My story

L’s husband is having second thoughts, and I’m at sixes and sevens.

Recovery got me sober, but sobriety wasn’t quite the point.

My problem was never sex. It was the elaborate edifice of deceit I constructed around it.

A field guide to the various twelve-step fellowships for sex addiction — their bottom lines, their rigidities, and their surprising nuances.

Standing on a street corner, waiting for a woman who would never come, I finally saw just how far I’d fallen.

I don’t believe you can be addicted to sex. But I had a relationship to it that sure looked a lot like addiction.

Once in a while, my catholic tastes bring me into contact with women who remind me of a me I’d rather forget.

Two hundred messages, one reply, and she probably wasn’t even a she.

An infinite line of women, infinite stamina, and not a single act of intercourse. It’s my fantasy — I’m allowed to be selfish.

Seven sexual wishes for the new year — some more likely than others.