I loved her...or maybe it was that I respected her. From the moment I met her, I knew she was out of my league, and I could not figure out why she wanted to hang out with me. I was a sophomore, cheating my way through every class just to pass, sometimes with my teacher's help. She was the All-American girl, earning A’s in all her AP classes as she prepared to head off to college to be a doctor.
Why was she into me? What an odd feeling to respect someone so much, to be in a relationship with them, and yet never feel worthy to be in their presence. For almost two and half years, that was what I felt every single day with her.
She made me wait for over a year to have sex with her. It was absolute torture especially because we would play the silly game of allowing ‘just the tip’ in yet she insisted on making me wait to experience all of her. My respect for her was the only reason I could explore patience. The day she left for Spring Break in Cancun, Mexico the crushing weight of knowing my gorgeous girlfriend would be getting drunk, surrounded by hot guys, triggered every worthless feeling I had ever had about myself.
Every day she was away, I was damn near desperate for her calls. I was burning on the inside, being consumed by excruciating pain as each hour passed as I waited for her call. The phone call I received three days later caught me off guard. I had gone to a party that night, got wasted on Mad Dog 20/20, and in my drunken stupor I released all my fear and insecurity by way of spewing accusations about her cheating. I really did not know if she was cheating or not, but my brain had painted vivid images of her being drunk and tag teamed by guys she met in Mexico.
I know I hurt her with my accusations, but I desperately needed to know the truth. When she arrived home from her trip we met up and I apologized for my accusations although I still felt sick as if something had happened. She told me after I was done crying through my apologies (my vulnerability fully exposed) that one guy had made a pass at her. She was drunk and he kissed her but she claimed: “nothing else happened”. My lack of worthiness flared up and I desperately needed to make this pain stop.
I broke up with her either out of anger or out of sadness, I am not sure which. Either way, I ended our relationship and later that night I went to another party. Newly single, I was searching for any way to distract myself from the feelings of betrayal and loss. The tipsier I got, the more confident I got talking with girls at the party. A senior who was at the party came up to me and started talking to me. I did not really know anything about her other than my girlfriend did not like her, so I felt compelled to find out why.
“She is jealous of me,” the girl told me, mentioning stories about cheerleading practice and ex-boyfriends. This gave me the cue to exclaim “I dumped her”. A few more drinks in, she and I were making out in the parent’s room of the person hosting that underage drunk fest. The next morning, I heard from my ex-girlfriend. She was livid having heard about my make-out session with someone she despised. Then she had the audacity to accuse me of cheating.
“Um, we broke up,” I said.
She responded with “It was not real, I know you love me, so this is cheating! You cheated!”
At that moment, I begged for her to take me back. She did, but our relationship was never the same. I still felt betrayed by her, plus I had tasted others' flesh...and I liked it! I had told her that she was my first sexual experience, but that was not true. While I never considered being molested by those guys, or by my female babysitter, as sexual experiences, I had already had sex with the 21-year-old beer cart girl on the days leading up to my 14th birthday. I will never forget her smoking a bowl of pot as she instructed me on how to perform oral sex on her.
The two-year dry spell before I had sex again convinced me it was ok to pretend to be a virgin. After me and Miss All American broke up, the sex demon inside of me grew hungrier. I started having sex with as many girls as I could, from any school around. Every party I went to provided the next sexual conquest and the competition I had with my friends did not help ease the drive I had to spray my seed all over America.
College provided even more opportunities. Being an athlete nearly guaranteed sex EVERY time I went out. On the rare occasion that I actually enjoyed having sex with someone, it gave me the delusion of falling in love. However, it was never strong enough to keep me from cheating when I had the chance. I never thought anything of it; “It was just sex”, I told myself.
It was while I was in college that I really had opportunities to find the pleasures I desired because internet chat rooms became popular and introduced me to people who had similar curiosities as mine. Every once in a while I would hang out in bisexual chat rooms. Even though the experiences weren’t really enjoyable, my curiosity overwhelmed me. I started meeting people offline, but it was usually a man and woman couple, or just a woman at first, as I was still too scared of exploring what was lurking deep within my mind.
After getting hurt playing football, I got involved in cheerleading. This exposed me to drugs in a new way. In Oklahoma, drugs were not super easy to find in those days. As I got more involved in the club scene, my access to drugs opened up, introducing me to cocaine, and eventually ecstasy. The very first time doing blow, I found myself on chat rooms seeking men. It happened almost instinctively yet felt like an out-of-body experience. I was so nervous about going to these guys' homes to hook up on the rare occasion I found cocaine, but I had an itch that needed to be scratched now and that was the only way to relieve it.
More and more often I would go in the chat rooms sober looking for drugs because there was just something about doing cocaine and having sex that was more fun than regular sober sex. I was only 18-19 years old so the only bars I could get into were the ones I knew the owner or had friends who could get me in. I never liked clubs or even crowds, but after a few vodkas on the rocks, then blow up my nose, I became the life of the party. As the man of the hour, I was exposed to after-hours clubs and group sex. The only issue with that was when I was high, my bisexual side came roaring out, usually to the discomfort of the other people in attendance.
All through college, with every relationship I got myself into, I cheated. I could not help myself and I had convinced myself that being with a man was not cheating. When I would cheat with a woman, I would rationalize it by telling whoever my girlfriend was at that time “we broke up, I was hurt, and I made a mistake.” Of course, I orchestrated these fights so I could get the freedom to disappear for a day or two allowing me to cheat until satisfied.
I married my first wife because I had found out I had a 3-year-old daughter. I thought by doing so might make me a better dad, or even a better person. Leading up to our marriage, I was cheating on her weekly with massage girls, hookers, and occasionally men. On the night of our wedding reception, I got wasted and spent more time hitting on the bartender who I secretly hoped I could sneak off with sometime. I was not even sure if he was gay, but I tried anyway. On the way home that night, she was angry with me because I had disappeared for most of the night. For some reason, I got the courage to tell her that I had hooked up with guys before.
I hadn’t even told her the whole truth, but her response was, “I wish you had told me that before we got married then I would have had a chance to back out of this.” She was furious, rightfully so, and the desire of ever telling the truth about my sexuality immediately vanished. I swore up and down it had been a phase, a “drunk thing”, but that of course was a lie. A phase is a few weeks or months, not years.
When she was pregnant with our twins, I got arrested with what I thought was a prostitute, at a hotel by the airport in Oklahoma City. Having the door kicked in and surrounded by those cops with guns pointed at me was one thing but being listed on John.TV and having a link to our home address with my name in the paper was another. It was humiliating beyond belief.
I got so much pressure from her family to admit to being a sex addict, so to shut them up I decided to go to SA meetings. After attending a few meetings, the pressure to get a sponsor was pressed upon me. My first attempt led to me being fondled by one of the leaders as he asked me why I was going to these meetings; it was then I decided to take my power back.
Instead of going to the meetings, I would hang out with a girl who was a friend that I paid to have sex with me, do cocaine and hide out at her place for several hours before making the 45-minute drive home. I would read just enough of the Big Book to share with my wife and her family about what we talked about that day, even though it was a complete fabrication.
This led to a (2) 8 ball biweekly cocaine habit. Two days a week I would do two 8 balls, and not come home until insanely late hours. Somehow, I got away with this for a while until eventually, I did not come home one night; I was at my office watching porn, masturbating, and doing blow. She then demanded I go to rehab for 3 months, if I ever wanted to see the kids again. It was in rehab where I confessed to cheating, and with that confession, our divorce began.
In the divorce, I gave up the kids for adoption. Not exactly what I wanted to do but I knew I was too selfish and more into getting high than ever (even after rehab) to even try to fight back. As my income had fallen to almost nothing, I couldn’t afford the payments I was ordered to make for spousal support or even child support. I know had my heart been into being a father, something could have been worked out. I choose pleasure over love and that was not the first time nor the last I would do so.
I ended up meeting an amazing woman online who lived in Tulsa. She had an autistic son, but I only had to be around him on the rare occasions I would visit her when she had him, and not her ex. We could talk for hours on end, but I hated how wasted she would get because it was just sloppy, and I hated that she also smoked cigarettes. When she would get so drunk, she couldn’t walk, I would carry her out to the car to take her home. In a rage, I would take her to the bed, strip her naked, and take pictures of her. On some occasions, as she was passed out, I would have sex with her while saying evil things to her to wake her up. Once she opened her eyes I would cum inside of her with the energy of a haled “Fuck you”. I hated her while trying to love her and yet I could not bring myself to dump her. The relationship was great because when I was home in Oklahoma City, I could party and have sex with whoever I wanted, all the while telling her how much I loved her.
One day I knew in my heart she was cheating. I had gotten really good at noticing patterns with people, mainly because I got good at disguising mine. During a visit to her place, I found a box of condoms that were open with missing rubbers. We did not use condoms, so I instantly knew. The sickness I felt in my stomach was the worst pain. I hated it. I threw her to the ground and called her a slut as I stormed out of her house and headed back to Oklahoma City.
Almost halfway back to Oklahoma City she called and begged me to come back. She gave me all of her excuses, but the pain hurt so bad and I knew she was the only one who could make it better. I drove back, but instead of staying with her, I made her meet me in a hotel. When she arrived at my room, I violently threw her on the bed and started to take advantage of her; she was loving it. As I was fucking her, I exclaimed “you’re thinking about him right now, aren't you?”
She said, “yeah, and I am thinking of him sticking it in your ass too”. In that instant, cheating no longer hurt, it became my biggest fantasy. I dreamed of getting caught having sex or walking in on the women I was with other guys or gangbangs or anything else that fed my deviant side. I became more ruthless with my cheating and although that relationship ended shortly after, I already had a replacement for her all lined up.
I got married again a few years later and although I tried to do that marriage differently by being honest about my sexual desires upfront, it eventually backfired once she decided she loved me too much to share me with anyone else. I cheated on her too, but it was only with men, so I never viewed it as cheating. She did however and ended our marriage by writing on my bathroom mirror in her red lipstick “Cheating faggot” “Cheater” and “Go to Hell” amongst other things. As guilty as I felt for hurting her, I hated being a stepdad to her kids so much that I looked at the divorce as freedom.
After that divorce, I ran into an ex on Christmas Eve, which quickly turned into what I believed at the time was a gift from God. Not only could I do drugs with her, we also brought in other guys to have sex with. It seemed like the perfect relationship for me, and she was my fantasy woman, especially after I bought her boobs. I loved showing her off to other men and her trust in me was everything I ever wanted. I hit my stride again with her by my side and not only started making good money again, I came into a lot of money after my father’s death.
My new skincare business allowed me to travel everywhere. Part of my work was entertaining plastic surgeons, dermatologists, and med spa owners. More often than not, drinks over dinner would turn into strip clubs and blow. Once I had cocaine in my system, the beast inside me would come alive and I would spend the rest of my night searching for sex online and hooking up with strangers or going to bathhouses if the city had them. The cocaine use would lead to doing meth, which then led to me being out of control to the point I would miss flights home and not respond to my girlfriend’s calls.
I always had an excuse, and I always got away with it, until one day when we were searching for a guy to come over to have sex with us, she saw a message from someone I had hooked up with when I was out of town. At that moment, her trust in me was gone forever. I could have hit her with a baseball bat in the face and she would have cried less than she did when she discovered I had cheated on her.
We stayed together, however, the trust was broken and everything I did was questioned. I hated it, but I needed her. She had become my world, and she was the only woman who allowed me to do the things I wanted to do sexually. We continued to do cocaine and drink a lot together, but now we were doing more of everything, and every other time we had our exploits, she would blow up at me.
We began to fight daily and as soon as we were happy, we would do more drugs, and drink even more. While searching for sex, she would get triggered and unleash accusations at me of more cheating. None of her specific accusations were true; while I had cheated a lot on her, I was not in those moments. My aim to defend myself, or to calm her down always escalated the fights more, not make them better.
Our fights became more and more violent causing the cops to show up multiple times at our home, now in LA. One afternoon, already trashed on drugs and alcohol, we started fighting and she started throwing glasses and plates at me. Instinctively I went at her as hard as I could, tackling her, lifting her off the ground, and slamming her down as my body fell on top of her, breaking her ribs. I had no choice but to call 911; she protected me from the cops who had shown up by saying it was an accident.
Another afternoon, she made some comments to me that set me off and I pushed her down the stairs. When she came back up the stairs to attack me, I threw her against the wall which caused her to swing at my face, barely hitting my nose. The bloodlust that came over me caused me to viscously choke her. At that moment I wanted her to die and the only thing that stopped the fight was the cops who burst into our house arresting me and taking me to jail. I got out 24 hours later and by the time I made it home, she was nearly all the way back to Oklahoma. My meth habit spiked to using 3 days a week and in the process, I was having sex in more bathhouses, having guys and girls come over for orgies, or I was being used by whoever would give me free drugs. This was all happening as I continued to declare my love for her and claim that I would change; that was a lie.
Months went by and as I fell further into my addiction, she decided to come back to Los Angeles. The day she was coming back, I was already out with friends having drinks. When she arrived, she got to meet some of my famous friends who I had been hanging out with while she was away. I already had cocaine for her when she arrived so that we could celebrate her return. As the hours went on, with more alcohol and even more cocaine, the party went back to my house. I made the decision I was hungry and left (without telling anyone) to walk to the McDonald’s down the street. I walked through the drive-through, only to be told by the police I needed a car for the drive-through, so I walked back home.
As soon as I walked in the door I heard “Where did you go? To have sex with one of your whores?” right in my face. I immediately pushed her down, in front of my friends. She came at me with a metal piece of furniture, hitting me in the face. I then grabbed her and threw her to the ground. As she kicked and punched, I went for her throat and began choking her. Moments later the cops came in through the door and separated us. Blood was pouring down my face while I began blaming her for attacking me. The cops took me outside and started asking me questions about what happened. I thought they were on my side until they read me my rights and put me back in the cop car. I sat there praying, asking for God to get me out of this. As we pulled away from my house, I saw my girlfriend being handcuffed and put into the other cop car.