Compulsion

I contrast my past destructive obsession with commercial sex against my current generative, productive compulsion with AI tools.

Intrusive thoughts on a massage table.

What is it that draws me to women who make me feel bad, who fail to keep me in mind in the ways for which I long?

Why is it that what turns me on at the moment is images of women’s thighs and cunts, videos of women masturbating, coming?

A glimpse, maybe, into how, and why, I do things that produce nothing but suffering.

I was twelve. My cousin was fourteen. We didn’t see each other that often – maybe a few times a year. But she was hot. Which in retrospect, I suppose, means that she had breasts. And she did: she had…

“You really are difficult,” Sofia wrote to me. She’s right, of course. We were talking about how I respond to the sensation of being desired.

Rose is game for anything. She sees her role, thankfully, as being my fuck-toy. She will do as I wish, with whom I wish. She will do as I say, dress as I say. It’s lovely to have that in…

Approach, avoid continues, and I’m reminded of Poison – and my reaction to her. Poison, for those who missed her, is the woman who, years ago, set off the reaction that led to my understanding that I’m an addict. When…

I throw around words in highly specific ways in reference to myself, and in recent days, in a couple of different conversations, I’ve realized that I’m not always clear about what I mean. Without any claim to “correctness” or “accuracy”…