The Sex God


FOR THE LOVE OF GOD MOM PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS

Exactly twice in my life have immediately clicked with a stranger in such a way that the world seemed to disappear around us: once with Romeo, and once with The Sex God. We were at a bar. (Shocker. I’m sure you expected me to meet The Sex God at church.) I was mid conversation with a guy friend of mine and The Sex God literally walked in between us, showed me a picture on his phone, and said “Isn’t this the cutest kid you’ve ever seen?” Being ever so charming I replied, “As long as it’s not yours, yes.”

It was his nephew. It was on.

He took me home that night and proceeded to throw me around but not actually have sex. He was insistent that he could tell there was something special about me and didn’t want to rush things. He then proceeded to give me the most intense orgasm of my life. And again the next morning. Twice.

Sex with him was my heroin. I’m talking multiple orgasm, outside of my body, trail of clothes from the front yard to the bedroom, complaints from the neighbors kind of heroin.

Pause–> If you’re blushing, I blame you. The page is titled The Sex God on a blog that is based only on the concept of unadulterated honesty. You did this to yourself. Play–>

I’m sure it’s another huge surprise that the man I refer to as The Sex God, who also had no qualms about shamelessly (and frankly, rudely) interrupting my conversation with a guy that could have been my boyfriend for all he knew, was a textbook asshole. It didn’t matter at all though because I was a true addict.

Your exgirlfriend is “staying on your couch” tonight? No problem. I’ll come back tomorrow.

You’re seeing other girls too? Of course that’s fine. You’ve got the stuff though, right?

You don’t call when you say you’re going to? We’re good. Are you free now though?

Science yet again RUINED MY LIFE though because being all doped up on serration, dopamine and oxcytocin made it impossible for me to distinguish between loving him and loving sex with him. I was an addict, and I was in love with my dealer.

My friends obviously thought he was toxic. They were right. My friend, Cory, literally made me a chart on hot pink poster board and gave me a star for every day I didn’t text him. I never got more than 2 stars in a row. There was an actual intervention, complete with a “we’re all here because we care about you” opener.

Eventually I sobered up for long enough to walk away and that’s when it got really ugly. Crying under my desk at work. Not sleeping for days at at time. Sweating and shaking at the thought of running into him. More than one night was spent chain smoking in a bath that had long since turned cold, ashing into the toilet and not even bothering with a glass for my second bottle of red.

This wasn’t heartbreak. This was withdrawal.

Any addict can tell you that you never become unaddicted to whatever your heroin is. If you’re lucky, you manage it. This was 5 years ago and I still think about him sometimes when I’m with other guys.

I never claimed to not be a trainwreck; I just promised to be honest.