I consider myself to be open-minded and understanding. I’m sensitive to mental health issues and I have compassion for those who suffer from emotional struggles. However, for a long time, I didn’t believe in sex addiction—I thought it was an excuse men made to get away with cheating… until I dated a guy who legitimately suffered from the condition.
We were college acquaintances and we reconnected. I remembered him as the strung-out hippie I had biology with. He messaged me on social media and we began to catch up. He told me he had a crush on me during college. I was kind of surprised, but he piqued my interest. We were polar opposites: I was an honor student who took college so seriously while he came from a wealthy family and he didn’t take any responsibility seriously. I was broke and working two jobs to make my college experience happen. Nonetheless, I found him intriguing and one of the craziest, most interesting people I’d met.
It wasn’t long before he let me in on his secret. He was a drug addict for many years—there was nothing he wouldn’t try. After a tumultuous few years of addiction, he found his way to sobriety. He’d been clean and sober for a long time by the time we reconnected and seemed different than I remembered him from college. He was clear-headed and I noticed that he seemed happy. He had it all going on for him.
Still, something seemed off. I was proud of him for being so strong and overcoming his battles, but I still found it difficult to understand the real him. There was something about him that wasn’t quite right but I wasn’t sure what it was. In hindsight, I realized that he was still an addict. As it often happens, he traded one addiction for another. Consensual sex isn’t illegal and if you’re safe, it isn’t likely to kill you. He battled and won his addiction to drugs, but he merely masked his addiction with a new high: he was addicted to sex.
He was impulsive and he always needed more from me. He went from messaging me out of the blue to texting me every day to needing to video chat with me frequently. There was no real natural progression of a friendship to something more. Everything he did was fast and relentless, and I could see how he’d become a drug addict. There was no stopping him and nothing was ever enough for him. When he got what he wanted, he’d ask for more. I just thought he was demanding, but I later realized it was deeper than that.
Our little fling started with weird cybersex. Because we lived in different cities, he started to hit me up on video chat. This was cool with me until I realized that he needed to do more than just talk. Almost every time I would answer a video call with him, he’d be in his bathtub. I naively thought he was just taking a relaxing soak and he wanted to chat. I didn’t think it was weird until I noticed he was, um, pleasuring himself. I freaked out and I asked him to stop. It made me uncomfortable but he didn’t seem to care.
He was insanely preoccupied with sex. All of our conversations seemed to move to the topic of sex, no matter how hard I tried to keep conversations going otherwise. He always needed more from me. He needed me to send a picture, he wanted to video chat, he initiated sexual conversations. It was all very one-sided and he didn’t seem to care that sometimes I just wasn’t interested.
He seemed to lack a clear sexual identity. He’d always seemed extremely openly sexual and uninhibited, but at the same time, he seemed very insecure. I could never pinpoint what it was about his sexuality that I found intriguing. It seemed like he was hiding something, and when he came out as bisexual years later, it made sense to me. Then he began identifying as pansexual, meaning he was attracted to men, women, and trans individuals. It was refreshing that he was being himself and I thought he was brave for putting his wild sex life out in the open.
His need for sex was compulsive. He planned a trip to come and visit me after several weeks of talking and getting to know each other. I was looking forward to spending a weekend with him and catching up. Immediately after arriving at my place, he aggressively engaged me. I obliged. I was single and looking for a fling and I didn’t mind his over-the-top sexuality. I figured he’d be fun for a weekend. However, a few hours after his arrival, we’d already had sex several times. I just thought he had a really robust sex drive and maybe he hadn’t done it in a while. As the day and night went on, I realized that he needed sex. He was an a-hole without it. I fought with him over his attitude and snappiness and he would apologize and try to get me back on his good side. He didn’t truly care about my feelings.
I was more like a sexual object than a partner. This is crazy to admit, but in the two days he stayed with me, we had sex upwards of 30 times. I only know this because a fresh box of condoms was emptied. He couldn’t get enough. I began to realize that when we had sex, it was all about him. There was no passion or intimacy; he seemed to be using me to get himself off. There was no reciprocation. He lacked any kind of emotion or connection. He didn’t speak or even look at me. Sex was like a ritual to him.
He had to be in control. He took control of me every time and fought to regain control if I took over in any way. It didn’t care about me or my needs. He had a one-track mind to get what he needed and the rest wasn’t his issue. He needed to control me and every situation. If he didn’t get his way, he’d be nasty to me. We were either fighting or having sex the entire time he was there. I couldn’t wait for him to leave. It should probably go without saying that I never saw him again after that.
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