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Norm Comes Clean:
"I Am A Sexaholic" (Part I)

by Norm

Alas, one of the most boring people on earth has something exciting to tell us about himself.


My name is Norman and I am a sexaholic.  There, I said it.  I've been plagued by this awful disease - and yes it is very much a disease - my entire adult life. 

Sexaholism (pronounced "sexaholism") does not discriminate by gender - though 99% of sexaholics have been found to be male - at least the ones that I have met - unfortunately. 

Sexual Beginnings

I can trace my sexaholism to my childhood.  As I see it now, my parents were virtual sexaholics, though the condition had not, at that time, been identified as such by the scientific establishment.  Though I still find it hard to believe, Mom and Dad often engaged in lovemaking as frequently as once per week!  Can you imagine?

To add fuel to the fire, sometimes my parents would spontaneously hug and kiss in plain sight, as though I wasn't even there!   And on at least one occasion, I found them taking a shower together!  The sound of water beating down on the tub floor, and the gentle conversation emanating from behind the bathroom door will forever be etched in my mind.  To this very day, I find it difficult to bathe, and avoid it whenever possible.

Growing up in what I now see as a sexaholic household seemed quite ordinary, at least on the surface.  We watched television together, celebrated Thanksgiving, Halloween and Valentine's Day together.  My dad and I even tossed a baseball around now and again, but now I realize something was amiss.

Even before puberty, the intoxicating artifacts from my parents' unusually frequent sexual activity were left out in plain sight.  One day after school, I snuck into my parents' bedroom in the early evening, and lit one of the scented candles they kept by the bed. 

Looking back on it now, I think my fascination with the candles must have been a desperate attempt to escape my feelings of inadequacy and isolation caused by the knowledge of my parents' rampant sexual behavior.  Or possibly, the electricity was out again (we had faulty wiring) - I just can't remember. I do recall, though, that the candles smelled weird, yet intoxicating, kind of like the aroma of my mother's salmon casserole. 

In spite of being aware that what I was doing was wrong, I couldn't help myself from returning the next day and the day after that, even when the electricity was actually working, to light up the candles and take a deep sniff. 

Hair All Over

As I reached the age of  twelve, strange things started happening to my body.  Hair was popping up in the most awkward places and worse, I began to have salacious thoughts about my history teacher, Mrs. Almqvist.  Suddenly, the Peloponnesian war was taking on a whole new meaning.  I was hooked on the fantasy of having sex with this middle aged, very subtly attractive woman, especially when I passed a scented candle. 

As the wave of puberty washed over me like a bucket of dirty water, I began to pursue girls my own age with the intent of having sex with them.  Time goes by so very slowly when you are rejected by just about every girl in your school. 

But then, in my senior year, it finally happened - at least it happened for me (though I'm not sure whether it happened for Jenny.)  My first experience of love making was brief, and also a little messy.  But there was a rush of intensity, a feeling of victory, and a desire to let all my friends know what had just happened. I felt completely on top of the world. 

But as as I see it now, from my current perspective of a married man with children, the triumph of your first time with a woman often snowballs into an expectation of actually having sex on a regular basis for the rest of your life - and that can lead to the heartbreak of sexual addiction.    

Adulthood, And My Rude Awakening

In my twenties and thirties, I went about my life in happy-go-lucky fashion, dating various women in a series of long-term and not so long-term relationships. Frequent lovemaking became the norm as I grew older. 

Then, something happened that made me realize how addicted I had actually become to sex - I got married.  Suddenly, the frequent sexual activity that I had experienced prior to matrimony had come to an abrupt halt, interrupted only by my wife's frantic attempt to get impregnated. 

As children came into our lives,  and with them, the shutdown of all lovemaking whatsoever, my mind cleared long enough to have an epiphany...

"I am a sexaholic!"  It was an epiphany that I  kept totally to myself.  I suffered in silence through a painful state of withdrawal.  Unlike many men suffering from my condition, I chose not to go outside the household to get my "fix."  Rather, I resorted to what I refer to now as my "methadone" treatment: that's right, pornography.  First it was a stack of old Super8 films that I found in a trash bin, though it was really hard to watch these without a projector.  Then it was VHS tapes and DVD's sent to me at a P.O. Box in Newark.  Indeed the pornography, itself, was becoming an addiction all its own. 

Read "Sexaholic"  Part II

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