Deviance and Convention

I am frustrated. My stress level is through the roof. We are moving across the country in T minus 3 days, and to say I am overwhelmed would be an understatement.

Naturally, this means that I am horny as hell.

The past two nights I wanted it bad, but the husband was so exhausted that I did not approach. Last night, after a 30 minute tantrum thrown by my son because we would not grant his completely ridiculous request to watch TV at 12:40 AM, I became so angry that I snuck outside after he was finally tamed, and had a cigarette.

And I thought, literally, the only thing that could stop me from wanting to throw myself off a building right now, is having two men pound the hell out of me at once. I felt consumed. I felt like if I did not get fucked immediately I would simply lose the will to live. I thought, there is no way I am beating this addiction–I am fucking toast. I convinced myself to crawl back into bed instead of returning messages from randoms on Fet Life. I pulled the covers over me, and my daughter, whose refusal to sleep in her own bed makes me want to smash my head against a wall, wrapped her arms around my neck.

This is love. This is good. 


This morning I dropped by the not for profit where I used to volunteer. I was an unpaid program coordinator and media contributor, but the experience it gave me is responsible for me landing the salaried job I am about to start in less than a week. I walked through the doors to say my good-byes to the close-knit staff, volunteers and clients who had made me part of their community, and stopped short when I saw him. Oh shit, I said aloud but under my breath. I had been hoping hard that he would not be there. We made awkward eye-contact around the table, while the members of the Christian-based organization said the morning prayers. I wanted to evaporate.

Walking in there at all had been hard for me. I was afraid that he might have told people what happened between us.  There were Facebook messages and emails that ensured I would not simply be able to say it was his word against mine. This was the most illicit affair I had ever had, and he was sitting there staring at me in a way that clearly said I remember what you look like in the throes of passion. 

When it was time for me to leave, he walked me out. We spoke casually, with veiled references to what had happened between us. I was a volunteer, he was a “youth”. He was in his early 20’s but needed assistance from the center, and I had been trusted to provide support to him and others like him and, um, not have sex with him! When waiting to hear back about whether I landed my new job, I felt like I was holding my breath the entire time. I had used the center as a reference since I got so much of my experience there, and I was terrified that someone may have found out about us and my references would be ruined. Even after I was offered the job, I continued to worry. What if they found out and called my new place of employment to tell them what a scumbag I was? What if my husband somehow found out why I didn’t get the job and divorced me (he is vehemently against anyone in a leadership position having sex with anyone they are suppose to be leading). In part I may have gone back just to make sure our secret was still under wraps.

These are the kind of things I think about when I feel tempted to throw myself back into the addicted life. I cannot cave, because look at what I almost did to my professional career. I cannot cave, because I very well could have cost my family the chance to FINALLY have financial stability. I cannot cave. I cannot, I cannot, I cannot, because when I spin out of control, I do awful, terrible, stupid things.


I am still on FetLife. I have not been responding to private messages or looking at people’s feeds, but I have joined a group in the city we are moving to. I avoided any play groups in favor of one for cultured kinksters. Events are vanilla–they include trips to art shows, folk festivals and poetry readings.

I think I am kidding myself if I believe that I will not hook up with anyone from this group. Then again, I belonged to a similar group in my current area and never became sexually involved with any of the members, so maybe it is possible. I suppose I should ask my new e-sponsor what she thinks.

Mostly I want open-minded friends to go out and do things with. I do not want to do it at the expense of my recovery, and there is more than a tiny part of me that wonders if I am using the need for non-judgmental friendship as an excuse to find more sex partners. Part of me wonders if having another partner outside my husband would be the worst thing ever.

I know though, that it is not about monogamy vs. non-exclusivity. It is about me, and my ability (or lack thereof) to engage in sex in a healthy way without it escalating or becoming an obsession. I would be lying if I said I didn’t want another boyfriend, girlfriend or friend with benefits someday, but I have no idea how this fits in the framework of recovery. Conventional wisdom is that I should not even be thinking about this as a possibility until I have my sexual impulses under control and they no longer rule my life.

I suppose there are times when even the deviant needs to live according to convention.


One Comment on “Deviance and Convention”

  1. Deep breathes, deep breathes

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