Three Years and Counting

In 2005, I purposefully chose to start this blog on my own birthday. That way, I knew that I'd never forget the blog-birthday. (Though, to be fair, I did forget to mark it one year.)

So, here I am, three years on, and the last year has been an especially trying one. I've come the closest yet towards feeling shame towards these traits that I'm usually embracing. I mean, I never have felt (nor will I ever feel) guilty over my enjoyment of all things sexual and the pleasure they bring. But the events last November and December really drove home how much I had been lying to myself over so many, many years, as to how much I was likely hurting people around me. Indeed, a hallmark indication of addiction, hurting those you care about without necessarily realizing it (or realizing it and just not acknowledging it). And on top of it all, I was let go from my job towards the end of February, largely because I wasn't performing up to par. So I've been dealt an emotional body-blow by all of this, and just have had next to nothing to blog about. An image I sometimes get in my head, is that of a multi-engine plane that has had most of the engines knocked out of commission... it can still fly, but it's going a heck of a lot slower than it used to, and it takes a lot more conscious effort on the part of the pilot to keep it from completely crashing and burning.

And indeed, as bad as I feel, as bad as I've felt these past months, I haven't completely crashed and burned. It may have felt like it at times, but there are plenty of people in far worse circumstances than I am. I'm just in over my own head, it's a relative measure. And it's been the motivation that I needed to get back into therapy and start trying to actually work some of these things out, rather than just perpetually running in circles. The new shrink is quite good-- that, or my decision to be 100% honest and not dodge or "creatively answer" any questions (like I have done in the past) is making a difference. Probably a combination of the two. Plus, she's much more experienced in dealing with people who suffer from Asperger's (she barely batted an eye the week that I noticed some minute detail had changed in the shelves of toys and games she keeps for her child-clients).

So, anyway, happy birthday to me (40! Freakin' 40!), and happy birthday to Dausa (a paltry 3 by comparison). And thanks to everyone who has commented on my various posts these past months, even the self-loathing ones. Thanks to those of you I chat with from time to time, those who send the occasional encouragement in e-mail (and especially thanks to the person who sent me the Valentine's card... you know who you are!). I'm not going anywhere, I assure you. And someday, hopefully soon, I'll be back to regularly posting naughtiness.

(In fact, I may even make an effort to get laid today. I mean, it is my birthday, after all, right?)

-D

Lies and the Lying Liar

(I almost made "liar" plural, in keeping with the reference to Al Franken's book. But I don't know that I've been lied to, so this is just about the one liar... me.)

I lie a lot. Mostly to myself, of course. I lie about my lying. And after all these years, the scaffolding that holds up my life is collapsing. My Denver friend is through with me, angered and hurt over the event of this post. And with every right-- I lied to her face about it. Of course, I didn't talk about that part of the story in the post. It didn't fit the narrative for one thing, and I had already justified it to myself. Naturally. It's what I do, it's what addicts do.

See, when I went out with that person, my friend was pretty sick. And yet, I borrowed her car to go on a date with the hopes of getting lucky. And when I got back to the house, I lied about having gotten lucky. I didn't want to hurt her feelings. Mind you, it's obvious that my concern for her feelings didn't stop me from going out in the first place. Or renting a room.

What has me feeling a mix of worry, hurt, fear and anger is how she found out. Like most addicts and habitual liars, it's much easier for me to focus on how I was found out, than on my actual level of blame or responsibility in all this. Apparently someone I know, someone close to me, is still in touch with her. They read this, and they called her. I don't know who they are. She won't tell, and whoever it is hasn't seen fit to share with me the fact that they're reading this blog. She sneered at me over the phone as she pointed out that I'm quite findable via Google. This is true, but finding Dausa and finding the real-life person behind him are two different things. I've only given this URL to an extremely small number of people I know in real-life. As in, you could count them on one hand and still have enough fingers to make a rude gesture in England. But it doesn't matter-- what matters is that someone is reading, and that said someone is concerned but not enough so to talk to me directly. She says that whoever it is laughs at me and makes fun of me for these things, behind my back. And the problem with being a habitual liar, you never know for sure when you can really believe someone. Is she trying to lash out at me? Or is she 100% honest, knowing that in this case the truth is just as damaging (if not more) than any lie she could offer?

I use SiteMeter for some simple traffic-analysis. It's not terribly thorough, and there's only so much you can tell from traffic-analysis anyway. I've found the tracking record from her visit a few days ago, but I have no way of really pin-pointing a visitor prior to her, that would likely be the third-party. So I'll never know who it is that's laughing at me behind my back, unless they decide to own up and face me about it. There's some traffic from around here in the bay area, a visit from the Minneapolis area that has a strange feeling to it (because this confrontation started with a seemingly-random question about whether I'd recently heard from someone we used to know, who lived in that area last time I'd had any contact with them), and plenty of traffic that I have no idea of it's relevance (if any).

But back to the lying. This blog is, after all, all about me me me. And much as I've tried to hide it, this is who I am. I started lying extensively when I moved from Arizona to Oklahoma and started living with grandparents who were Evangelical Pentecostals. Fundamentalists, basically. Essentially everything I did was something to be ashamed of, so I learned to lie about almost all of it. And even once I left that house and lived first in dormitories then in my own apartments, I've continued to instinctively lie about anything that brought feelings of shame. And don't be fooled by the "Unrepentant" in the title-- all those years of church-learnin' have made certain that I pretty much always feel shame over anything and everything sexual that I think about, feel, or experience. I've spent gods-know-how-much over nearly 11 years on therapy, and all I have to show for it is a diagnosis of mild Asperger's Syndrome. Which explains some of the social anxiety I experience, but doesn't really cover the shame or the rampant lying. I've tried everything I could think of, even a course on meditative techniques, but nothing has stuck with me for longer than a few months. Short of beating my head against the pavement or playing hopscotch on highway 101, I don't know what else I can do that will have an actual lasting effect on my life.

I didn't want this to sound so whiny and self-loathing as it seems to have become. But it's nearly 1:45 in the afternoon and I'm still in bed. I can't make myself get up, even to eat. I don't know what I'm going to do at this point, whether I'll ever write here again or not. I don't know if I'll manage to even leave my apartment today (not true, actually... I have a regular Thursday activity that I'm somewhat obligated to attend, so I will eventually have to get up and go). All this shit has finally come home to me, and yet I have the audacity to be surprised by it. I just don't know anymore.

I know this: whoever you are that know me in real-life and aren't telling, I would appreciate it if you'd grow up and talk to me directly. If you're really that concerned for me, then you owe me that much. And if you aren't, then leave my life entirely. In the long run, we'll both be better off for it.

-D

When Sex-Addiction Isn't So Cute

I'm back in Denver for a week, to see a friend's son graduate from high school. It's a nice, quiet vacation, a needed break from the job I've been at for almost 6 months now.

In coming back, I was reminded of one of the few people I fooled around with while I was living here last year. I didn't write about it here (I don't think... I should probably check the archives to be sure, but if I did write it was only briefly), because it was actually a little unnerving for me.

See, this person is also a sex addict. But compared to her, I'm just a wanker trying to justify himself. And I don't consider myself a wanker trying to justify himself. This person doesn't have issues, she has subscriptions. But I'm happy to say that she does try very hard to keep her life on an even keel. With varying degrees of success, of course (as do we all). But one thing I found from exchanging a few e-mails then checking out her MySpace page, was that the local alternative weekly had done a story about her back in February. A story that is pretty candid, and one that revealed even more details of her rough times than even she or her ex-husband had ever mentioned in person back when I was living here and occasionally hanging out with them:

One Wild Ride

Reading this, I am actually grateful that my own addiction is fairly mild by comparison. I wish you only the best, hon.

-D

33 Days, 33 Posts: Day 31 - So Close, So Far

I'm in a weird state (and I ain't just talkin' about California! *rimshot*). Weird dualities-- I'm keenly-focused on how badly I want to rip my jeans off and wank myself until there are no more juices left to come out, yet at the same time I feel no need to do so. I'm anxious to cruise Craigslist and find a man or a TV or any consenting human to suck me until only dust remains, but I'm supremely confident that I'll manage through the next two days.

(And to clarify, I meant 33 complete days. That means lasting until past midnight on the 2nd. Or more specifically, making it until the 3rd, my birthday.)

I'm giving a lot of thought to how I want to deal with Saturday. I was chatting with one of my favorite bloggers this afternoon, who seemed to think I shouldn't go immediately for the commercial route, that I should try pulling. Well and good, but I don't have the confidence in my chances for success. Believe it or not, I'm cripplingly shy in person. I'm crap at being suave in bars, because I'm crap being suave anywhere. It doesn't help that I have more self-esteem issues around weight (I'm not obese, but I'm big-enough to put a lot of women off), and while I am currently losing weight at a steady pace, I'm not going to be Brad Pitt by Saturday. Hell, I'm not even going to be Paul Giamatti by then. (Though at least I'm a lot taller than he is.) So while I obviously don't have to choose a course of action right this minute, come Saturday (heh heh heh... I said "come") I'll have to decide. Because I don't want my first release to be of the manual-override variety. I'll have plenty of time for that, later. (And to my chat-partner, I haven't forgotten my promise of before-and-after pictures!)

I don't have any real issues of guilt or regret over commercial sex, like I did at first. I try very hard to see people who at least appear to be self-representing, that aren't being controlled by a pimp or exploited in an Asian massage-parlor setting. So guilt isn't the issue. More like longevity, on two levels: on the more base level, I may want more than just an hour. I've got a lot of fluid to move. On the more enlightened level, there's always that one-in-a-hundred chance that I might hit it off really well with the pick-up. It's happened to me before, after all. One thing that's certain: that first orgasm is going to involve another person.

-D

33 Days, 33 Posts: Day 21 - Nothing But Downers Today

Today was going to be the day I gave up. Mentally, I had given up. I'm in the second day of a three-day weekend (I have tomorrow off), and pretty much everything that could go badly has. A craft project of mine was so badly damaged that I have had to buy a replacement kit and start re-doing about 75% of what I'd already completed. I've been watching "The State Within", recorded from BBC America, and besides depressing me with the flagrant parallels in our fucked-up administration and their fucked-up War On (Some) Terror, combined with all the Britishisms make me regret all the more not having moved. A few other things have gone past my eyes today, many of which have done a bang-up job of reminding me of other dreams I've pissed away.

So I was pretty much in a "to hell with it" mood, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I know the pleasure is fleeting, but right now I could use even a fleetingly-small amount of pleasure. But I'm almost at the 2/3 mark, the goal is almost within sight. So I made it through today. But this whole plan has lost its amusement for me. I don't know that I have anything left to learn from it.

-D

33 Days, 33 Posts: Day 18 - Pick a Card

Oh boy, but today was hard. In both senses of the word.

Fever having broke, my energy and appetite(s) were back. As it happened, I had a doctor's appointment already today, a check-up on a weight-monitoring program they have me on (lost 6 pounds in the last four weeks!). They gave me a clean bill of health flu-wise, and told me that I needed to be eating more protein in my diet (no wisecracks from the peanut gallery... especially Gracie and BBG). Too much of the weight was from lean body mass, not enough from fat. But they said it was better than not having lost any weight at all!

It felt good to have an appetite for real food again. Last week's local weekly alt-paper (the Metro) had a cover story on the local Koreatown district that also featured a round-up of several restaurants. I'd been dying to try them out, since Korean is one of my favorite cuisines.

But other appetites came back with a vengeance, as well. And I'd have buckled, too, except that I fell back on an old decision-making trick. See, I often know that when I'm considering going to see an escort, that it's the wrong thing to do, at least at the time. Maybe money is tight, maybe I know deep-down that my real issues-of-the-moment are loneliness, things that an hour with a sex worker won't help. But I'm an addict, see, so just knowing that it's "wrong" isn't enough. So I let the cards tell me. No, not Tarot. Just ordinary cards.

I shuffle the deck, and I decide on a color. Usually, I choose red in honor of the reddish-pink I'm considering paying to see. I cut, and I take the top three. If the majority are red, I decide I'm going to go ahead and do it. If I haven't already, I find someone I'm interested in seeing. Usually, there are 2-4 that catch my eye, so I use the deck again. I try to start with either exactly two or four. I do the same basic thing, assigning colors to the people (or to pairs when there are four) and choose by the majority. Repeat if necessary. I don't always go this route, sometimes I'm absolutely sure of myself, and my reasons for choosing to go the commercial route and I just do it. But today, I was torn between keeping to my goal, or getting my ashes hauled.

Fortunately for my vow, it wasn't in the cards.

-D

33 Days, 33 Posts: Day 9 - Despair Sets In, and More Links

First, some new links on my blogroll. I swear, it seems like as soon as I swear off of orgasms for a month I find dozens of super-hot blogs I'd not seen before. Just added to the roster:

• la fille mariée - Her writing is just hot. Simple as that.
  
• Polyamorously Perverse - A very loving look as this couple starts exploring poly.
  
• We Could be Naked - She's got just the kind of body I like, and she loves and writes about porn. What more could I want? (Except for her to be closer.)
  

Aside from that, I confess that things have gotten worse but not for the usual reasons. See, like most addicts, I tend to turn to my drug-of-choice when I get really down in the dumps. And these last few days have been tough. Funny thing is, the temptation is to find a partner of some sort-- I'm not really tempted to wank. Luckily, my tight budget has kept me honest. But the closer it gets to V-Day, the worse I imagine the depression will get.

Make no mistake-- I am delighted beyond measure to read about/hear about people having wonderful, amazing sex (and lots of it). But sometimes, sometimes, I just can't help being jealous. Eh, never mind me... it'll pass in a few.

-D

33 Days, 33 Posts: Day 6 - Our Relationship Is Built on Trust

It occurred to me today (and I have no idea why it only just occurred to me today, and not five days ago) that no one reading this is anywhere near me, geographically. Or, if they are, they're not someone I know personally, and therefore not someone privy to me life or having access to it. In the silly movie I referenced at the start of this (40 Days and 40 Nights, for those late to the show), Harnett's character's vow becomes the subject of a global internet betting scheme. His roommate and some of his co-workers are involved in the creation and maintenance of the site/game, so the roommate is always checking up on him (often with an ultraviolet light, to check for tell-tale spots).What I'm getting at is this: there is nothing preventing me from rubbing my dick raw, squeezing out as many orgasms as my gonads will support, and yet claiming to still be on The Program.

Nothing, that is, except an honest desire to see this through.

When it gets right down to the root of it, I'm doing this for myself, to prove to myself that I still have some degree of control over my actions and behavior. The rest of you are, forgive me for saying, just along for the ride as spectators. I need this. I need to know that I'm the boss of my dick, not the other way around (like it is with my cat). My dick has been nudging me more and more into dangerous territory, so I need to rein it in. And when I have days like today, where just breathing makes me horny, I have to let my conscious, deliberate side run the show. Even when it feels like torture, and like I'm completely alone in it. I mean, when a recovering alcoholic is jonesing for a drink, he usually has someone in his AA group he can call. OK, bad example, since there are in fact SAA (Sex-Addicts Anonymous) programs, and I could get into one and have a sponsor and all that. But that sponsor is going to want to see me go without for longer than any 33 days, and that's more than I'm willing to commit to right now.

Ah well, another day closer to my goal. Now, I worry less about obvious temptation and more about the subtle things. Like, for example, when I bought a new bed and new sheets upon my return to California I splurged on flannel sheets and a microfiber blanket. I'm extra-aware of their softness against my skin, these days.

-D

33 Days, 33 Posts: Day 4 - It Starts Getting (A Little) Easier

I think I'll be getting through until I fall asleep, without any close-calls like I had yesterday, reading new blogs and watching videos. The reason I feel more confident, is that today I passed on probably the most tempting Redbook/Craigslist ad I've seen in years. A black woman of English/Scottish origin... according to Redbook, an almost perfect 10 rating and not a smoker. Tall, too. My perfect package: tall, exotic, GFE but not a smoker, all wrapped in an English accent.

But I chose to stick to my guns. And maybe it's just because I've been busier today than the last three days, but I'm not chomping at the bit like I was last night.

However I am, to be fair, much more acutely aware of my balls than usual. They seem more... sensitive... surely just my imagination.

-D

33 Days, 33 Posts: Day 1 - It's Always Easy At First

OK, obviously things are going to look easy after just the one day.

Of course, I did catch myself casually browsing over Craigslist.

Also, I may need an additional rule/exception: I all but forgot that there is someone I'd already promised to make a coffee-date with this week. It wouldn't exactly be fair to just blow her off, would it? Besides, I don't think I'm likely to click with this one anyway. But that's no excuse for leaving her hanging.

-D

33 Days, 33 Posts: Prologue, or, This Is Gonna Hurt

In 40 Days and 40 Nights, Josh Harnett's character decides that his love life is out of control, so (despite being a very lapsed Catholic) he decided to give up sex for Lent. The ways in which this film becomes tedious and insultingly-stupid are numerous, and not worth listing here. But I mention it only as a point of reference. You see, I plan to go without for the next 33 days.

There are a lot of reasons why I choose this, and probably just as many (or more) why I shouldn't be doing it. First and foremost, while I may still cling proudly to the "unrepentant" banner, I have to admit that this is starting to seriously interfere with my life. I need to know that I can actually exert some amount of control over my own body, however small. In just under two months since returning to the bay area, I've done my "Craigslist Experiment" (which netted 3 different encounters), hooked up with two TVs whose ads I'd answered, and seen three commercial providers. I've been here since December 10. That's 8 different people in 7 weeks, and even for me that's a bad sign.

For me, addiction is best summed up in the statement, "you know it's harmful and destructive, and you do it anyway". I have no intention of trying to reign in my libido. I have no intention of becoming celibate for the rest of my life. In fact, part of the thinking behind the 33 day window is that it ends on March 3, my (and this blog's) birthday. And you can bet your soft, smooth ass that I'll be getting some form of nookie that day. Unless, of course, I've already failed in this effort.

Another facet of this, is to get back into the habit of regular posting. When I started, I wrote almost daily. Some of the blogs I read I can count on daily content, in particular AAG and Violet Blue. But I've been beyond lax in this department, and I strongly suspect it's cost me what little readership I had. The only way I know of to restore readership is to return to the regular writing of quality material. So, for the next 33 days, I shall be channeling all that energy that would otherwise be wasted on wanking into writing. One post per day. Not all of them will be quality, I accept. But maybe one or three will catch the eye of someone on some random search engine or blog-search somewhere. And maybe, along the way, I'll re-develop the habit of writing regularly again.

In this, I'm creating some rules for myself, more like allowable outs:

1. I'm not going to whack off, and I'm not going to either troll Craigslist casual encounters or any of the commercial-provider sources I generally use (CL erotic services, Redbook.com).
2. In fact, I'm not even going to try and date during this period, because I have a knack for being in someone's pants by the second or third date. Heck, the last true relationship I had lasted almost a year, and we screwed each other nearly senseless on our first date. Man, I miss her, too.
3. That said, should an offer of (free, both as in beer and as in speech) sex were to, ahem, fall into my lap, I reserve the right to punt this "33 Days" crap and tap that.
4. Each day, I will write an entry, with "33 Days, 33 Posts" in the subject line, and "33 days" in the tags. But if something really cool comes along that I want to share with my readers (what few there are that remain), I may make other posts. I doubt I'll reach Violet's throughput, but then Violet is a goddess and I can't really hope to match that anyway.
5. If I fuck up (so to speak), I'll be honest about it. Part of this is for the catharsis, and lying about things ain't gonna help.
6. There is no rule 6.
7. I still get to read sex blogs and sex-related stuff. Albeit at my own risk. I've already made the conscious decision to put my porn away in a hard-to-reach corner of one of my closets. But choosing not to wank is one thing; not reading Fleshbot or Erosblog is a whole different personal challenge.

So, there it is. 33 days, 33 posts, 0 orgasms. At least, that's the plan.

Dausa

And I Call Myself an Addict?

I mean, I wonder sometimes.

For the second time in less than a month, I'm turning away a sure thing. Someone I know I could have (almost literally) with a snap of my fingers. And I'm doing it for all the wrong sorts of reasons: consideration, maturity, and an annoying sense of honor.

In both cases, the person is totally ready and willing. Neither represent cases of hard-sell or manipulation. But I choose not to pursue, indeed to prevent. Mostly because I don't want to deal with the emotional fall-out. And yet, I have the nagging feeling that I'm doing it in part because I know that it's the right thing to do, in the compassionate sense.

I mean, what's that all about? I'm a little old to be suddenly getting all mature...

D