I had a pretty good life growing up. Two parent household. Private school. Toys to play with. Friends in the neighborhood to play with. Food on the table. Love in the house. Nothing to see here, really.

Now that I’m older (not sure about the wiser part), I realize that most all of us have some sort of trauma from when we were a child. The type and severity of that trauma can vary from person to person. But in learning about who we are and where we come from, as well as who we’re going to be, a great deal revolves around that trauma.

My parents are wonderful people. I pass no judgement on them at all as I write this. They did the best they could with the tools that they had to raise me and my sibling to be good people. I think overall they did a great job. That said, there were some things that they experienced growing up that did not prepare them for certain parts of being parents. Not their fault at all. But still true.

Whenever I was stressed out or sad about something, I went to my room. I didn’t talk about it, I just processed it, dealt with it, and moved on to the next day. Get bullied? My parents were simply not equipped to handle supporting me emotionally throughout my childhood. I would guess that their parents weren’t either. Who knows how many generations that existed through. But as a result, I often kept things in and didn’t ever ask for help. Two things I carried with me into adulthood, still to this day. They’ve impacted relationships I’ve had in the past, including the one I’m in now, and often times caused me to isolate when I needed to do anything but that. I am slowly but surely training my brain to relearn how to process these events in my life, and do the opposite of what my habits have been for most of my life. It’s not easy, but it is possible. With support and lots of help and communication with people I trust, it can be done.

There was one other specific type of trauma that I experienced as I was growing up. When I was about 14 years old, my Dad tried to commit suicide. He did ingested a bunch of pills and found himself waiting to die on our kitchen floor. Something moved him to pick up the phone and call 911, and thankfully the EMT’s were able to come to the house, pump his stomach and save his life. I wasn’t there when any of this happened, but I did notice things were different that day when I got home. His sportcoat was slung over the kitchen chair. Normally he didn’t get home from work until after 5pm on the bus or when Mom took me to pick him up. It’s all a blur, but that jacket on the chair I can still picture like it was yesterday. The next thing I remember was going to the hospital to see him with Mom. He was in ICU, restrained because they didn’t want him to try to hurt himself again. I didn’t know that, though. When I followed my Mom in, I remember him looking up to see me and trying to get out of the restraints. I don’t think he wanted me to see him like that. I was stunned. My hero, my role model, this man that I thought was superman, lying on this table in a hospital gown, unable to move. Tube down his throat. Unable to speak. I saw fear in his eyes. In my 14 years, I couldn’t imagine what made my Dad feel so much pain that he wanted to take his own life. My heart immediately felt this heavy empathy for him. I felt what he felt in some way. It was there that I probably first recognized my empathic nature, as well as my need to rescue people. I decided from that day on that my Dad would know that I loved him, did not want to lose him and that he better never try to leave me like that again. Not because I wanted him to feel bad, or worse than he already did. But because I wanted him to know that I loved him so much and that there are so many good things about him, if he could just see them too.

As I write this, over 35 years later, Dad’s struggle with Parkinsons Disease is starting to progress more quickly. He struggles to walk and stand, has to have someone help him shower, has difficulty swallowing and talking, among other things. It’s hard to see because I know he is just mentally and physically exhausted. He wants his body to work so badly, and why wouldn’t he? But it just doesn’t quite do it any more. All I feel is empathy for him. I’ve started to take him to appointments, help Mom manage his prescriptions, and try to advocate for him with his team of doctors to make sure he’s getting what he needs. He is embarrassed I’m sure by having me have to take him in a wheelchair into these appointments, or help him pull his pants up after he goes to the bathroom, or that Mom has to cut up his food for him so he can swallow it. But we do these things for him out of love. He’s done so much for us throughout his life. All we want to do is return the favor. My Mom and Dad’s relationship has changed so much. I see a real love there. He calls her “my angel”. I’ve never heard him call her anything so endearing before recently. But he does it every time I see them now. And she genuinely cares for him. It’s so nice to see.

The point of all of this is to say that some of the things I lacked growing up lead me to make some of the poor decisions I have made as an adult. Albeit inadvertently and through no fault of anyone’s. The fault for my poor decision making is my own, and I accept that, but also am working on recovering and figuring out what the triggers are and correcting them so I can be the man I want to be. Through recovery, therapy, and group, I am on my way. I just felt like sharing some more about what I’ve been through and where I come from. To what end I’m not sure. But I hope you got something out of it and can relate to some of it as well. If one thing I write helps any one person, it’s worth it. And so are you.

Thanks for reading! Be well!

This is going to be a boring post – no pictures or graphics. The text says it all.

Hi my name’s Shep and I’m an addict. Something I’ve wanted to post about but am hesitant to is that I am a sex addict. I don’t know what you think of when you hear that term. But for me it involves compulsive behaviors that I participate in knowing full well that I shouldn’t. That they control my life in an extremely unhealthy manner. That, on my own, I am completely powerless over. This type of addiction isn’t one of the ones people like to talk about. It’s awkward and uncomfortable and a big taboo. But it’s quite real, and someone you know is probably struggling with it. I think it’s time we start talking about it more. Sexual addiction ruins lives. It rips relationships apart. It causes pain for the addict and anyone close to them. And it’s very real.

For me it started with chatrooms, talking to random strangers. I sought connection. It was innocent really, until I realized how desperate others were for connection, too. I chatted with a girl who was nine hours away, wrote letters back and forth, exchanged pictures and eventually made the trek to meet her. But, because of the distance, it never quite panned out.

I continued to frequent chatrooms, then discovered cybersex. I liked it but it didn’t do much for me. So I “progressed” to phone sex. Not like a 1-900 number I paid for. I sought out women to give me their numbers so we could do it for free. I got addicted pretty quickly and would sometimes spend literally an entire night chatting with the goal being to hear a woman get off. All the while I was in a committed relationship and was doing it right under this person’s nose while they were asleep in our bed. I literally didn’t care who I hurt or how. As long as I got mine.

Eventually I grew bored of just phone sex and met someone. That physical affair lasted about a year off and on. The sex was amazing. We would meet in a hotel at the midway point between us. Still in a committed relationship. Lying, manipulating and cheating. And the guilt and shame I carried with me every day.

The physical affair ended and an emotional one started. There was also porn, constant masturbation, and my significant other left to feel like she was doing something wrong, lonely and hurt. There were even times that I had phone sex or chatted in chatrooms while at work. I could have lost my career. My family. Everything. I risked it all. And it didn’t occur to me. I wasn’t in my right mind. Addiction is a sickness. I was in over my head and for years and years.

I finally hit bottom. My relationship was in jeopardy. It was stop or be kicked to the curb. So I found a counselor who specializes in sexual addiction. I found local Sex Addicts Anonymous meetings. It’s such a safe place and so many people could benefit from it. But it’s so taboo. I will be forever grateful for SAA. It’s given me the tools to turn my life around, along with counselling. My relationship may never fully recover, but I’m still in one. And I’m trying to do right by her and give her the time she needs to heal. Either way, I will not return to that way of living. For me. I am going to work to stay sober and be in healthy relationships from here on out. And man it feels good.

Disclaimer: I’m not sure what compelled me to post this. My intent was not to offend anyone. It was just something on my mind and I felt like sharing it with you, my reader. It’s meant to be sexy, not tasteless. Sexual, but not perverted. Scroll by if you wish. Still finding my feet as a blogger.

No words. You meet in an empty room. Time stops. He walks over to you. His hand brushes your hair out of your eyes. He wants to see you. Really see you. He comes closer, looking so deeply into your eyes that you feel like he sees your soul. Hearts are racing. His chest brushes against yours. In an instant, he leans into you and whispers “do you feel it?”. Just that one whisper makes your body ache for him. He slides your shirt over your head, removes your bra and panties, and suddenly you are naked before him. As he is as well. He is behind you now. Breathing on your neck. Hand slowly roaming up your hip, belly, grazing your breast, circling your now firm nipple. He guides you to the bed, lying you down on your stomach. He lies next to you. He begins to explore your body with his mouth. His tongue runs along your ass and you can’t help but let out a moan. He moves down your thigh, then back up to your back and your neck. He finds your ear, and lingers there a bit. As he’s doing this, his hand slowly roams your body, moving down your breasts, stomach, and inner thigh. He is so close to kissing you, you can almost taste it. Just as your lips meet his finger grazes your clit. The kiss is soft, slow, and his fingers are teasing your sweet wetness. You’re dripping from anticipation. He tastes his finger and looks you in the eye. Then he kisses your neck, your breasts, licking and sucking just how you like it. You arch your back just as he makes his way down to your hips, and then……his tongue finds its target. You moan and push his head into you. His tongue is magic as it works you into a frenzy. He is licking you while sliding a finger in and out. All you can think about is how you want him deep inside of you. But he turns you over again. His hands reach around and caress your breasts as his tongue explores your ass. He the finger fucks you as his tongue slides into you from behind, burying his face in you. You had no idea you liked having your ass licked, but fuck do you ever. He’s now got two fingers inside you while tonguing your ass. You are unable to contain yourself and lean around and pull his thick hardness into your mouth. He is big, and you are taking it all in. You can feel him swelling in your throat and his muscles are contracting so you back off. You climb on and begin to ride him with more intensity than you’ve ever ridden anyone. His hands grab your hips and ass and you move as one. He sits up and kisses your breasts as you ride even harder. You are both so ready to explode. You feel it building up and are no longer able to contain it. As soon as you cum, you feel his cum inside of you as he moans out loud and fucks you so good. “This is just round one”, he says to you as he moves behind you for more.