My Sex Addiction Story 6 You Brought This To Yourself
A beautiful item is what I do as an artist, craftsman, and manufacturer (just not babies). It is hard to believe I am forty years old and yet consider myself a young girl. The title of my position is that of a spouse. An introvert is someone who prefers to be alone. I am a victim of rape who has overcome the trauma of that experience. I’m not able to conceive a child for any reason. The late ’80s and early ’90s were the years in which I “came of age,” transitioning from goth to grunge to granola and everything in between.
A good girl, even as a teenaged (virgin) virgin, I was. Everything was there: honor roll, part-time job, piano lessons, you name it. It was perfect. I had the typical crushes and stolen kisses, as well as a number of really respectable lovers, but I had fantasies of being subjugated by a powerful male. I’ve always had a penchant for bad boys, like many other good girls.
My early years were marked by a recurrent attraction for young guys who worried me, who were…a little rough around the edges, and who were…a little rough around the edges. All of the intense petting I received resulted in bruises, and I was rather pleased with myself for having them, being the navel-gazing goth girl I was. They made me feel tense since the bruises showed that there was blood in my veins. Because of them, I came to life.
The first time I fell in love was when I was nineteen, with a (married) guy who was able to relieve just enough of my fears to persuade me to give up my virginity in exchange for his love. He kept the upper hand by gradually taking me down one kinky road after another, constantly keeping me on the very edge of my comfort zone until he could order me to do just about anything…and I would do it without hesitation.
Though time would prove that he could never be really true to me, he dissolved his marriage in order to be with me. To tempt his preferences, there were just too many other ladies and men on the planet.
Although he made me feel uncomfortable, I still felt secure in his company despite everything. Because I was a little scared, I got off easy. In the same way that those early injuries did, my pain made me feel edgy and alive, right up until the day I discovered what it meant to be ‘against my will’: the day I just didn’t feel like having sexual relations with him, and he did.
Only by living with him and sharing my bed did I relinquish my right to say no, and it definitely did not give him the authority to pin me to the ground and compel me to do anything I didn’t want to do. It was on that day that that particular connection came to a close. Even after realizing how much time I spent in bed with him simply waiting for it to be done and how much time I spent fearing his touch, it took another year and a half for me to be free of his influence totally.
Backpacking throughout Europe is something that any nice, middle-class college student who wants to widen their horizons should do when they are twenty-one, but I did it before I finished my studies. During a night of too much drinking and bar hopping with people I didn’t really know in a foreign place, I became a victim of that little terrifying attraction once again. But this guy was unlike any other I had ever met before, which was unfortunate.
I was beaten into unconsciousness when I refused, and he continued to do whatever he pleased. He had passed out by the time I arrived a few hours later. It just took a few hours for me to get my belongings, return to my hotel, pack my belongings, and depart from the city.
Those were a few of bruises that gave me no joy or sense of accomplishment. It took two towns for me to find an English-speaking doctor who gave me an antibiotic prescription and a heaping helping of “You brought this on yourself, young lady,” with no mention of any type of therapy or guidance whatsoever. I do consider myself fortunate, looking back.
My assailant (I’m not sure whether he was “my” or not.). Is it necessary for me to assert my claim? After all, I couldn’t have been the only one who had to suffer at his hands?)
They did nothing except infect me with herpes. He might have infected me with HIV/AIDS, he could have made me pregnant, or he could have murdered me in a violent fashion.
Despite the fact that I was lucky, every time I have an outbreak, I replay that night in my mind. In addition, how very fortunate, fortunate, fortunate that the Good Girl in me felt forced to be forthright about the fundamentals with every sexual relationship that followed. To put it mildly, it’s a dampener!
my sex addiction story 6 you brought this to yourself
Before I met the guy who would become my husband, another year had passed. From his ponytail to his criminal record and all in between, he was unquestionably a Bad Boy! Yet, here was another guy who turned out to be unlike any other man I had ever encountered. In this instance, it meant that he was completely concerned with my satisfaction and delight. My comfort zone was never challenged by him.
I was not only protected, but he also made me feel valued; this is still the case eighteen years after. He’s the one who makes me feel at ease and secure. When it comes to our marriage, sex is not about who is in the driving seat, who pushes limits, who asserts power, or who can prove that I am still alive.
Having a sexual relationship is now a source of consolation during stressful times; it is both calming and relaxing. Fun and laughter may be found in plenty. It is intimate without any suggestion of transgression, and it is all I could ever want for in a partner.
my sex addiction story 6 you brought this to yourself
my sex addiction story 6 you brought this to yourself
At the age of 31 years old, I consider myself a late bloomer. While I believe I spent my adolescent years
As a young lady in her early twenties, I battled with being married to a guy who had an extremely low libido. In terms of married sex, I was underwhelmed. I began to wonder whether I was a sex addict or if I had a negative connection with the act in general.
Not until a few months into our attempt to conceive did I know exactly how serious his fertility issues had turned out to be. When you initially decide to go down this path, you anticipate having sexual encounters on a regular basis in order to increase your chances of success. When a guy has his heart set on being a father but refuses to take the steps required to get things started, it’s natural to be concerned. The first hurdle has been cleared.
After seeing a urologist, we discovered that he was producing nearly little testosterone. As a result, he only generated a little amount of sperm. The second obstacle was one that required years to fully understand. As a result, when we were twenty-five and thirty-nine, we were diagnosed with infertility. Both of us will be getting shots and blood tests done. Restriction on our sexual activities in order for us to be best prepared to go with IVF.
We were no longer allowed to have sex for pleasure. It seemed to be all about the act of creation. In any case, it wasn’t enjoyable at all. Sex had now become a constant reminder that we were broken. It brought up memories of miscarriages and unsuccessful cycles, as well as gaining weight. It reminded him of a time when he had little desire and low hormone levels. It made both of us feel like we were failures.
I became overstimulated during our first IVF cycle and ended up in the emergency hospital.
Our next test revealed that the sample had no sperm; testosterone replacement is a delicate game, and we were defeated in that round. We did eventually go through a series of cycles that seemed to be effective, until it came time to take the pregnancy tests.
We were unable to conceive using this method since, after beginning a new treatment regimen, an ultrasound revealed an abnormal growth in my uterus. The next obstacle, and this was the most difficult to overcome, was cancer.
My marriage was teetering on the verge of disintegration. We had been married for four years at this time, and I would have told you that we were a solid relationship before all of this happened. I suppose we just lacked the necessary strength.
My sexual identification has always been a source of contention for me. However, my husband had had one previous relationship, and I was concerned that he may have the same impression of me if I had more than one lover. I’d always wished for something more, something kinkier, something different. He favored a missionary schedule that was consistent and not too frequent. I expected him to change his mind; he simply hadn’t gained enough experience to be willing to try new things.
I was completely mistaken. As we progressed down the path of infertility treatments and disappointment, the sex became less and less regular as time went on. We began visiting physicians around six months into our child-bearing attempt, and the only option that might have resulted in a baby was artificial insemination or in vitro fertilization (IVF). Keeping this in mind, my spouse started to refuse the request on an increasingly regular basis.
Even my masturbatory practices became a source of contention. I’d have to keep it a secret from him, and he’d make me feel bad for desiring it. When we did attempt to have sex, things didn’t go as well as they should have, and he became embarrassed and shut down. I would then be angry with him for not attempting to satisfy me or for not putting out more effort to find a solution. When the problem is hormonal and psychological, no amount of Viagra will assist.
After almost two years of little to no sexual contact with my spouse, I met a guy who I immediately fell in love with. I didn’t want to be the stereotypical adulteress, yet I found myself heading down that path all too rapidly. For a long time, no one had really touched me, and I didn’t want that to happen again. It had been years since I had felt desired.
Here was someone who desired me, who wished to have me experience pleasure, and who desired to have me feel pleasure. Because I was not physically strong enough to resist, and because I had other excuses, I chose not to.
As I began chemotherapy and contemplated how much time I had left, I made the decision that I would not waste it being upset and longing for what may have been. I was in relationships with a few of males for many months at a time. Men who were also in similar marriages to mine, which made me feel safer and better, were also there.
I’m not going to make any excuses for what I did. I’m quite aware that I was mistaken. However, I will not continue to blame myself for my actions. I genuinely feel it was one of the factors that enabled me to endure a period of my life that was almost awful. My spouse was aware that I was dissatisfied and desired a divorce when I completed cancer treatment and put an end to my plans to have children.
He tried to initiate sex for the first time in more than three years in the hope that it would repair the situation. He was unsuccessful. As if one act, after years of sexual neglect, would be sufficient to resolve the situation. It was at that point that I realized it was time to depart. “I deserve better,” I told myself after realizing how much I valued sex. “I deserve better,” I told myself after realizing how much sex I valued.
I am deserving of love, passion, and a satisfying sex life. Our medical difficulties, I believe, may have hastened the progression of events. Perhaps it would have taken years for me to discover that we were absolutely mismatched sexually if it hadn’t been for them. I vowed to myself that I would never make the same mistake again in a relationship.
