Sexaholics (3 page)

“Stop lusting and become sober,” each person said as one.

“Very good. The one thing you all have in common is that you have all
been driven to the point of despair. That’s why you’re here. I want
all of you to see that each of us, each and every one of us, as sexual addicts,
takes from others in a sexual way something that is somehow lacking in
ourselves. But what we end up doing is giving away our power through the
forbidden. At some point in our young lives, because of some event or
experience, we tuned things out with fantasy and masturbation, probably because
someone took away our power somewhere along the way. This is a physical,
emotional, and spiritual problem, and therefore healing and sobriety must come
in those three ways as well. When you lose control, you no longer have the power
of choice. I want to give you back your power of choice. I want you to give
yourself back your power of choice. Your stories tell me you want to gain
control, and you want to live a life of making positive, healthy choices that no
longer spell addiction.

“This is a twelve-step recovery program that I will tell you now is
spiritual. You’ll hear me talk about God as we get to know the steps of
recovery. One thing you need to know for sure is that you may or may not believe
in God, but even if you get to know the twelve steps inside and out, if you
don’t have your own source of spirituality or faith, you won’t get
to recovery without it.

“Sexaholism will follow you every day for the rest of your lives. It is
an addiction. And addiction is the management of feelings out of control. You
have to own it and be in a community of other members. Recovery takes
comprehensive counseling in a safe environment. The only thing that
differentiates you from the next new person who comes through that door is your
sobriety. How long can you abstain from the act itself, not engaging in
unhealthy sex with someone else, or with yourself in some cases? That number of
days will add up to mean your anniversary. It will be part of your identity. You
will be one day, or three months, or one year, or ten years sober, and you will
celebrate like it is the first day of the rest of your life. And each time you
fall off the wagon and engage in intercourse and sexual acts, excluding with
your spouses, you start that number all over again. It’s all up to you. It
can be done. I won’t give up on you. Will you?”

The group replied “No” all together.

The group counselor continued, “I challenge you to make a true
commitment over time that becomes a part of your lives. And by the way, I am
five years, two months, and six days sober and having sex only with my spouse. I
could tell you the number of hours if necessary. Years ago I had daily sex with
my married neighbor while his wife was at work. Next thing I knew, his teenage
son joined in to make it a threesome, so I began sleeping with both of them, the
father and the son, sometimes together, sometimes not. The parents didn’t
know why but the son got so sprung that he tried to kill himself. My
neighbor’s wife confided in me that she knew her husband was fooling
around on her. The final straw was when I ended up fucking the wife, too. Her
husband would have no idea where she was all night long, and she would be lying
in my bed right next door. She left her husband for me and is still with me
today. We got married. He moved away in shame. Nothing you can say to me would
shock me. My name is Rachel Cummings, and I’m a sexaholic, also. And
it’s time to hug a new day.”

Each member of the group, an unusually equal mix of men and women, eyed each
other and raised eyebrows and nodded and smiled at Rachel Cummings. Two of the
men had heard it before but still wore their thoughts on their faces. Some
scooted back and some uncrossed their legs, some sipped on bottled water, and
some looked around the room. But a cleansing feeling of shaking off all the
admissions permeated the air, and an anxiousness of knowing that it was time to
learn and heal and deal, as equals, as addicts, took over.

After thirty more minutes of going over the first step in the 12-step
program—admitting to being powerless over sex and that their lives were
now unmanageable—the sponsor ended the session and promised to see
everyone back in two weeks, same time, same place.

Valencia and Miki left hand in hand, with more pep in their steps than they
had going in. Teela and Brandi exchanged new friendship farewells and exited in
different directions.

Valencia dropped her hand to reach in her purse for her grape BlackBerry. She
said to Miki, “I’m proud of you,
chica
.”

“You too, Val. To summarize and admit all that was harder than I
thought.”

“You closed your eyes like you saw it happening all over again.”
A slight summer breeze blew Valencia’s long, curly, dark brown hair away
from her oval face as they stepped out of the clinic front door.

“I did see it.” Miki cleared her throat. “It was
wild.”

“It sounded like
The Vagina Monologues
, if you ask me. It was
interesting as hell.”

Miki gave a soft laugh. “That it was. So, where’re you
headed?” she asked with keys in hand as they walked amongst the evening
darkness.

Valencia looked down at her BlackBerry and touched the screen.
“I’m headed to Greg’s place. I see a few missed calls from
him. He’s so excited about the fact that I agreed to get help. I must say
after this first meeting I’m getting excited, too.”

Miki stopped suddenly as the hazel-eyed man who was in the group walked
up.

“Hello. How are you ladies doing? You may not remember my name from the
brief intros of the regulars but I’m Dwayne. Dwayne Grace.” The man
towered over Miki’s frame. He had on a white T-shirt and jeans.

“Hi,” Miki replied with an instant look of sexy flirt.

Valencia stopped, too. “Hello. Okay, I guess I’ll see you later,
mama.” She moved in closer to her friend and gave her a lip kiss.

Miki offered a distracted half kiss back, as well as a half hug. Her eyes
were stuck on big, tall Dwayne from the waist down.

Noticing her friend’s visual diversion, Valencia proceeded on with her
car alarm remote in hand, switching her hips in dark blue pencil jeans.
“Buzz me.”

Miki nodded and then yanked her eyes from Dwayne to Valencia. “Okay.
I’m headed home. Drive safely.”

Valencia gave an
umph
sound.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said.

Miki slid her eyes back and put out her hand. “No problem. My name
is…”

“I know. Miki, right?” He shook her hand and kept it.

“Nice to meet you, Dwayne.”

He still held her hand as they began to walk toward the parking lot. “I
heard your story.”

Miki beamed with a marriage of embarrassment and attraction. “I feel as
though you know me. But what’s your story?”

“I’d actually love to share it with you.”

Miki stopped, looking up at him. “Your place or mine?”

Dwayne answered without missing a beat. “Yours.” He released his
grip and reached into his pants pocket for his wallet, keeping his eyes on her
as he handed over his business card. “My cell number is at the
bottom.”

She read each and every letter and number. “Oh, okay. I’m in
Inglewood. I’ll call you. See you in an hour.”

“I’m in Ladera. Actually, would you like to come by my
place?”

“Sure. I’ll be there.” Miki began to walk away and looked
back. “And you’ve got a condom, right?”

“I’ve got a ton of them,” he assured her with a naughty
grin.

Miki spoke in a private tone to his wide, V-shaped back as he hurried toward
his silver Corvette, walking like a stud in what she noticed to be some very big
shoes. She shook her head in amazement. “Uh, uh, uh. I’ll bet
that’s a Trojan Magnum XL there. I’m gonna fuck the shit outta his
big, fine ass.”

Miki

T
he royal blue nine o’clock
nighttime skies, lukewarm evening air, sparkly diamond-like stars, and full,
luminous milky moon helped to set the mood above the manicured cul-de-sac street
where one particular expensive ranch-style home contained macho bachelor
and long-time resident big-shoes Dwayne Grace and his guest.

Barefoot, he made his way along the Brazilian oak flooring of the art deco
hallway after brushing his teeth in the grand bathroom of his lower Ladera
Heights master bedroom suite. His hazel eyes met an alluring vision named Miki
Summers, the tall, sexy, self-proclaimed nymphomaniac he’d known for only
an hour and a half, who was seductively awaiting his return. Like him, she was a
slave to the unrelenting powers of her own intense sexual urges. It was a
distinct addictive need that was stronger than the both of them. She lay
awaiting an exchange of anticipated mutual top-shelf sexual prowess, as though
she was his female equal.

Miki was sprawled butt naked on top of the milk-chocolate sheets of
Dwayne’s massive, high-gloss cherrywood sleigh bed, which matched his
distinctive design colors of maroon, tan, and coffee bean. A soulful, old-school
jam—“Stranger” by L.T.D.—serenaded their coming
together.

Her thirty-five-inch legs were spread wide. Her body was the color of dark
rum, like her curly, bushy pubic hair. Her tits were pleasingly plump, like her
beautiful, bountiful ass. Her thighs were thick like her juicy, generous lips.
He couldn’t have asked for more if he’d personally designed her
himself.

Dwayne’s red-boned face and low-hanging cinnamon dick, which matched
his size fourteen feet, reacted at the same time. Both smiling bigger than a fat
kid with a triple dip banana split with double fudge and three fresh, red
cherries and chopped pistachio nuts on top.

He removed a towel from around his neck. He smelled like amber spice soap. He
stood upon the mocha rug. His six-five frame hovered over Miki’s curvy
body. His grand manhood pointed directly at her approving face.

He’d placed a trio of almond candles on the oversized dresser. The tiny
votives flickered along the buff walls like they were blazing from a
wood-burning fireplace. There was a half-empty bottle of banana red MD 20/20 on
the nightstand. Both Dwayne and Miki had taken extralong swigs. The red liquid
surely helped them build up the nerve, though neither really needed a spinning
head to entice them to get their freak on. The problem was, it never turned
off.

Miki looked up at Dwayne’s long, muscular frame.

Her dark eyes said
willing to please.

His light eyes said the same.

Even though her exposed pussy was prone, he brought his dick to her cocoa
lips and inched inside her mouth. Her wide, extended tongue traced the shape of
his wide shaft. She adjusted herself just so and took the oral-receiver
position, slurping and sucking as he poked his lengthy penis down her throat
farther and farther. It sounded like she was gargling. Her moans had depth. She
obviously had no problem with him meeting her tonsils. She accommodated his size
like it was her distinct pleasure to do so.

He stood with his legs apart, hands on his hips, working his happy dick into
her mouth. He looked down at her deep-throating skills, while every muscle of
his ass cheeks was at peak contraction, adding to the power of his pumping.
“Hell yeah, you suck a mean dick. Dammit. You swallow the whole damn
thing. That’s how the shit should be done right there.” He moved her
flat-ironed hair to the side so he could get a better view of the face he
fucked. Her sounds of choking on his size made his nipples hard as steel.

She flashed big, innocent bedroom eyes up at him, nodding in total agreement.
All he heard were continued sounds of
gngna, gngna, gngna.
Her throat
vibrated against his cock. She looked downward again and brought her mouth to
meet his heavy testicles. She sucked and sucked, then eased down for a skilled
tea-bag move on both balls.

He moaned and then demanded, “Let me tittie-fuck you, baby. Give me
those pretty-ass titties. Now.”

She placed a full kiss on his tip and stood. He lay on his back with his
forever legs hanging off the bed. She straddled him in reverse, sixty-nine
style, securing her chest to his hardness and her pussy to his face. From the
six position, she spit just in between her breasts and slipped his penis up and
back along her soaked skin.

From the nine position, he put his face in it, inserting his tongue into her
creamed-up, dark pink slit and sucking her smooth pussy skin, blowing slightly
and lapping her up with a long lick stroke. He did a tongue push against her
skin and licked briskly from side to side.

She said like a porno star, “Oooh, you so nasty. Oooooh, that shit is
so nasty.” She felt him devour her pussy triangle. His wet tongue parted
her drenched lips. She jumped and looked back. “Boy, you so muthafuckin
nasty.” She then focused on her precision tittie-fuck and asked,
“You like that? That’s so pretty. My tits fit just perfect around
that pretty dick.”