Compulsion

I am no stranger to the dark, seamy underbelly of compulsive, driven sex.  For years, I was not at all joyful, or honest – with myself or anyone else – in pursuit of the next orgasm.  Today?  I’m lucky.  My wife is a true partner in exploration, and my compulsivity has, thankfully, been contained to realms such as this (writing).  I truly enjoy sex, and am free to do so in ways that are joyful and connected, not miserable and lonely.  But once in a while, my catholic tastes bring me into contact with women who are much like I once was:  zombies, floating from one orgasm to the next, looking for something that no sexual connection EVER can provide.

There’s no greater turn-off for me.  Because this was me, because I know just how dead-ended that road is, because I know how much misery and how little happiness lies that way, I want no part of it.  Which is why, after my second date with LB (whom I met through OKC), I resolved that I was through.