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and my husband’s breathing has become long and even. I slip my right hand down my pajama pants and move slowly, careful not to bump my elbow into his side rib, or bring my hips into it. I’ve been called “insatiable” and “demanding” one too many times. Yes, I have an incredibly high sex drive, but even in relationships where I have great sex multiple times a week my nighttime stealth for self-pleasure has persisted.
Too much movement or sound will wake him, and to be found out for something like this is not just embarrassing but potentially destructive. Even worse, maybe he’ll finally say the words I’ve been waiting for him to say since I first told him that I am a sex addict. My college boyfriend, burgundy haired and tattooed, had the high sex drive typical of most nineteen-year-old males.
Like a busted dam, I can hardly hold back the rush of descriptors fumbling from my mouth: “Two women in a warehouse. I watch his face the whole time, not pausing when his smile becomes a frown and his eyes squint as if it hurts to look at me.
“Afterward, the women exit the warehouse through a back door while the men applaud.” For a long moment after I’ve finished talking, there is silence between us, but there is also a sense of relief on my part.
And that I believed, for a really long time, that my addiction made me a broken person, a disgusting person, a person unworthy of love.
I told him these things from the start because I met him at a time in my life where I was ready and open for change.
But then he says, “I kind of wish I hadn’t asked.” It’s all I need to hear to send me into tears. * * * Addiction to porn and masturbation is often grouped under general sex addiction because they all have to do with escape via titillation, pursuit and orgasm, but I’ve always felt more pathetic about my predilections.
I never thought of revealing such answers to anybody, and especially not somebody like him, somebody I could really like. Now I have the opportunity to go there, and to say to a person, “This is who I am. ” “Well, there’s this one gang bang,” I start, looking over at his face to see a reaction of surprise and interest register at once.
“Go on.” I take a deep breath and proceed to tell him, first slowly, then progressively faster about the scene. Both are waiting to take on fifty horny men…” and on and on.
He’ll think he doesn’t satisfy me, and men do not like feeling inadequate, especially when it comes to matters of the bedroom. We fucked all the time, but even still, I wanted more, something only I could give me.
In some cases, as expected, it was because I wanted more sex than they could give me.
I’m careful to keep my breath from becoming a pant, even as my pulse quickens, but this takes much concentration. I have masturbated in this way next to the sleeping bodies of all my serious, committed partners who came before my husband.