Last year I was really into these two reality shows on VH-1. Celebrity Rehab (which has just started its fourth season) and Sex Rehab, both hosted by Dr. Drew Pinsky. I love Dr. Drew so watching these shows became essential to my tv viewing schedule.
I've been a fan of his since he hosted Love Line with Adam Carolla on MTV (back when I watched MTV). That show had a bunch of teens and 20-somethings call into or sit in the studio audience and ask a bunch of sex questions. And they'd have celebrity guests come out and advise and answer sex questions as well. Dr. Drew would be doctorly and Adam Carolla would crack jokes. A pretty good format for myself to enjoy, cause sometimes you need a doctor to explain why you have a burning sensation when you pee, and other times you need sometime to just make fun of it. I dig both.
It was upon watching this new rehab show about sexual addiction that I made a discovery about myself. As all good television programs force you to do. Think of the revelations one makes when watching the CW's Vampire Diaries. Astounding.
Obviously, I'm not arguing that I'm a full fledged sex addict, or that I'm necessarily one at all. But I began to recognize symptoms just by listening to these "celebrities" (and the term is used as loosely as possible--perhaps not the best word to use when discussing sexual activity) talk about their affliction in a therapeutic session. Like most lay people, I just assumed that if one were to fall on being a sex addict, it was probably fake. They got caught cheating and blamed their addiction for their messed up behavior, that way escaping all responsibility. And that said people just really loved sex but felt shame about being so blatantly unapologetic about it, so it made it easier if there was something wrong with them. Insert sexual addiction claim here.
But what I observed was a very sad state of affairs. None of these people seemed to like what they were doing. In fact, they didn't really seem to like sex all that much. Which is odd considering the massive amount of sex they were having. And yes, that includes masturbation. They were like masturbating obscene amounts in a day...like one dude claimed to jerk off 15 times or more a day. Let me restate...15 times or MORE a DAY!!!
I don't self pleasure nearly that much. A good one before I get out of bed is always essential to start my day off right. And I'm not fucking strangers (anymore) at random or even just meeting a different guy every night and having my way with him. Though there are sex addicts who are that reckless, it seemed to me that most weren't. That the addiction didn't have so much to do with the physical as it did with the emotional connection. Sex was their way of creating and experiencing intimacy with someone. And that was where I recognized myself in their stories.
If one looked at the volume of sex alone, then no, I wouldn't figure into the conversation. Sex is so rare for me that I'm always surprised to be having it. Though I love it immensely. That's my chief complaint in life, that I don't get laid nearly as much as I'd like, or even as much as I'd need to have a healthy and fulfilling life according to Cosmo. Unlike these sex addicts, I do really and thoroughly enjoy sex (ask MK we just talked about that a month ago), but I also equally love the connection. I slowly began to realize that I experienced intimacy in this way. This was how I got close to a man, while also keeping him at arms length when we had our clothes on. I don't like giving up too much emotionally. I always feel like I'm gonna get played or that the man is lying to me. I expect that actually. Just as I expect him to leave. So I only give so much of myself. But when the lights are off, if I've built up a kind of comfort with you (which can happen fairly quickly), then I have no qualms about mingling my body fluids with yours. Of course, Mortal Kombat would dispute that statement because that wasn't his experience with me. But he was a different situation (you can read more about that in the MK Chronicles later). He put in a lot of work though and isn't reaping the benefits. All the men after him owe him a debt of gratitude. But what I also learned about myself, is I'm a different woman sexually when I'm with different men. So who I was with him isn't who I was with others and isn't who I am today. More on that later.
Let me tell you a story.
Six years ago, MK met me in NY. He was in town for his sister's birthday and I was going to grad school in the city. We hadn't seen each other in about a year and there had been an estrangement that we finally discussed and were coming out of. We were both single. And here in New York City is where things changed for me. If this were a screenplay, this moment would be my inciting incident.
We met up and walked the cold February city streets for awhile before hailing a cab and enlisting my friend to help us find a hotel room. I remember being cold, frozen on the outside, but cozy warm inside. I talked to him about bullshit inside the warm cab which smelled of leather and fried chicken, but my mind was on the sweet, sweet kiss he'd planted on my lip balm laden lips moments before. On the street. In public. I'm not a fan of PDA, but I think it helped that it was 3am and there weren't many people around. And that it was cold outside. That I hadn't seen him in ages, and that I just wanted to be near him.
We hopped outta the cab somewhere around 40-something street and blah blah blah avenue, in the theatre district, and entered what can only be described as a modern day Bates Motel. The Indian front desk dude was also selling what was probably imitation gold jewelry as well. This had the feel of the working girl's home office--a pay by the hour establishment. Which is why I blanched at how much MK told me he paid for the privilege to ravish me there. Totally over priced. We took the elevator up what seemed like 15 floors and walked down a darkened hallway where I expected an axe murderer to jump out from one of the other rooms at any moment. As we came to our room, there was a massive patch of water that pooled out from the door next to ours. Odd. Keep going and open the damn door already!
Inside was no better. The furniture looked like something retrieved from the Good Will cast off store, and the headboard was merely a patch of the rough carpet affixed to the wall above the bed. The bathroom was straight outta "Tales from the Crypt", and just to make you feel secure, there were several deadlocks and chains on the door. I looked around, then looked at him, and then thought to myself, 'you must be a really horny bitch to stay here'. And naturally, I was.
What happened inside that room, surely yall can guess. But it wasn't the sex that makes this my favorite story just as it's not the cheap Rolexs being sold in the lobby that made the hotel grimy and sleazy. The night was full of passion, frustration, anger, and orgasms. We'd had a tiff because I refused yet again to give him oral pleasure. More on my reasons against another time. But we lay together in silence, tension sucking the air outta the room. I felt so disconnected from him while being mere inches away. And that made me feel empty. And as if on cue, like he could feel the cavern widening between us, he whispered, "Come here." I had started to physically pull away, and his words led the physical action which caused his arm to swing away from his body and pull me into him. I wanted to pull away but I didn't. I let him pull me into his body and wrap his arm around me. I continued to lay immobile as his fingers gingerly rubbed my arm, my shoulder. I let myself relax and melt into him. I could feel his warm skin on my cheek as I rested my head on his chest. I loved feeling that flesh on flesh sensation. I loved that he held me all night, and that he took his free hand and grabbed hold of my other free hand and that at all points we were connected. And that didn't cease, even with the dawning of the new day, or with the ominous booming noises that emanated from next door (not sure, but I'm fairly certain someone as being murdered in there). He was tender in a way that he never was with me before, and never would be after.
I came to chase that sensation, that physical intimacy each time I laid down with a man. It's not about the penetration or the sex in and of itself. That's a different level of ecstasy that exists in another location in my brain. It's about the closeness, the connectedness I feel. The sensation of touch. And I can't get that with a stimulating conversation, or a hearty laugh with a man. I can only have that through sex. Admittedly, not every time I sleep with a man means I'm looking for that sensation. Sometimes, I just wanna bone. But more often than not, I am looking for that feeling. It's my favorite part...sometimes (wink, wink). That moment in a New York City no-tell mo-tel with Mortal Kombat, gave birth to my sexual 'affliction'. As with everything with him it's good and bad. Yin and yang. And Dr. Drew helped me see that. Thanks Doc. See you Wednesday at 10pm on VH-1.
It's long, deal with it.
Till next time, lovers!
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