Sex addiction

My origin story, retold — how lap dances, fear of rejection, and an endless appetite for contact sent me down a path I’m still mapping.

For me, transgression has never been the point. If anything, it’s a damper on my joy.

I radiate not just pleasure but craving, not just pursuit but drivenness — and that can be a little scary.

I have known monsters. They’re good, decent, kind, loving people.

Shakespeare got something about lust that Steve McQueen didn’t.

Not looking at beauty made me think about it far more than looking at it ever did.

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.