Oreo Grows a Set

I received a very harrowing text message from Oreo today while I was at work:

"I was invited to go to Brooklyn Bridge he loves it. Should I go?"

Ok, well, so many thoughts went running through my head right from the start. I mean, seriously, who invited her to go to the Bridge? What does one do at Brooklyn Bridge (drive? jump? cross the river?) And what does he love? How do I respond to such an odd text?

I did the only thing I could think to do in this situation- be unabashedly honest with Oreo.

"What about Brooklyn? I don't think you'll like it that much when you never see the guy again."

See, I think it hit me right then-- oh my God-- I am some how glorifying anonymous sex in this blog. By finally talking about this, and explaining that even a normal, relatively together guy can look like he's got it all, but also fuck like a wild man and not even care who gets it. Somehow, I thought of all the folks out in cyber space that might be getting the same idea.

Holy shit. Ladies and gentlemen, boy and girls whose parents don't pay enough attention to what you view on the web: THERE IS NOTHING GREAT, GLAMOROUS, OR EVEN EXCITING about living the lifestyle of a sex addict. In fact, nothing in my life should be envied. From what you've read at the beginning, you've seen the tales of a dirty old man, and some rather unfortunately endowed men my age. That was the beginning. What follows is a nasty case of rectal gonorrhea, a fight with the Department of Health, a prostitute in Vegas, a man who paid me $150 to piss in his mouth after fucking him. Oh, and did I mention that I can offer the first name of not more than 28% of the men I've slept with? If you want first and last names that percentage drops to the single digits.

I called my best friend. We'll call her Annelle. Annelle is also someone that I had always had the sneaky suspicion that I somehow influenced to explore anonymous sex. When we first graduated college and I was living in New York and she in LA, I mentioned I was meeting men on Craigslist. As time went on, Annelle kept looking at ads on Craigslist for men to have sex with her. She was just kind of lonely and horny at the same time (ain't that a bitch that those feelings always come together?). Well, when she finally decided to meet a guy, she called me freaking out, and gave me his address and phone number in case she ended up dead in the LA River (ha). When she got to the door, she freaked out when a very large man who looked nothing like his photo answered the door. ( We've since dubbed him, "The Butter Fatty.") Fortunately, that was enough to scare Annelle away from Craigslist for good.

And that is the difference that Annelle so poignantly pointed out to me today-- what separates people like Annelle and Oreo from people like me (read: Sex Addicts), is that they don't sleep with creepos like Butter Fatty (I would've sucked it up and closed my eyes and gone to town to try and finish it off as quickly as possible. Yeah, it would have been gross as fuck, but getting off is still getting off, right?) . Additionally, sex addicts don't learn their lesson when something bad happens. One of the easiest ways to recognize an addition is to identify persistent use despite negative consequences.

So, while we don't yet know if Oreo is going to continue in this path (who knows, maybe she IS sex addict), I hope I've made it abundantly clear that there is nothing romantic or exciting about the life of a Sexual Addict.

Before I wrote this, I checked in with Oreo, who has been out on Brooklyn Bridge for at least 5 hours now. She responded, "[I'll be home] Eventually... he has roommates and I don't give it up on the 1st date. We're have a drink at some random bar."

What a bitch. Now, see there, self-control-- THAT is something to be envied.