Confessions Of A Sex Addict 3

My name is Tony and I'm a sex addict... Yeah hello to you too.

OK. So. I've been asking myself a question since I got here. Why am I forking out thirty large for rehab when I could be living it up in Vegas?

To make it so's I don't hurt nobody no more cause I like to fuck so much? To become a better person? Nah. I'm here because I don't want to go to jail.

Don't look at me like that. I swear on my children's lives I ain't done nothin' illegal. You know, sexually. But these days? A crazy bitch makes some wild accusation and boom! You're fucked. Guilty until proven guilty.

I checked in here for what my lawyer calls a preemptive defense. In case some crazy bitch decides to go nuclear. Not just any crazy bitch. Ellen.

That ain't her real name. The reason I call her that ain't got nothing to do with that talk show dyke Ellen Degenerates. The name Ellen reminds me of a sign at the family meat market. "If you got a complaint, go to Ellen Wait."

That's funny, right? Alright. Let's get down to it.

I met this broad Ellen at Whole Foods, a fancy grocery store where you never sure what pronoun to use for the people who work there.

No question about Ellen's pronoun. The second I saw her standing by the freezer I knew she was all woman. The sex kitten to end all sex kittens.

I say that as a dog person and a guy who's fucked I dunno, hundreds of women. Some real lookers too. But nothing like her. Ellen was so hot I worried that all that shit in the freezer would melt.

Not really, but you get the picture.

You want to know what she looks like? Barbie. Blond hair, blue eyes, big tits, long legs, small waist, perfect ass. Just like the doll, only not plastic. Except for her tits.

The main difference: Ellen dresses like a slut and fucks like a rabbit.

Not just any slut. A classy slut. Just enough cleavage to give guys a hard-on, but not so much you'd think she's a hooker.

The strange thing is, she ain't really my type. Me, I got a thing for small girls. Bitches I can throw around.

Besides, how can I relax with a woman who attracts more attention than John Gotti?

We go to a nice restaurant, guys get kicked under the table. We walk down the street, traffic stops. Some asshole in a G-Wagon took one look Ellen, lost his shit and plowed straight into a Toyota.

So I pour on the charm, get her phone number and a nice bottle of Chianti. Next night I spin round her place to pick her up. Come in, she says.

Which was exactly what I did -- in her pussy. Fucking her before you can say "I want to talk to a lawyer."

After we had sex all I could say was "I want to talk to a doctor."

Ellen had this old man fucking like a 20-year-old. Couple of weeks later and I started looking like a 20-year-old.

I lost a shit ton of weight and gained more muscle than I did throwing the hammer. The sport I did in high school. Nothing to do with debt collection.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Speaking of head, let's talk about blowjobs.

Some women hate giving blowjobs. Some women are OK with sucking dick, but only cause they want the guy to go down on them and fair is fair.

Very few women love giving blowjobs. Love it like guys like Italian cars, Tennessee whiskey and pussy.

You'd think any woman who loves sucking dick would give great head. Blow your mind and your baby maker. Nope.

I can't tell you how many blowjob positive women sucked my dick like an automatic milking machine. Not that I'm complaining.

OK yeah. I am. Ellen plays skin flute like Itzhak Perlman plays violin. Ruined me for other women. Ellen did, not the violin guy.

Y'ever had a woman blow you through your pants? She don't always start that way, but that's tells you how Ellen much worships dick.

I don't use that word lightly. Ellen treats my cock like it's a holy sacrament. Like I was... you know.

She rubs her face against my pants. Strokes my cock with her hands. Licks and sucks it too. I had to stop wearing chinos so people didn't think I pissed my pants.

When I can't take it no more she takes my dick out like a little girl opening a Christmas present. Something she'd been waiting for all year.

She takes her own sweet time blowing me, too.

Running her tongue up and down the shaft, swirling it around the head. Stroking my cock. Teasing it. Loving it like a kid loves stealing weed from his old man, if you was me.

That's before she takes my head in her mouth. Not my whole dick, just the tip. Slowly. Making me want to shove it down her throat.

I admit it: sometimes I do. Make her gag. Ever had a woman who likes to gag? It's like finding a couple of hundreds in your pants in the dryer.

Normally, I'm in charge of a blowjob. 'Cause like I said, most women are better at changing a tire than giving a blowjob.

With Ellen, I'm on a rocket ship to the moon -- not that that really happened. The moon thing. Blowjobs from Ellen? All the fucking time. I just strap in, hold on and enjoy the ride.

I don't always cum. If Ellen wants to save my cum for her pussy, ass, tits or face, that's what I do. She lets me think it's my decision. But if I'm honest it ain't.

If I cum in her mouth, Ellen shows it to me. Plays with it with her tongue.

If I cum on her face, stomach or tits, she puts it on her fingers and licks them clean. Baby blues locked on mine, giving me one of them grateful, satisfied smiles.

No matter where I fire my load, the party's just getting started. Five minutes later, maybe less, we're straight back at it.

It being fucking. So let's talk about that...

Guys always talk about how wet or tight a pussy is. The way I look at it, if it ain't wet, you forgot to go down on her. And I never met a pussy that wasn't tight, especially since women started doing those coo-girl exercises.

You know what sets Ellen apart? She cums easy. She cums if I look at her pussy. When my tongue hits her clit she thrashes around like she's having an epileptic fit.

When I fuck her, she has more orgasms than any four women I know. Except for this freaky chick named Lisa, but that's another story.

Ellen's orgasms are as powerful as one of them Dodge Hellcats. Her eyes roll back in her head, her legs shake, the works.

She ain't one of them women who cums like she's in that movie where aliens kill anything that makes a noise. The sounds she makes would turn on a nuclear power plant.

Moans? Yeah she moans. Screams too.

One time, my neighbors called the cops. I thought oh God, here we go. But once Officer Pretty Boy saw Barbie, come to the door dressed in nothing much. He got the picture.

He got Ellen's number too. I know for a fact he fucked her.

But I'm not jealous. It kinda takes the pressure off. And every now and then she tells me somethin' he said that turns out to be useful.

I'll tell you what isn't useful. Her jealousy. I don't care who she fucks, but she sure as hell cares who I fuck.

It's not so much an open relationship as an open wound. She's gets all up in my face, like we're married or somethin'.

When Ellen heard I banged her hairdresser, that's when the threats started.

I ain't gonna tell you what bullshit Ellen said she was gonna tell the cops. Let's just say it's the kind of thing that makes them me-too types want to slit your throat.

It's all bullshit I swear. But here we are. And you know what? I'm not totally hating it.

I'm learning a lot. Like I suffer from emotional discombobulation. That's a fancy way of sayin' I can't control the urge to dip my wick. Or not get angry when someone's a couple a weeks late making a payment.

Ellen says she's gonna visit. Wrote me a letter. Says she can't wait to see the new me.

I have no fucking idea how she found me. If there's one thing my friends are good at, it's keeping their fucking mouth shut. I expect you to do likewise.

I think there are some rules about conjugated visits 'round here, but I never was too good about following' rules. So if you see me with a big smile on my face, again, don't tell no one nothin'.

I'll leave you with this wild quote I heard in group. Everything in the world is about sex. Except sex. Sex is about power.

What I learned is the only power you have against pussy is the power to walk away. You ain't got that, then you're the pussy. Capisce?