by Pynk
“I’ve fucked while smoking weed, I’ve tried Ecstasy while giving head, and I’ve drank seven shots of straight one-fifty-one rum and then had sex outside in a park in broad daylight. I love rimming, I’ll screw a man in drag, I’ll lick pussy till it’s raw. All I know is, I can’t stop thinking of new ways to push my freak button. My man has threatened to leave me if I don’t stop. His curiosity has been more than satisfied. My mind is always racing to find new ways to get my rocks off. I have no limits. Piss on me, tie me up, make me bark, or slap me. Doing whatever it takes to get a rile out of me only makes me hotter.
“Today, I hate living like this. But when I’m in the middle of it, I love it.” She slowed her speech and her voice cracked with exhaustion and the fragile sound of an inner shame. She spoke at a low tone. “I’m here to break my addiction to sex. I’m a freak. A sex fiend. I’ve had enough. And I don’t want to lose my man. Thank you.” She sat back down and Miki reached over to hug her. Valencia placed her head on her friend’s shoulder and then wiped her left eye. A sniffle followed.
A hazel-eyed man with a low fade sitting across from Valencia gave her a wink of approval, and then glanced over at Miki’s firm legs, where his eyes lived for more than a few moments. The woman next to him had a tear running down her cheek. The woman played with a balled-up tissue and looked down at her lap.
Rachel Cummings said, “Valencia, we thank you as well. I see that your addiction has caused you much frustration. I understand, and we’re here for you. The good thing is that you’re at your wit’s end. That’s the point where most need to be before they seek help. Your glass is full, and that is a major turning point. We’ll get through this together, Valencia. Thanks again.”
Valencia nodded and smiled and sat up straight.
Teela stood, wearing beige Capri pants and a matching vest, blushing majorly through her fair, alabaster skin from her mixture of Scottish and French. She smoothed her hand over her jet-black, pixie-cut hair and exhaled.
“My name is Teela, as I said. I am a voyeur. I love to watch, and I get turned on by being watched. Valencia, I can relate to the park thing. I do that on the regular, maybe once a week. My lowest moment was when I peeked in the room to watch my mother and father having sex when I was a teenager. I felt shame, but still, I took that curiosity into my adult life. I will peek at neighbors or simply watch my man sex up other women without even getting involved. I’ve never been into women, but I have no problem approaching them at clubs and persuading them to fuck my man, only I sit back and fuck myself with a dildo or a cucumber or a hot link or with my fingers or whatever until I’m satisfied. I’m not the least bit jealous. As long as I’m there.
“I’m here because two weeks ago, I went into a sex shop and sat in a booth watching an old Vanessa del Rio movie. It was one of those seedy rooms where other people can peek in and watch you like perverts. I guess that includes me, huh?” she asked the group, looking around as others shook their heads in disagreement. She blinked rapidly. “I was leaning back with my panties to my ankles and I knew two sets of peering eyes were watching me rub my clit and stick my fingers in my ass. But I still jerked myself off over and over, and then I came so hard that I squirted pee on myself. One of the men stuck his dick through the glory hole and I sucked it until he came on my lips. And when he left, I put on another movie and lay back.
“I looked up to see that I was being watched again, and I saw a set of eyes, only one pair of eyes. They were dark brown, and the lids were iced with deep-set wrinkles. The whites of the eyes were cloudy. I jumped back and pulled up my underwear, closed my blouse, and put on my pants. Turns out the eyes belonged to my uncle. Uncle Chester was always trying to hug me a little too tight when I was younger, trying to be slick by pressing against my breasts. I always had a bad feeling about him. He was always sneaky. I hadn’t seen him in years, but there he was jacking off at the sight of his niece masturbating. This world is getting way too small for the type of sick problem I have. I want to be rid of this obsession. That’s why I’m here.”
Teela ceased her story and looked around at the room full of faces. She turned to eye her chair, and as she sat she looked over and saw Miki giving her a warm eye hug and a wink.
Teela’s soft expression gave away the fact that the wink was comforting. She winked back, flashing her pale green eyes demurely.
Rachel Cummings showed no shock. She only beamed with approval. “That’s very good, Teela. It sounds like your admittance is going to get you through this. Your honesty and shame can work together toward your healing. We thank you.”
“Yes,” a couple of members said aloud, in particular the long-legged black man next to Teela, who offered her a smile as she shifted her thick body back into her chair.
Brandi said “Yes,” too, as she sprang to her feet in a prim pale yellow skirt suit. “I suppose my name suits me well, as I’ve been an alcoholic for the past ten years. I’m thirty-two years old and started drinking heavily in college. I never believed in AA meetings or even admitted that I had a problem. But the combination of this sexual addiction and what I know to be an alcohol addiction will surely kill me if I don’t surrender. You see, I cannot bond to anyone. I guess you can say I’m a love cripple. I have never had sex with the same person more than once in my entire life. I get off on the thrill of a stranger. I have a problem.
“And I recently posed as a hooker a few times just to surround myself with men who were expecting a onetime wham-bam, without all the intros. We went to the seedy motels or fucked in the backs of cars, and when it was all over, I ended up feeling as though I’d gotten more out of it than they did. I wouldn’t even take their money. But the last straw was when I got arrested for solicitation of sex. The embarrassing charges were eventually dropped, but this addiction thing is interfering with my job as an eighth-grade teacher. I’m afraid I’ll run into a student’s parents one day or, worse, get fired. I am a sexaholic and I’m ready. Ready to get well. I’m ill. And I admit it.”
Rachel Cummings handed over a wide smile as chestnut Brandi took her seat.
Brandi looked down after smiling back.
“Wow, I must say those are some very good examples of the extreme side of lusting and being lusted over,” said Rachel Cummings. “Brandi, you have a two-headed demon to tackle—sex and alcohol—but it’s not unusual, and sometimes there’s no need for two recovery programs. Both AA and SA cover the same principles. Some people have addictive-type personalities and some of you, like Brandi, might find that you’re addicted to other things as well, like alcohol or gambling or shopping or food. Some kick one addiction and take up another in its place. It will not be easy, but the fact that you’re here means that you are sick and tired of being sick and tired. Your tomorrows will not be like your past, not if you don’t want them to be. Thank you, Brandi. Thanks for sharing.
“Now, unless anyone else who hasn’t shared before wants to share, we’ll continue on. No one?” She eyed the group. “No problem. Since we have so many new members involved tonight, the first thing I will tell you all now is that we must seek victory over lust. It’s time to stop lusting and become sober. Please repeat after me: Stop lusting and become sober.”
“Stop lusting and become sober,” each person said as one.
“Very good. The one thing you all have in common is that you have all been driven to the point of despair. That’s why you’re here. I want all of you to see that each of us, each and every one of us, as sexual addicts, takes from others in a sexual way something that is somehow lacking in ourselves. But what we end up doing is giving away our power through the forbidden. At some point in our young lives, because of some event or experience, we tuned things out with fantasy and masturbation, probably because someone took away our power somewhere along the way. This is a physical, emotional, and spiritual problem, and therefore healing and sobriety must come in those three ways as well. When you lose control, you no longer have the power of choice. I want to give you back your power o
f choice. I want you to give yourself back your power of choice. Your stories tell me you want to gain control, and you want to live a life of making positive, healthy choices that no longer spell addiction.
“This is a twelve-step recovery program that I will tell you now is spiritual. You’ll hear me talk about God as we get to know the steps of recovery. One thing you need to know for sure is that you may or may not believe in God, but even if you get to know the twelve steps inside and out, if you don’t have your own source of spirituality or faith, you won’t get to recovery without it.
“Sexaholism will follow you every day for the rest of your lives. It is an addiction. And addiction is the management of feelings out of control. You have to own it and be in a community of other members. Recovery takes comprehensive counseling in a safe environment. The only thing that differentiates you from the next new person who comes through that door is your sobriety. How long can you abstain from the act itself, not engaging in unhealthy sex with someone else, or with yourself in some cases? That number of days will add up to mean your anniversary. It will be part of your identity. You will be one day, or three months, or one year, or ten years sober, and you will celebrate like it is the first day of the rest of your life. And each time you fall off the wagon and engage in intercourse and sexual acts, excluding with your spouses, you start that number all over again. It’s all up to you. It can be done. I won’t give up on you. Will you?”
The group replied “No” all together.
The group counselor continued, “I challenge you to make a true commitment over time that becomes a part of your lives. And by the way, I am five years, two months, and six days sober and having sex only with my spouse. I could tell you the number of hours if necessary. Years ago I had daily sex with my married neighbor while his wife was at work. Next thing I knew, his teenage son joined in to make it a threesome, so I began sleeping with both of them, the father and the son, sometimes together, sometimes not. The parents didn’t know why but the son got so sprung that he tried to kill himself. My neighbor’s wife confided in me that she knew her husband was fooling around on her. The final straw was when I ended up fucking the wife, too. Her husband would have no idea where she was all night long, and she would be lying in my bed right next door. She left her husband for me and is still with me today. We got married. He moved away in shame. Nothing you can say to me would shock me. My name is Rachel Cummings, and I’m a sexaholic, also. And it’s time to hug a new day.”
Each member of the group, an unusually equal mix of men and women, eyed each other and raised eyebrows and nodded and smiled at Rachel Cummings. Two of the men had heard it before but still wore their thoughts on their faces. Some scooted back and some uncrossed their legs, some sipped on bottled water, and some looked around the room. But a cleansing feeling of shaking off all the admissions permeated the air, and an anxiousness of knowing that it was time to learn and heal and deal, as equals, as addicts, took over.
After thirty more minutes of going over the first step in the 12-step program—admitting to being powerless over sex and that their lives were now unmanageable—the sponsor ended the session and promised to see everyone back in two weeks, same time, same place.
Valencia and Miki left hand in hand, with more pep in their steps than they had going in. Teela and Brandi exchanged new friendship farewells and exited in different directions.
Valencia dropped her hand to reach in her purse for her grape BlackBerry. She said to Miki, “I’m proud of you, chica.”
“You too, Val. To summarize and admit all that was harder than I thought.”
“You closed your eyes like you saw it happening all over again.” A slight summer breeze blew Valencia’s long, curly, dark brown hair away from her oval face as they stepped out of the clinic front door.
“I did see it.” Miki cleared her throat. “It was wild.”
“It sounded like The Vagina Monologues, if you ask me. It was interesting as hell.”
Miki gave a soft laugh. “That it was. So, where’re you headed?” she asked with keys in hand as they walked amongst the evening darkness.
Valencia looked down at her BlackBerry and touched the screen. “I’m headed to Greg’s place. I see a few missed calls from him. He’s so excited about the fact that I agreed to get help. I must say after this first meeting I’m getting excited, too.”
Miki stopped suddenly as the hazel-eyed man who was in the group walked up.
“Hello. How are you ladies doing? You may not remember my name from the brief intros of the regulars but I’m Dwayne. Dwayne Grace.” The man towered over Miki’s frame. He had on a white T-shirt and jeans.
“Hi,” Miki replied with an instant look of sexy flirt.
Valencia stopped, too. “Hello. Okay, I guess I’ll see you later, mama.” She moved in closer to her friend and gave her a lip kiss.
Miki offered a distracted half kiss back, as well as a half hug. Her eyes were stuck on big, tall Dwayne from the waist down.
Noticing her friend’s visual diversion, Valencia proceeded on with her car alarm remote in hand, switching her hips in dark blue pencil jeans. “Buzz me.”
Miki nodded and then yanked her eyes from Dwayne to Valencia. “Okay. I’m headed home. Drive safely.”
Valencia gave an umph sound.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said.
Miki slid her eyes back and put out her hand. “No problem. My name is…”
“I know. Miki, right?” He shook her hand and kept it.
“Nice to meet you, Dwayne.”
He still held her hand as they began to walk toward the parking lot. “I heard your story.”
Miki beamed with a marriage of embarrassment and attraction. “I feel as though you know me. But what’s your story?”
“I’d actually love to share it with you.”
Miki stopped, looking up at him. “Your place or mine?”
Dwayne answered without missing a beat. “Yours.” He released his grip and reached into his pants pocket for his wallet, keeping his eyes on her as he handed over his business card. “My cell number is at the bottom.”
She read each and every letter and number. “Oh, okay. I’m in Inglewood. I’ll call you. See you in an hour.”
“I’m in Ladera. Actually, would you like to come by my place?”
“Sure. I’ll be there.” Miki began to walk away and looked back. “And you’ve got a condom, right?”
“I’ve got a ton of them,” he assured her with a naughty grin.
Miki spoke in a private tone to his wide, V-shaped back as he hurried toward his silver Corvette, walking like a stud in what she noticed to be some very big shoes. She shook her head in amazement. “Uh, uh, uh. I’ll bet that’s a Trojan Magnum XL there. I’m gonna fuck the shit outta his big, fine ass.”
2
“I Wanna Sex You Up”
Miki
The royal blue nine o’clock nighttime skies, lukewarm evening air, sparkly diamond-like stars, and full, luminous milky moon helped to set the mood above the manicured cul-de-sac street where one particular expensive ranch-style home contained macho bachelor and long-time resident big-shoes Dwayne Grace and his guest.
Barefoot, he made his way along the Brazilian oak flooring of the art deco hallway after brushing his teeth in the grand bathroom of his lower Ladera Heights master bedroom suite. His hazel eyes met an alluring vision named Miki Summers, the tall, sexy, self-proclaimed nymphomaniac he’d known for only an hour and a half, who was seductively awaiting his return. Like him, she was a slave to the unrelenting powers of her own intense sexual urges. It was a distinct addictive need that was stronger than the both of them. She lay awaiting an exchange of anticipated mutual top-shelf sexual prowess, as though she was his female equal.
Miki was sprawled butt naked on top of the milk-chocolate sheets of Dwayne’s massive, high-gloss cherrywood sleigh bed, which matched his distinctive design colors of maroon, tan, and coffee bean. A soulful, old-school jam—“Stra
nger” by L.T.D.—serenaded their coming together.
Her thirty-five-inch legs were spread wide. Her body was the color of dark rum, like her curly, bushy pubic hair. Her tits were pleasingly plump, like her beautiful, bountiful ass. Her thighs were thick like her juicy, generous lips. He couldn’t have asked for more if he’d personally designed her himself.
Dwayne’s red-boned face and low-hanging cinnamon dick, which matched his size fourteen feet, reacted at the same time. Both smiling bigger than a fat kid with a triple dip banana split with double fudge and three fresh, red cherries and chopped pistachio nuts on top.
He removed a towel from around his neck. He smelled like amber spice soap. He stood upon the mocha rug. His six-five frame hovered over Miki’s curvy body. His grand manhood pointed directly at her approving face.
He’d placed a trio of almond candles on the oversized dresser. The tiny votives flickered along the buff walls like they were blazing from a wood-burning fireplace. There was a half-empty bottle of banana red MD 20/20 on the nightstand. Both Dwayne and Miki had taken extralong swigs. The red liquid surely helped them build up the nerve, though neither really needed a spinning head to entice them to get their freak on. The problem was, it never turned off.
Miki looked up at Dwayne’s long, muscular frame.
Her dark eyes said willing to please.
His light eyes said the same.
Even though her exposed pussy was prone, he brought his dick to her cocoa lips and inched inside her mouth. Her wide, extended tongue traced the shape of his wide shaft. She adjusted herself just so and took the oral-receiver position, slurping and sucking as he poked his lengthy penis down her throat farther and farther. It sounded like she was gargling. Her moans had depth. She obviously had no problem with him meeting her tonsils. She accommodated his size like it was her distinct pleasure to do so.