDs. I've had a single urinary tract infection, and I've been treated for HPV once. Luckily, I haven't had any recurrence of that nor have I passed it to anyone else.

  • The woman I lost my virginity to had herpes. She warned me ahead of time, but of course in the heat of the moment I chose the risk. I sweated it out for months before I got tested and found I was in the clear.
  • One girlfriend and I had our first two sexual encounters unprotected. I don't know why, but I had assumed she was on the pill. We were tense for a few weeks, until her period came. We probably shouldn't have moved from oral sex to all-the-way so quickly, but we were slaves to our hormones.
  • There was an incident with one sex worker. She had agreed to let me go down on her, and I guess I did something right because when I stopped, she went wild and pulled me up and straight inside her. Alas, we forgot that minor detail of the condom. I won't go into any more detail, but it was time for another set of tests.
  • I've missed police busts of massage parlors sometimes by mere hours.


Of course, a lot of us take risks that we don't even really think about at the time. I've met several people online, and moved to meeting in person and almost immediately have sex. That's not exactly unheard of, either. That sort of thing happens a lot, after all. And there are a lot of risks I haven't taken-- I don't use drugs, even when I suspected it could lead to sex. Same with alcohol.

It does leave me wondering, why I took the risks I did. I mean, beyond the obvious reasons. I'm definately a lot more cautious these days.

Dausa

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

A Quick BDSM Follow-Up Note

I didn't mean to imply from the previous entry that I'm not familiar with the "usual" definition of BDSM.

Oh, I am indeedy.

And I'm sure I'll get around to writing about it.

D

Monday, March 21, 2005

What BDSM Means to Me

(First, a note: this is the first post in which I will be discussing male bisexuality. But it almost certainly won't be the last. So if this sort of material is going to gross you out or otherwise offend any delicate sensibilities, you may want to just not visit anymore.)

For many (most) players, BDSM means "Bondage/Discipline and Sado-Masochism". But it can mean other things. For example, it could mean...

Bi, Desperate Sex Maniac


Growing up in Oklahoma, you just had to be careful if you had any feelings that weren't 100% heterosexual. Whether fleeting or concrete, that wasn't the issue. Being beaten for being different was a reality, especially in the mid- to late-eighties. While most people who experience the first impressions of same-sex attraction notice it in junior high or high school, I was in college. Maybe it was because I was raised in an extremely religious (Evangelical fundamentalist) household, but I simply hadn't thought about it before then.

But, as I mentioned before, I had access to the Internet as a CompSci student. And long before the World Wide Web made the net a household word, it was still an amazing portal to smut. Picture-exchange wasn't as widespread, but stories were to be had everywhere. And much to my surprise, I found stories involving men together to be stimulating. I never did anything about it, though. In fact, it would be a good 6-7 years before I acted on it.

So, fast-forward those 6-7 years. During this time, I've been something of an "on paper" bisexual. I've claimed it, but not lived it. To be fair, I was in a long-term relationship at the time. We had an open relationship, but I was too busy with my job to pursue much in the way of secondary partners. Anyway, I came across this site called CruisingForSex.com on the web. Boy, was that an eye-opener! I find out that there's a whole network of casual, anonymous sex, and I'm not getting any of it? Outrage!

So I sank into the whole cruising scene, by this time having moved to California. But all along, I was frequently asking myself: Am I really bi, or am I just enjoying all the head I'm getting? This is a strange subculture, you must understand. It is not unusual for the men involved in cruising who give head to only give it, not expect reciprocation. So, talk about being set, there I was going out most weekends and getting blown by people who know how to handle a dick. But I wasn't interested in a relationship, just an orgasm. I wasn't really doing much at all. Oh, there was this one time at a sex club where I made out with a transvestite for a while, but that was the closest I got.

Am I really bi? I can think of a few celebrities I'd certainly give a toss to-- Alan Cumming, Johnathan Rhys-Myers-- but to be honest I can't say for sure. Getting head, well, I think only the most homophobic of men would really have a problem with getting it from a gay man. Face it, they know what they're doing. And really, you can just close your eyes and pretend it's Angelina Jolie (unless the person has a scratchy beard, I suppose).

Or, more likely, am I just inclined to take sex in any form it's offered?

Dausa

More-Immediate Gratification

I've played around with the templates, using some tips from the blogspot docs and doing some home-brewed hacking as well.

The longer posts now have a "read more" cut-line similar to what LiveJournal supports. This should make the main page load a lot faster, and be a lot easier to read.

I did it because I do care, even if I was selfish last night...

D

Saturday, March 19, 2005

Damn Damn Damn

Falling off the wagon can skin the hell out of your knees and elbows.

I know that sex is an addiction for me. I can't treat it the way most people do. The last thing I should do is go "window shopping", for fuck's sake. But I do. I mean, I did. And I decided to spend money I couldn't afford to.

I got exactly what I deserved, too. The experience was mediocre. Mind you, I'm still really tight on cash, so let's just say I bargain-shopped. So it would be very fair to say I got what I paid for. I don't even feel motivated to go into detail. I paid. I came. I was less than convinced of the woman's sincerity.

Crap like this is why I view this as an addiction. It sure ain't healthy.

Dausa

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Friday, March 18, 2005

Friday Waffling

Having a hard time trying to plan my weekend. I could go to a sex party in San Francisco, but there is no guarantee I'll actually have sex, and it's a long drive just to hang out.

Staying "on the wagon" with regards to abstaining from commercial sex is tough, now that I've been paid and have accessible cash again. But my budget can't really abide it, so I have to manage.

I suppose that whatever I end up doing, some part of it will end up here...

D

Welcome, Fleshbot Readers

I just noticed that Fleshbot linked to one of my recent posts, in their Sexblog Round-Up for this week.

Well, spank my ass and call me Charlie! I totally didn't see that coming. My gracious thanks to the folks at that fine site for finding my story worthy of linkage. I hope at least some of you who ended up here via that link like what you see enough to stick around.

Dausa

Thursday, March 17, 2005

Stories of Addiction #1: CD, the Older Woman

This is supposed to be a blog less about general sex than addiction to such. So it occurs to me that I've barely plumbed the topic of the addiction itself, and the things I find myself doing (and later regretting) as a result. So here, I present you the first in a series of addiction stories. This one, I call...

The Story of the Older Woman

It was my freshman year of college, around St. Pat's or so as I recall (it was shortly after my 19th birthday). This was early 1987, and the Internet as it is currently regarded didn't exist. (To be fair, the Internet itself existed, but it was mainly the realm of researchers, academics, and dedicated high-tech companies.) As a student in a software engineering program, I had access to it. But at the time, the real "on-line activity" was to be found on local Bulletin-Board Systems, or BBSes. You dialed in, one person at a time (unless the operator had multiple phone lines dedicated to their board), at a whopping 1200 baud (300 baud if you couldn't afford a shiny new 1200b modem). For reference, if you don't have DSL, you probably dial-in to your ISP at 56.6Kbaud, or 56,600 baud. A factor of 47 or so in speed. Anyway, back in them olden days, we did things at a more leisurely pace. But though we may have been slower, we were still using computers largely for the same purposes then as today: hooking up.

I had been dumped around New Year's Eve by a girl who would come out as lesbian a few months later. I didn't understand at the time that I had nothing to do with her orientation, that it wasn't anything I'd done wrong I was still stinging from that. So, a week or two prior to the start of this story, I had met and gone on a date with someone from one of the BBS's I hung out on. Call her W, I don't remember her last name. We went out once, kissed a little, and made plans to go to a party in a week or so. It's been long-enough that I'm not clear on dates anymore-- it was probably closer to the end of March than to St. Pat's. Anyway, it was a costume party, and she decided she wasn't interested after all. So I decided to go alone. I knew a lot of the people from online, and one or two I'd met in person at earlier parties. Well, it turns out that when W said she wasn't interested in going to the party, what she meant was that she wasn't interested in going to the party with me. She did turn up a few hours into the event, with some guy on her arm. Introduced me to him rather nervously. I asked if there was something I should know, and she assured me that they were just friends, and that she'd changed her mind at the last minute. I actually bought that line, too, until I turned a wrong corner heading for the bathroom and caught them making out. I was crushed.

Several of the people there were set on lifting my spirits. Poor girl-- she was new to the BBS scene, and I'd been in it for a while at that point. She got the rep of a heartless bitch and never did get accepted fully into any local BBS communities. Meanwhile, I had women offering to call up friends of theirs that they were sure could "take my mind off her", nudge-nudge wink-wink. I said no, that it didn't make sense to have something vacant and meaningless just because I was upset. (Addiction is always more subtle early on-- but even I didn't believe that B.S. as I said it. I just thought it sounded better than "bring on the sluts!", and I didn't want to lose respect with these people.) W and her date made a pretty hasty exit as one person after another made their distaste clear. It wasn't that she had chosen someone else, it was that she'd lied to someone and then rubbed their face in it at the party. BBS faux-paus.

During the later part of the evening, I started talking to someone new, someone I'd not met in person before and only barely exchanged messages with online. She wasn't too bad-looking, but way short for my tastes, about 5'1" or so (I was 6'1" when I graduated high school, and 6'4" when I finally stopped growing shortly before I graduated college). And she was older. 15 years old, to be exact. But I actually wasn't even thinking that way about her at first. Just enjoying the conversation, and thinking less and less about W. After the party ended, she walked with me to my car, and sat with me a while as we continued talking. Talking led to kissing, and kissing led to exploring her quite ample chest. This was a Friday night, and we agreed to get together again the next night. I was confused as I went back home that night-- what did a 34-year-old want from me? I knew she was divorced, with a young son that she shared custody of (and who was with his father that weekend). Of course, I didn't sleep much that night, and I was distracted all through the day Saturday.

I followed the directions to her house (house! All my friends lived in the dorms, or at best apartments with 2-3 roommates), and got there to find that she'd cooked dinner. Another WOW! moment-- maybe dating older women wasn't such a bad idea after all? We ate, we watched TV, we talked more. And of course, we starting kissing and petting. This time it went a lot further. During conversation she'd mentioned that she's a Catholic. And like all the jokes and stereotypes about Catholic girls, she's quick to make with the head. This is cool by me. Between the first girl who wrote so explicitly about her oral fixation, and some of the girls since, I've developed a real appreciation for getting head. She doesn't swallow, though. Worse, she gags as she rushes to the bathroom to spit and rinse out her mouth. Not exactly a confidence-building experience.

Up until now, this has all been set-up. Exposition so that you understand how I actually got involved with this person on fairly simple, straightforward premises. From this point forward, addiction began to dictate my actions.

I was a little put-off by the thought that I had nearly made her violently ill with the awesome power of my spunk. I was also a little leery of the fact that she was, at the time, dead-set against intercourse. It made the relationship (what there was of one) seem awfully one-sided, and that made me suspicious. But hey, I was getting head with no reciprocation asked (she was one in a series of women who almost had me convinced that women didn't like getting oral sex) or even allowed. But there were problems: she was clingy. She had been shafted in her divorce, and she was bitter. She needed someone to vent to, and she'd worn out her welcome with her contemporaries. When we were together, I often listened to the same stories (almost verbatim) time and time again, as the price I paid for the head. And it wasn't that great, either. She had only had one other lover, her husband. When I tried to guide her, she thought I was being critical. After a month or two, I met someone my own age (at a showing of Rocky Horror Picture Show, of all places) and stopped seeing CD. Well, more or less.

While I was with that girl (caller JB), I generally didn't put up with CD. If she called, I was polite and listened as much as I could, but I wouldn't stay on the phone longer than I had to. And I didn't call her. Things with JB eventually ended, though. She and I had a very active sex life, and I was not ready to go back to just my hand. So I called CD. And got invited over. I started seeing her ever couple of weeks or so. We even (finally) had intercourse, though I had to tell her I loved her, first. And magically, I found that I could easily say this thing to her that wasn't true, if only it meant having sex. She wasn't any better of a lover than she was at head, but it was better than nothing. Or, at least, that's how my addict-brain thought.

For years, she was a go-to gal for me. The phrase "fuck-buddy" hadn't been coined in popular culture, yet. But that's what she was. Only, I don't think she fully knew or understood that. I think that, on some level, she had real affection for me. Which, when you think that she's pushing 40 and I'm only just old-enough to drink, isn't too cool. If our genders were reversed, it would have been a very different thing, with scorn and disapproving looks from her peers. But I kept going back. And why? Because I was young, horny, and I didn't know how to tell the difference between healthy sex and desperate sex.

I graduated in 1990, and stayed on for a semester or so toying with the idea of grad school. Then I moved to Denver, CO. All this time, I occassionally got so desperate for physical affection that I'd call her. If she called me, I rarely went. Unless she happened to catch me in that mood before I broke down and called her. But mostly, I wouldn't take the bait from her, only let her take the bait from me. Even in Colorado, I was inclined to see her when I went back home to visit family.

Finally, around 1995 or 1996, I made it clear that it was never going to happen between us again. I was back in my hometown, and we had lunch. She was playing coy, acting as if she only wanted to chat and have lunch, but she kept dropping innuendoes into the conversation. And I deflected them. A few years later, she called me in Colorado to mention she might be in town for a conference. I told her I wouldn't be able to see her. A year or so after I moved to California, she called me with the same tale about a conference in San Jose, I lied and said I was seeing someone. She protested that she wasn't looking for sex, just to visit and catch up with each other. I told her that it wasn't a good idea, either way. She's never called back.

This was one of the first cases of my breaking the cycle of addiction. But don't think I'm a strong person for it. It just got to the point where the cost of the encounter (listening to the same problems over and over, along with the new ones about her now-teenaged son), just wasn't worth the mediocre sex and/or head. I didn't break it off out of concern for my mental and/or emotional health. I broke it off because she bored the fuck out of me.

It is almost 100% certain that there were more than a few occassions when I wasn't very kind or considerate towards her. Times when I was possible outright callous towards her feelings and needs. It wasn't really on purpose, I just didn't know any better, and like any addict I would do just about anything to get my "fix". It doesn't excuse me, not by a longshot. But she had responsibility, too. She was the one who latched onto a kid, barely out of high school. I think it's safe to say that in this case, no one was the good guy, and no one really won.

Dausa

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Wednesday, March 16, 2005

Days Gone By

Last weekend, I was doing some run-of-the-mill housecleaning. On a shelf, I found a couple of shoeboxes I hadn't looked into in years. I know what's in there, I just hadn't looked at the contents since well before moving to California.

The boxes hold all the old letters and notes I used to exchange with girlfriends when I was in high school. My first few girlfriends were long-distance relationships, and even when seeing someone closer to home, there were plenty of notes being passed in the hallways. For some reason, I decided to take some time to re-read these mementos.

In the last 10-12 years, I've developed an increasingly-negative self-image. Most of it comes from the fact that my overwhelming shyness makes it increasingly harder to get into relationships (or even into a bed, for that matter). Part of it comes from an unhealthy relationship I was in for several years. Either way, I often feel not only that I'm not currently attractive, but that I never really was.

I should have re-read these notes years ago. I was reminded, as I stood there reading, that these people whom I dated (and some of whom I actually had sexual activity with) did in fact consider me attractive. "Of course!" you may say, "why else would they have dated you?" That's a damn good argument, but when you're deep in the depths of self-criticism, you often forget little logical details like that.

There were the letters from the first girl to ever give me head (well before I'd lose my "technical" virginity). She was seriously orally-fixated. In one letter, she makes her first confession that she wants to suck me off. All the way to orgasm and then some. Her words start out plain-enough, but with each sentence you can imagine her starting to squirm as her language gets more and more explicit. She confesses that just writing about it has made her incredibly wet, and while I don't notice the gap from reading the letter, she had just returned to writing after masterbating wildly. I remember how badly (and immediately) I too needed to jack off, the first time I read that. And many times after.

There were notes from the only girl I ever actually dated from my own high school. Notes in which she told me how much she couldn't wait until we were together again, even though she hoped I understood why she needed time before we went all the way. Her passing references to the previous boyfriend who always harangued her over her weight, and how much it meant to her that I always told her how beautiful I considered her, every time we were together. Then the notes after we finally had our first time together, when you could almost hear the hint of tears in her voice as she confessed that her previous lovers had always been pushy and demanding, and what a difference it made to be with someone who let her set the pace and set the limits. Someone who actually treated her like an equal partner in the sex, rather than just using her. Of course, at that point I was still incredibly new to sex, and I was so grateful to just be having it at all, that it was natural for me to treat the person with such high regard. It's a habit that stuck.

And there were the short letters from the very first girl I had intercourse with. Sad letters that reminded me that she had actually been seeing me behind the back of someone else. Someone abusive, someone whom she'd eventually became pregnant by. She disappeared shortly after breaking up with me, after they moved in somewhere together. I'm reminded of how intensely I thought I loved her, my first real lover. And I see how it was really for the better, though I cried for days when she left me (long before getting pregnant, of course-- I probably wouldn't have felt so attached to her had she already been).

One common thing that ran through all of these, was that these girls, these women, saw something in me that appealed to them. I may not look in the mirror and consider myself terribly dashing, but some combination of my looks, my sense of humor, and my sense of compassion made the difference to them.

I need to find that part within me again. It's been too long, and I find I really miss it.

Dausa

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

No News But Bad News

There will be no titillation or philosophy today. I am mourning the passing of one of my cats, a companion for the last 7 years. He was the single most-affectionate animal I've ever known, and a beautiful, sleek all-black as well.

I will write again in a day or so, when I feel up to it. I'll miss you, big cat, and so will little cat.

Monday, March 14, 2005

You Also Remember the Really Good Times

Since I ended the last entry on a slight downer, I think I'll devote this entry less to the philosophy of my sex-addiction and more to purely salacious details. After all, what's the point of having "Sex" in the title of the journal, if you aren't going to at least occassionally titillate?

After the initial dive into commercial sex, I eventually got used to it. Oh, I still feel a twinge every time, even this last time the day before my birthday. But I also allow myself to thoroughly enjoy it, and get the most out of it. How else can I justify the expense? Like I said previously, I like to have certain options available to me in an encounter (kissing, going down), so I'm often cautious about trying new faces, and generally rely on a series of good reviews before I'll take the chance. And I'm not too hung up on conventional beauty or body-types-- if a person has a good reputation as a companion, I'm going to give it a try even if they aren't fashion-model pretty or fashion-model thin. Candy (the one I had my last go-round with) was very highly regarded, though most reviewers commented negatively on her face, and her age. But I decided to give it a shot.

Candy works through one of those "apartment massage" agencies. I'd seen other girls of theirs before, so I didn't have to go through the full phone-screening. Unlike most of the girls, Candy was way off the beaten path. I ended up running a little late for having had trouble finding the place. Once I got there, I was pleasantly surprised: Candy was actually pretty cute. No movie star by any measure, but from the reviews I had been expecting to need to keep my eyes squeezed shut. Her build was fairly slight, and her hair was a little on the stringy side, but I was sure I would have no problems getting it up for her. I hopped into the shower, both because I could use it and to make sure she knew I was cleaning myself up for her, and scrubbed away. When I was done, she was waiting outside the tub to towel me down . Then we moved to the bed.

(This is where it starts to get salacious. If you've been waiting for this, your wait is over. If you don't want to read textual porn, now's a good time to go Google something.)

I laid down on my stomache. Because these fronts operate under the illusion of "massage parlors", you generally have to wait through 10-15 minutes of half-hearted massage, at least until the woman knows and trusts you. This is usually a lot of poking and pinching, but Candy had a very light, gentle touch. I really enjoy light caresses as foreplay. After 5-10 minutes, she had me roll over on my back. I'm naked, and I'm turned on. And on me, the one means you cannot ignore the other. But she did, for the next 5 minutes or so. More caresses, never actually touching that central core. 15 or so minutes have passed, and I feel like I could drive a six-inch spike though a board with my penis. She looks up at me with a slight smile and that look in her eyes. I think, "At last! Let the sucking of the cock commence!"

Nope.

She proceeds to rim me. I've been rimmed before, it rocks. In fact, in the shower earlier I took care to wash all over, just in case this were an option. And oh thank god I did, because this woman isn't just licking tentatively-- she's going over my ass with the energy and enthusiasm I put into eating a woman out. I swear to god I'm going to explode, and she's barely touched my cock with her hands. She doesn't just do this for a few minutes, either. She sits up momentarily and hikes my legs up to my chest, as if I were the woman and she were about to slide in to the hilt. If she'd had a strap-on, she could have, too. I was so wet from her tongue I doubt there would have been much resistance. But that wasn't her goal-- she just wanted even better access to my ass. At this point, I'm reduced to a quivering, jelly-like mass. Except for one part that has taken on the nature of solid steel wrapped in a layer of velvet. I have no sense of time. All I am able to do is revel in the feelings and work to keep from coming.

She stops. She pulls my legs back down to the bed. I look down just in time to see most of my cock disappear into her mouth. Understand two things-- (1) I'm above-average in girth as well as length, and (2) she's not a very big girl to begin with. But she gets almost all of it down. And if I thought she could rim, I wasn't at all prepared for this. Like I said in the previous entry, she's probably forgotten more than most working girls will ever know, when it comes to giving head. And I have an oral fixation, so now I'm pretty much picturing Joe Pesci in Goodfellas in order to keep from exploding. This woman has a rep for getting guys to pop several times, but I don't have that much faith in myself, and I want this to last. So when she pulls off and reaches for the condom, I'm actually relieved. I rarely orgasm in a condom, I usually have to remove it and finish by hand or orally. This will help me regain my cool, and last longer, I think. Hah!

She lays back, and I enter her missionary-style. I should point out that we've been kissing a lot the whole time, from when I arrived. So there she is, looking up at me, kissing me, and gripping me like a prom date. I am so completely over. When the coming starts, I am just a slave to it. There's no stopping it, not even picturing Michael Jackson will help. I have one of the most incredible orgasms in memory. When finally the twitching stops, she hugs me tightly, like she's trying to get our bodies to merge. We kiss some more. She pulls off of me and takes off the cover. It disappears, and she returns with a warm, damp towel. After cleaning us both off, she lays down next to me. I do the first thing that occurs to me: I go down.

Up until now, it's been all about me. But I can't let such an amazing orgasm go by without trying to return the favor. Now, I do not deceive myself about whether a sex worker truly gets pleasure from the experience. Some don't, some do. And you may never know the difference, if they do their job well. That said, I'm no slacker in the oral department myself. I used to be clueless, but a bi girlfriend set me straight (as it were) by teaching me not just what she liked, but what she had found to be the most effective with women she had bedded. And at this moment, I'm grateful as all hell. So I give her my very best effort. I listen closely for changes in her breathing as I probe different areas with my tongue. I take note of vocalizations and movement in her body. And as it happens, I figure I've done something right when she cries out and grabs the back of my head, smashing my face into her whole labial area. I can barely breathe, but I'm not about to stop. After a bit, her grip on my head loosens, and I pull away and we snuggle some more.

Usually, giving head make me really hard, too. But that was a really amazing orgasm earlier. Remember when I said she was known for getting guys to go more than once? Well, she was determined to do that with me. She started with the rimming again, and sure-enough I got rock-hard a second time. She starts sucking again, only less frenetic this time. More gentle, loving, almost. But getting a second hard-on and actually having a second orgasm are two different things. I try to explain this, but she isn't listening. She isn't trying to force things, either. I get the feeling that if we finish the hour like this, with her nursing my cock but shy of orgasm, that will be fine with her. But she clearly isn't going to stop until either I come or time runs out. So I lay back and let my whole bady relax and bask in the feelings. With one hand, I can reach her ass, so I gently rub and caress as she keeps at it. I lightly stroke my fingertips over her labia, which gets her to moan around the cock in her mouth. I do it again, because the moaning felt good.

I try a few times to explain that I'm older and out of shape, and that I just probably won't go a second time. She ignores me. She knows better, you see, because after nearly 10 minutes of her tender, gentle attention, I feel an unexpected tingling start at the base. No one is more surprised than I am! I try to warn her (never come in someone's mouth without prior consent, or at least fair warning), but she only sucks harder and deeper. And next thing I know, I'm shooting a second time. I know it isn't as intense as the first, but you couldn't tell just by the feelings my nerve-endings are sending to my brain. At this point, I am well and truly spent. She runs to the bathroom to spit, and I just lay there, glowing and grinning like a fool. A satisfied fool, I must add.

After we clean up and dress, she leads me to the door and gives me one last gentle kiss. I promise myself I'll be back. This person is a flower in a large field of weeds. Thank goodness I didn't let the complaints about face or age deter me. Her service was advertised as GFE-- a "girlfriend experience". Well, I've had quite a few girlfriends with whom I never had that much fun in a single hour.

I'm still glowing when I wake the next morning.

Dausa

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Friday, March 11, 2005

You Never Forget Your First Time

Like it was just last week, I still remember every part of that night in exquisite detail. I remember the girl I was with, her voice, her eyes, her long, curly hair. I remember how nervous I was, not sure if I should make the first move. Not sure how to proceed, or to suggest what I hoped was on both our minds. And of course, I remember how much I was charged.

Yes, I am referring not to the night I lost my virginity, but rather to the very first time I paid for sex.

I like to think I'm cosmopolitan, but it's a facade. I grew up in Oklahoma, with little understanding of the more enriched world, except what I saw on TV. So well into my 20's, my only view of commercial sex was one of two extremes: the high-class, $1000-a-visit call girl, and the desperate, battered and bruised street walker. Somewhere towards the end of my time in Denver, as I was about to move to California, I started becoming aware of the many things in between. One that really intrigued me was the massage parlor. These are places staffed almost exclusively by people of various Asian extractions. These days, they're giving way to apartment-based operations. Having too many girls in one place makes for an easy police target, after all. But in 1997, I decided it was time for me to test the waters. I was in San Jose, I knew hardly anyone at all, and I had surplus income.

The place I chose (which has long since been closed down) was called Rosabella Spa, and was in Cupertino conveniently close to the office I was working in. After several false-starts, I summoned the courage one night and walked in. I really had no idea what to expect. I was offered the choice of a half-hour or full-hour session, and I went for the full. All this really got me was more time spent in the whirlpool bath and so on, it didn't really work out to more time with the girl (a lesson quickly learned). (To be fair, though, spending 15 minutes or so in that whirlpool bath was fucking divine.) Finally, though, I found myself on the table getting the massage I (officially) came there for. Well, more of a hot-towel treatment, but you get the point.

She had pretty good hands. At least, that's how I remember it. But it was the first time, and we (almost) always remember our first time with a tint of romanticism. I was laying there wondering how I would know if it was OK to ask for more than just the caresses I was getting. How do I ask it? She's got to be just as worried about me being a cop as I am about her being a decoy. She was awful cute, too. Dark complexion (maybe a little Philipino influence), thick, full lips. And hair that fell in long, loopy curls halfway down her back. I was pretty sure that if sex was on the menu, I was ready to order.

Finally, after I had rolled over onto my back (at her direction-- you should wait until you're told) and she had teased my little soldier just a tiny bit, it happened: she "broke the ice", as it were. She looked down at me (damn-- she had cute eyes, too!) and pantomimed fucking using one index finger and fingers of the other hand formed into an "O". Not much chance of misinterpreting THAT cue, was there? A price was agreed upon, money exchanged, and a condom magically summoned from the ether. She dropped her nice floral print summer dress to reveal a truly amazing body. Not too skinny, but not quite curvy-enough for a Victoria's Secret catalog.

The event itself, in retrospect, was hardly the best sex I'd ever had (or even had since, with other sex workers). But it was just as magical and exciting as the first time with any partner. We went through usual practices-- oral, her on top, missionary-- and I got to play with her chest some. I didn't even try to go down, since I didn't know the proper etiquette, nor did I attempt to kiss. But it was hot, hot enough for me to have a very pleasant orgasm.

I thanked her, and left. I went back to work for a while, then went home. When I was at home, it finally hit me: I've accepted the fact that it's nearly impossible for me to get laid on my own merits. At least, that was how it felt. And that night, I cried.

Dausa

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Thursday, March 10, 2005

You Just Don't Turn Me On Like You Used To

The phrase of the day is, "Porn Decay".

Everything decays and breaks down. Few things truly last forever, save perhaps canned Spam, holiday fruitcake and herpes. And even herpes dies with you, so it barely counts.

I've been throwing out a lot of porn lately. It just doesn't have that zing it once did. The story collections like Penthouse Forum have been read so often, I can all but recite the story after reading the opening sentence. I'm saving select photo magazines, but most of them are en route to recycling dumps already. I've kept most of my erotica collections, as even though I know them as well as the Forums, they're at least better-written. I'm also dumping a lot of my electronic porn, as well. Lots of still images, and a considerable amount of ripped video from porno DVDs. It just wasn't doing much for me, so why let it take up space?

Every book or magazine that I throw away, every file or AVI that I delete, each has a tiny little statement associated with it: You just don't excite me anymore. It's sad, but true. That story about the best friend's girlfriend who beckons to you from the shower? Only a small twitch where once there was a straining tightness. And the video with Jenna Jameson and Anna Malle, I just skip around you, looking for little key snippets. You don't hold me in rapt attention like the first 20 or so times I viewed you. Don't feel bad, though, it's really my fault. I've become jaded.

Many anti-porn crusaders claim that ordinary porn leads to an ever-escalating need for more and more extreme porn, until the viewer finally becomes a sexual predator of some sort. A rapist, a child molester, the anti-porn crowd will find porn the cause of the problem, not merely another symptom. But after a good 25 years or so of viewing porn, I've had zero impulse to sexually assault anyone, adult or child. The kind of porn I view hasn't really changed in any appreciable way. When I get bored with one pictorial magazine, I replace it with a new one in the same general genre. Same with story-mags or videos.

Only lately, I find that even the replacements don't do much. The story in the new Penthouse Forum may start with a different sentence, but I can already tell what the plot and "climax" of the story will be. All videos these days seems to follow the same formulaic scene layouts (mostly designed to make sure that every scene involves every orifice the woman has). But rather than suddenly coming to the conclusion that the logical next step is rape, I'm taking the radically-different direction of just dumping the porn and not replacing it.

Dausa

(And to those who might rightfully point out that an internet connection is a virtually endless stream of porn, I prefer my wanking to be in a much more comfortable setting and position than the chair at my computer desk.)

Wednesday, March 09, 2005

Fancy Meeting You Here

Well, it has finally happened. After seven years or so of, ahem, "engaging the services of sex workers", that thing you always dread has happened.

I ran into someone I'd seen professionally, in an ordinary setting.

I was at a store that sells stuff like model trains, radio-control airplanes, etc. I was browsing around, squeezing the last bit of my lunch hour out before returning to the office. I turned down an aisle and saw her. Of course, I didn't recognize her immediately, at first I just thought that I'd run across an attractive woman who seemingly enjoyed the same hobbies I do. Then she looked up and I knew right then who she was (hey, she gives truly amazing head, and I'm orally-fixated... these things impress upon my memory). I looked away immediately and moved to a different aisle. I didn't know if she was there alone or not, but I had no business putting her on the spot (it was clear she had recognized me, too) if there was someone with her. Turns out there was, so it was a good call.

They left a few minutes later. I went ahead and picked up some materials for a project and left, as well. After waiting long-enough to make sure we wouldn't bump into each other in the parking lot. She's too nice of a person to have to worry about stuff like that when she's out with a friend/SO/whatever.

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Monday, March 07, 2005

Well I Never! (But I Might Be Persuaded)

I was thinking I wouldn't be able to post today, as I'm sidelined by the most ass-kicking flu bug I've ever had the displeasure of sweating through. It's almost tragic to have this much sweating and muscle aches, with no orgasms to show for it. But just as I was giving up, I found this interesting list on Avatar Socalian's blog. So...

I've never (statements in bold are true):

I've Never Kissed A Member Of The Opposite Sex
I've Never Kissed A Member Of The Same Sex
I've Never Crashed A Friend's Car
I've Never Been To Japan
I've Never Been In A Taxi
I've Never Been In Love
I've Never Had Sex In Public
I've Never Been Dumped
I've Never Done Cocaine
I've Never Shoplifted
I've Never Been Fired (I guess getting laid off counts...)
I've Never Been In A Fist Fight
I've Never Had Group Intercourse (3, 4, and more)
I've Never Snuck Out Of My Parents' House (they had night jobs that made it impossible)
I've Never Been Tied Up
I've Never Regretted Having Sex With Someone (Um, hello? Sex addict here, duh...)
I've Never Been Arrested
I've Never Made Out With A Stranger
I've Never Stolen Something From My Job (Oh, the wonderful food-service years)
I've Never Celebrated New Years In Time Square
I've Never Gone On A Blind Date
I've Never Lied To A Friend (I wish this were true, but sometimes it has to be done)
I've Never Had A Crush On A Teacher (I actually didn't, until my French teacher in college)
I've Never Celebrated Mardi Gras In New Orleans
I've Never Been To Europe
I've Never Skipped School
I've Never Slept With A Co-Worker
I've Never Cut Myself On Purpose
I've Never Had Sex At The Office
I've Never Been Married
I've Never Been Divorced
I've Never Had Sex With More Than One Person Within The Same Week (Ha! Try the same night, or the same bed!)
I've Never Posed Nude (I didn't know she'd actually take the picture...)
I've Never Gotten Someone Drunk Just To Have Sex With Them (But I confess to having hoped such would work out a few times)
I've Never Killed Anyone
I've Never Received Scars From My Sex Partner (Do emotional scars count?)
I've Never Thrown Up In A Bar
I've Never Purposely Set A Part Of Myself On Fire
I've Never Eaten Sushi
I've Never Been Snowboarding
I've Never Had Sex At A Friend's House While They Were Throwing A Party
I've Never Had Sex In A Dressing Room
I've Never Flashed Anyone
I've Never Met Anyone From Online

I actually wouldn't mind celebrating Mardi Gras in New Orleans, one day...

Dausa

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Friday, March 04, 2005

Birthday Boobies

Recall me mentioning previously that I just had my 37th birthday. Well, I was out with friends for a late dinner last night (the actual day), and they had found out. So they "arranged" something with the restaurant.

I'm usually one of the first to leave, but when I paid my tab I was told by the manager that I couldn't leave yet-- I needed to sit back down. It was pretty obvious where this was going, so I meekly went and plopped down. A few minutes later, out comes the birthday dessert treat. I'm expecting cake. Maybe cake and ice cream, or even a piece of cheesecake.

Nope.

I get two healthy-sized scoops of vanilla ice cream, completely covered in whipped cream, side-by-side, each with a little marischino cherry on the tip. A candle was anchored in each cherry. And the whipped cream, besides covering the scoops, also extended in little lines up from each scoop, to the edge of the plate. Like spaghetti straps to a top, or a bikini. Or a bra.

I got ice cream breasts for my birthday, with a whipped cream bra. Of course, the nipples were outside the bra, but we won't pick nits. They probably picked vanilla because I'm caucasian, and the implications of chocolate ice cream weren't anything they wanted to deal with. :-)

Thursday, March 03, 2005

Pitching That Final Bitch

So, a little more about my "last spin" with the sex worker last night. As an aside, the phrase "pitching a final bitch" is not a reference to the woman herself; it's a phrase I picked up in a book I read ages ago, a scene in which a lead female character is breaking off an extramarital affair, but wants one more go-round before they never see each other again. She says to her soon-to-be-ex, "So my boyo, let us pitch a final bitch." It somehow seems to fit, here. I will write more in the future about my opinions on prostitution in general (it should be at least decriminalized, if not outright legalized), and my feelings about sex workers in particular (they deserve far more rights than they currently enjoy, and are usually infinitely more honest than your average Enron or Tycho exec). But for now, on to the meat of the matter, as it were...

I prefer a certain kind of encounter when I'm visiting a sex worker. In the obfuscated-slang parlance of "hobbyists", it's called the GFE, or girl-friend experience. This can mean a variety of things, but it's generally assumed to include at least a majority of the following:

  • Light kissing on the mouth (LK)
  • Deep, full kissing on the mouth (DFK, also sometimes interpreted at "deep French kissing")
  • Receiving oral sex without a cover (BBBJ, for "bare-back blowjob")
  • Permitting the man to go down on the woman (DATY, for "Dining At The Y")
  • Allowing multiple "pops" (orgasms) for the man within the time period, if he can.

Note that unprotected intercourse is not on that list. I'm sure that some readers will want to immediately comment on the risks of unprotected oral sex, but those are risks I choose to accept. (Please don't waste my time or yours commenting on it.)

So anyway, I like the GFE. I have to be careful, though, because I have a great aversion to smokers (more on that later, but the short version is that the "flavor" of kissing a smoker is rank). And since sex work is stressful, brought about by a variety of factors-- danger of getting busted, danger of an abusive customer, etc.-- that cannot be immediately dealt with, it's no real surprise that a lot of sex workers smoke. So I have to screen potential choices before plopping down my hard-earned cash.

This is all a long-winded build-up, of course. Last night was a repeat visit to someone I had already seen hefore. Someone who was a good logical choice for a (semi-)final visit. She's an older Chinese woman who goes by "Candy", who works through an agency that sets up girls in apartments. My first encounter with her was almost literally earth-moving. During that encounter, she got me to accomplish two things I very rarely do: first, I climaxed in missionary position while wearing a condom. I have a hard-enough time popping while wearing a cover, and mish isn't my favorite position. But by the time we'd gotten to that point, she had me so revved up it literally snuck up on me. The second thing was, that I climaxed a second time within a half-hour of the first. I'm not as young as I used to be (heh), and I've let my physical fitness go for several years now. But she latched her mouth onto my little friend like it was the Fount of Life Itself, and just didn't give up until I erupted a second time. The thing is, Candy isn't that attractive, physically. She's clearly in her mid- to late-forties, at least. Her hair is stringy, and her body is flabby in a few places. I could, for the same money, have seen a seriously-hot 20-23 year-old. But this girl was the shit, so much so that I went back for seconds last night.

Well, here's where being a confessed sex-addict comes in. Last night just wasn't as good. The newness wasn't there. The enthusiasm was, on her part at least. I had refrained from whacking off for a few days, in anticipation. (I had decided to do this as my "farewell" visit a week or so ago, but Candy only just returned from vacation.) The first pop was great. This girl has forgotten more about rimming and blowjobs than most women will ever know. I imagine she could even teach gay men a thing or two. Unlike the first time I visited her, the first eruption came from oral. Also unlike the first visit, I was unable to manage a second erection. Well, I did, right at the end of the hour. To her credit, she was willing to go over the clock, but the agency called her to tell her another client was en route. In the intervening time, we kissed, cuddled and caressed a lot. I also went down. Now, not to brag or anything, but I'm really fucking good at that. More on this later, too, but I was taught and trained by a bisexual woman who could direct me both on what she liked and what she herself had found to be most effective. I went to town on Candy for a good 15-20 minutes, after which she grabbed a condom and went for my cock with a vengence. Alas, nothing. And giving head usually gives me a raging hard-on, since I seriously get off on the responses of the woman. But not last night. If I could, I have no doubt she would have ridden me like a Harley. My loss. (And yes, I realize that all of her responses could have been faked, and at least some probably were. But that's part of the whole illusion, and I accept it.)

So I stumbled out, a little more than an hour after I arrived. I had the one orgasm, much more satisfying than taking things in hand, but not the two I assumed I would have when I went in. But the warm feelings of the enounter will carry me for a few days at least, before I start to feel the withdrawal symptoms again.

Dausa

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Always Start from the Beginning

Call me Dausa. It's not my name, of course, it's the acronym of the title of this weblog. I like that it works out to a pronounceable word. It's also a district in India, but I digress.

I am a sex addict. This is the first time I've actually admitted this in so many words. I've more or less copped to it in conversations (read: arguments) with one of my exes, but never have I just come right out and said it like that. Thing is, I'm not actually looking to "cure" myself of this, at least not at this stage. I'm more interested in getting the rest of my life to function around it. Hence the "unrepentant" part of the title.

I came up with the idea of this blog earlier this evening, while having sex with a prostitute. In true sex-addict form, by the time I was actually in the midst of the act, I was already thinking ahead. Only, there isn't much for me to think ahead to, right now. This will likely be the last time I do the commercial-sex thing for a while. I've fallen on some hard financial times (ironically, not related to my addiction) lately, and I just won't have the budget for it. But I'm an addict, so I had to have one last spin before giving it up. And in the midst of it, I thought maybe now is a good time to start looking at it in a different way. And what better way to explore something personal, than a blog made readable by the masses?

I'm 37 as of today (the 3rd), and I figure I'm just a few shy of 90 sexual partners. For those counting at home, that would be just under 4 per year starting at age 15. Only I didn't start at 15, I actually only had one partner before age 18 (oral sex only, but unlike certain past presidents, I count that) when I more formally lost my virginity. So that's more like 4.5/year on average, but the reality is that about 3/4 of them have been in the 7 years since I moved to San Jose, California. So now we're at 9.2 per year over that period. Not bad for a guy who's actually debilitatingly shy, huh?

I have tales to tell (but no names to name), and I have "the issues" to try and resolve. Whether you stick around for it is your choice. Do understand that the way ahead is fraught with strong language and seriously adult content. If this offends, I suggest you may find other things on the web to look at.

Dausa

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