Sexaholics

by Pynk

  “I pray that you find an easier way to kill the devil in your head than this. I may never take a step again, but you could be one step away from sexual healing. It takes just one step at a time. Don’t leave here seeing it as a game. Don’t give up. Don’t lust.

  “As the lovely Rachel Cummings says, you’ll always be a sexaholic. But the first day of the rest of your life starts now, with making sure the anniversary date of your sobriety is today.

  “By the way—though, as I said, I don’t have feelings in my lower body—let me tell you just because I can’t control my hip and vaginal muscles, I do, however, have nerve endings above the waist. And baby, the senses in the tongue, lips, hands, and on the skin, mainly face, neck, shoulders, and back… watch out.” Miki snapped her right-hand fingers, which generated snickers from those who she spoke to. She managed a cute grin. “I give new meaning to the term oral sex. The mouth can do glorious things. And touching, kissing, and cuddling never felt so good. And the breasts respond… please believe me.” Her smile widened and then narrowed. “Sex is what you do. Sexuality is what you are. I’m still sexual. It’s a part of our nature to be sexual. But sexuality is about the whole person, not just the genitals.

  “I do have feelings in my heart. Those feelings are reserved for my family, my sweet little second-grade son, whose stepmother is now my friend, and for the only man I have sex with now and forever, my husband, who is sitting right there.” She pointed her head and touched her heart with her fist to a man with curly hair, about ten years older than her, sitting on the end in the first row. He smiled large, flashing his deep-set dimples as people strained their necks to see him. He touched his heart with his fist back. “He won’t stand. He’ll tell you it’s not about him. I met him at the hospital the day my mother and sister and niece and son came to take me home. He was an orderly who wheeled me out into the parking lot, and we’ve been together ever since. He loves me, including my atrophied legs and my catheter. He’s amazing. And yes, this might be too much information, but even though I told you I’d never feel a penis in my vagina again, that doesn’t mean there hasn’t been one in there, okay?” She grinned at him and they both blushed. “Plus, he’s smiling like that because I’m much more of a giver now. I get my pleasure in many ways. And believe me, he ain’t complaining.

  “Please know that I wouldn’t change a thing.” Miki glanced down at her digital wristwatch. “I’ve been sober for three hundred seventy-nine days, thirteen hours, and fifteen minutes. I’ve also been a whole woman for that long.

  “My name is Miki Summers Bolton. I’m Marcellas Bolton’s wife, and I, like you, am a sexaholic. May God grant you the serenity to accept the things you cannot change, courage to change the things you can, and wisdom to know the difference. Thank you for listening to my story. And good night.”

  The crowd sprang to their feet and began to applaud as Miki nodded. Her face lit up with a smile that led to a laugh. Her husband approached the front of the room and stood next to Rachel Cummings who shook his hand as he waited for his wife to give him the signal to escort her offstage.

  Standing in the front row was Dwayne, clapping loudly. Next to him was a new female member, very young, very shapely, and very pretty. He leaned toward her and whispered in her ear. She giggled, looking shy. He laughed, looking proud of himself, took in a quick view of her cleavage, and then continued to look toward Miki, still clapping.

  And a few seats over was Teela, with tears streaming down her face as she wiped her green eyes and sniffled. She caught Miki’s eye, and they gave each other a wink.

  Teela’s wink said, Well done.

  Miki’s wink said, You’ll be just fine. Keep showing up.

  Teela decided not to tell Miki about Tariq.

  She’d concluded that some things were best handled on their own.

  And this time, she was right.

  Now Valencia had Tariq.

  One who also showed up sitting next to Teela was Austin, a newly admitted sex addict who now had his own place. He kept coming to the meetings just to show Teela, who now owned her own home in Baldwin Hills, he had changed and wanted only her. Though she wasn’t quite convinced yet.

  All the members in the auditorium had shown up another day to take back their power of choice, step by step, with the goal of obtaining sexual sobriety, though some would take longer than others. The objective was to gain control over their addictions, and to forgive themselves and one another.

  And the person crying the most was in the very last row.

  Valencia Sanchez.

  She caught Miki’s eye, too.

  “Sorry,” Valencia mouthed quietly, touching her heart with her fist, wearing the pain and guilt of her life on her sorrowful face.

  Miki nodded and touched her heart with her fist back. She flashed a tiny smile and then it grew a little bigger. Big enough to expose her right dimple and she mouthed, “Love you.”

  Miki thought, If Adore could forgive me, surely I can forgive Valencia.

  They had each hugged the possibilities of a new day.

  And a new life.

  Abstaining.

  One way or another.

  For information on the 12 Steps and 12 Traditions of Sexaholics Anonymous, or to test yourself by answering twenty questions to assess whether you may have a problem with sexual addiction, you may visit the Sexaholics Anonymous website, at www.sa.org.

  Secrets are a darkness in your heart.

  Free your mind and the rest will follow.

  Pynk

  BEING SEX-SEE

  From the Oversexed to the Undersexed

  Thank you for experiencing my second Pynk novel, Sexaholics, about the lives of four women who are oversexed addicts. Now, on the other end, there are women who are very opposite from Miki, Valencia, Teela, and Brandi, in that they are sexually repressed, yet they’re really quite the same. They’re women who are where they are in their lives, regarding families, and jobs, and money, and sex, because of what the world has taught them about each life dynamic. And sex is a dynamic part of life. Sex is a necessity of life.

  The title of my next novel is Sixty Nine, from which a preview chapter immediately follows. Even though it is erotica, it is not about the literal sexual position 69; it is about three undersexed women, Magnolia, Rebe, and Darla, who were all born in 1969, and who are about to turn the big 4-0. They are dissatisfied with their lives in general; more specifically, when it comes to sex, they yearn for more than their usual missionary positions.

  I watched The Oprah Winfrey Show awhile back when she had as a guest a sex therapist named Dr. Laura Berman who talked about sexual problems in women. Some women do not have orgasms and they fake it with their men, who are none the wiser because often they get theirs, so that’s all he wrote. There are also some women who have little tiny, non-earth-shattering orgasms that don’t quite live up to what they see in porno movies or hear about from their sexual-creature-like friends. Some women get so close to having the big O, but then they get stuck and hold back because of a thought that creeps into their heads that tells them they’re trashy or slutty for feeling so good.

  Orgasms are both physical and mental, and though some women really do have medical reasons that affect their libido and their ability to experience an orgasm—usually involving their pelvic floor, or a side effect of certain medications—a lot of women fall into the one basic sex trap that I feel so strongly about dispelling. The thought that we’ve bought into from the time we were little: that sex is dirty.

  As some of you may know from reading my first Pynk book, Erotic City, that’s the main reason why I decided to write about sex, to hopefully educate through fiction.

  I’ve heard people say that writing about sex is sinful and that if people would only listen to the word of God to guide them, and cease falling off of the “good walk” path, we erotica writers would then and only then be cleansed and pure and righteous. But I am here to tell you I do not buy into that. That is one of the reasons why w
e women are so repressed today. We are afraid. Well, please know that I am not ashamed or afraid. And I hope you’re not, either. By the way, isn’t judgment a sin?

  While I definitely believe that moderation is key, because we must have boundaries and not run off hog wild, so to speak, it is my desire to contribute in some way to the liberation of women and show all sides of sex, good and bad. But in the long run, I hope my books bring awareness and encourage women to love their bodies and feel good about reading scenes that turn them on so much they can’t wait to get home and take care of themselves and/or pounce on their mates. I hope my writing teaches women about what healthy sex should be. Sometimes you learn that by reading about what healthy sex is not. To read erotica is not sinful, and it is my desire that the guilt so many of us women feel will eventually be shattered to pieces.

  We must learn to tell the truth about how we feel about sex and about what we think about sex, and figure out where those bad thoughts came from. Also, as Milan Kennedy, the main character in Erotic City stated, we must know that women have wet dreams, too, and we cannot be afraid to ask for what we want in and out of bed. We can be sexually equal to men. That’s what the feminist movement of the ’60s and ’70s was all about, a freeing and de-conditioning of gender discrimination and how society views females. It’s been about overall equality relating to the right to vote and equal pay, which President Obama protected with a law early in his administration—but also women’s rights issues, ranging from reproductive rights, like access to the pill and abortion, to the right to breastfeed in public, and even the need to create specific sexual-harassment policies to define exactly what harassment is, even when it comes to men as the victims.

  We women are not second-class citizens. Nor are we sex objects.

  All in all, views about sex are sometimes deemed to be issues of morality and issues of sexism.

  I’d like women to learn to be what I call, Sex-See… seeing sex in a whole new way, mentally, visually, and physically.

  After all, good sexual health involves the spiritual and physical body. We are sensual and sexual beings. We are allowed to experience sexual pleasure. We have to let go of negative messages about sex among consenting adults—negative messages that tell us sex is wrong. I believe we can make a conscious decision to dispel those messages that breed guilt.

  I’m talking about safe sex. Yes, there are prices to be paid relating to teen pregnancy, HIV, and so forth. As a good friend of mine says, fuck responsibly. And I totally agree. You are responsible for yourself. Make good decisions based upon who you are. And take in the rest as learning tools. When in Rome, don’t necessarily do as the Romans do, unless you think it’s the best decision for you. Most important, love yourself first.

  If you are fearful and keep thinking you shouldn’t talk in bed or let go and enjoy your orgasm, ask yourself what it is that you’re afraid of. We all had messages about sex when we were growing up. Most times, if sex was brought up, we were told it was vulgar and not acceptable, especially when we were young girls. And we were told we shouldn’t talk about it. We got dressed up and went to church and the information we came away with was that sex should be experienced only for purposes of procreation. I know that’s how my parents raised me, even though my mother was more liberated than most. Back then, parents who wanted their daughters to remain virgins until marriage surely had good intentions, but the other side of the coin is to encourage safe sex, because most of the time teens are going to do it anyway (I know I did), yet still feel guilty afterward. In my opinion, that’s when the confusion starts. When I was in high school it seems a few of the Catholic schoolgirls, the ones who learned about God from the time they were little, were the fastest girls in the neighborhood, simply because the forbidden tempted them so much that they thought they were missing out, which caused them to be even more curious than those who were not as restricted. The more you tell someone they can’t do something, the more they want to do it, kind of like Adam and Eve. And from a biblical standpoint, it’s all about our own individual interpretations, and that’s a whole other conversation.

  Now back to the orgasm! The sex therapist on Oprah said when you’re about to experience your own orgasm, if you hold yourself back because of the negative voices from your past, you will cheat yourself and disallow the erotic experience of a burst of a beautiful, euphoric, intense pleasure rolling through your body that, from a physiological standpoint, can bond you to your partner just because of the pheromones you produce from the rush itself. That is a proven fact. I know there are some women who still hold back, even though they may not hear the negative voices from the past, because the sensation is so strong that they get scared and freeze up. I’m there with you. I can surely understand that! Though a good multiple orgasm might be right behind your fear to cum like the queen you are.

  If you’re one of the many women who have repressed feelings about sex, and you feel you’re too frigid and rigid in bed, maybe you need to think about what you can do to begin to let go of the embarrassing and shameful ties that bind. Refuse to carry those old messages and voices in your head that tell you sex is lewd and immoral and improper. If necessary, think in terms of experiencing romance with your partner, as opposed to quickies, so that you can take the time to really excite yourself and your mate. Take the time to talk about each other’s erogenous zones. Make foreplay last longer, starting with a sex text early in the day. Tell yourself you deserve to be pleasured, that it’s good and loving, and that you’ll still be a nice girl and a respectable lady in the morning. Remember people used to say that women would ask the man, “Will you respect me in the morning?” Why is it that men never ask that?

  Anyway, think in terms of nonmissionary, and feel free to masturbate healthily if you so desire. Masturbating in moderation is not slutty either.

  Train yourself to replace the outdated messages with new ones. It’s called a sexual adjustment. Remember, you are a sensual and sexual woman, and you’re allowed to experience a happy and fulfilling sex life. Live up to your full orgasmic potential. Release your inner vixen. Become more comfortable with your sexuality, maybe by taking a pole-dancing class. Try new positions or have sex someplace other than the norm. Go to a Passion Party and try out some of the new products there, like a Triple Tickle Dolphin, with a fluttering tail that stimulates the clit, and tickling tails that can be inserted into both the anus and the vagina. Live out your healthy fantasies.

  While you turn the page to check out the characters in Sixty-Nine as they struggle to escape from their undersexed worlds, keep in mind that these three coming-of-age women make conscious decisions to explore erotic sides of themselves they never knew existed. I call it sexxxploration.

  The bottom line is that Sixty-Nine is a liberating story about sisterhood and friendship, and about how our past experiences and beliefs can influence our views about life, and about sex. How shame and dysfunction and abuse can keep us repressed. And how guilt can keep us from truly viewing sex as a pleasurable act. Sixty-Nine is a novel about going beyond one’s self-inflicted boundaries to fully experience true sensuality. But by taking these risks, we never know what lies on the other side of our comfort zones.

  So, my dear readers, enjoy this opening-act chapter preview as Magnolia, Rebe, and Darla find out what it’s like to go beyond the missionary, and experience the erotic edge of a real-life sixty-nine.

  PREVIEW CHAPTER

  SIXTY-NINE

  by Pynk

  November 2010

  CAUTION

  Adults at Play

  1

  A Sexier Side of Me

  Girl, I started my period on my own damn wedding night. That should’ve been a definite warning sign that my marriage would not last through the ebb and flow, so to speak, of holy matrimony,” Rebe Richardson said with a millisecond smirk on her chocolate face. Her micro-braided head rolled toward the two best friends she’d known since college. She tried to keep her words just above the blaring celebratory music in
the background.

  Rebe sat upon the contemporary purple leather stool at the huge, fully packed bar with her long, bare legs crossed like a prima ballerina. She even pointed her toes. Her stately gams, formed from her days a dancer, extended far beyond the hem of her little black dress. She sat to the right, with Magnolia Butler in the middle, and Darla Howard on the other end.

  The trendy hotspot, called Flavour, was decorated deliciously in pale blues and lavender, with dark wood bar tables, draped private VIP rooms, and two mirrored, elongated bars. Oversized plasma TVs graced every wall, showing last-minute countdowns from most major cities. The nightclub was located in the Coconut Grove area of South Florida, where two of the gussied-up ladies lived. Magnolia lived in Playland, Florida.

  It was New Year’s Eve.

  The well-promoted, well-attended bash was wall-to-wall packed.

  The sounds of Whitney Houston’s “Exhale (Shoop Shoop)” serenaded the discolike, neon-lit room. The soft mixture of blue and pink LED flashing-light designs bounced along the walls and from the ceiling. The glass dance floor was a pastel menagerie of light grids that grooved to the beat of the popular R&B music.

  And it was 11:46 p.m.

  “What? And that stopped you from having sex on your honeymoon night? Because of your monthly visitor?” Darla had made sure to lean toward her friends to speak loudly, with her light brown, precision-cut hair, platinum hoop earrings, and liquid silver minidress. She picked up her fluted champagne glass and took a tiny sip of the yellow label Brut, extending her French manicured pinky as she swallowed.

  Rebe squinted her nose and eyes like a foul wind had just blown by. “Ewwww, yes, of course it stopped me,” she said, squirming in her seat.