As best I have been able to tell, my sugar addiction started even before I was born. My mother ate sweets for more than half her caloric intake from my conception until my birth.
Things got worse when I was a child. We always had candy and soft drinks around the house, donuts or sweet rolls for breakfast, and intensely sugary desserts like baklava every night. It was really lucky that my intellectual or physical growth wasn't stunted by the sugar since today it is known that sugar is capable of doing both. I probably avoided problems for two reasons: 1) we had protein-rich foods like lentils and chicken daily too and I ate a hamburger with tomato, lettuce, and onions for lunch every school day; and 2) I was VERY active, maybe due to a sugar high, and competed in three different sports every year and was good enough in cross country to run for my college team.
No one believed when I was growing up, although it is considered fact by most scientists today, that sugar is as addictive as cocaine.
I first became aware of my unusual bond with sugar when I was in high school. I was eating a glazed donut when I experienced a very anxious feeling about a pair of tests that I was going to take the next day. I alleviated my anxiety by eating the entire box of donuts.
Sugar bingeing became so noticeable that I could no longer fail to deal with it when I was a freshman in college, once cross country season had concluded. I was a little homesick – especially for my high school boy friend, whom I had started a sexual relationship with shortly after we turned eighteen -- and I turned to sugary foods to deal with it. No Twinkie, cupcake, bag of caramel corn, or cherry Danish was safe if I was around. Since I had a fast metabolism and during cross country was extremely active I didn't get fat, which in those days was the only tip off of a dietary problem. After Thanksgiving I got ill, with stomach problems and even a fever. To relieve my misery I ate chocolate bars, but I felt worse, not better.
The summer after my freshman year, on the recommendation of my family's stymied GP, I checked myself into a macrobiotic clinic. I was required to give up white flour, milk products, animal fat, caffeine, and sugar. In less than a week I sneaked to a local store several times to buy candy bars and caramel corn with the only money that had not been confiscated when I checked in, and then stole a few candy bars when I ran out of money. Eventually I was found eating a PayDay candy bar under my covers and was kicked out. "You're toxic," the psychologist at the rehab facility told me.
I stumbled through college. Fortunately I was smart enough to still make the grade, although I should have been doing better than I was. When I gave up cross country and started eating even more sugary foods during my junior year I gained twenty five pounds. The only place to turn at that time was Overeaters Anonymous. That didn't work either, so I turned back to regular exercise and lost twenty of the twenty five pounds I was overweight.
Somehow I graduated college a year early and enrolled in graduate school. I decided to study psychology to see what made me tick. It was in graduate school that I finally found someone who diagnosed my sugar problem, surprisingly a doctor at the University health center. While it was far from a mainstream concept at the time – she showed me probably the first truly intellectual article that had been written about sugar addiction – I believed her.
Unfortunately, by that time I had developed what some psychologists – myself included – now call "an addictive personality." My cravings for sugar when I went cold turkey had to be replaced by something. I had always enjoyed sex (who hasn't) although I was far from promiscuous or slutty, probably only twenty five total fucks by that time (I was twenty two) and all with condoms. I first started looking at porno magazines. Then with one date I went to a sex club.
After my trip to the sex club, the only thing that could alleviate my sugar cravings was sex – with lots of different guys. Sucking cock was just as rewarding as eating a chocolate covered donut, and getting fucked by one guy while sucking another guy's cock alleviated all of my sugar cravings. However, my sex yearnings caused me to be less careful and more desperate, so I started having unprotected sex. I got pregnant, had an abortion, and my life seemed to be spinning out of control.
I got lucky – that is all that it was, no skill on my part – when the doctor at the University health clinic introduced me to Brian, another graduate student who had the same sugar addiction problem that I did. The doctor didn't know that I had transferred my sugar addiction to a psychological sex addiction (even today no respected scientist believes that there is a physical sex addiction except for maybe one in more than a million exceptions), and now was reverting back to sugar after I had been scared by the pregnancy. The guy was decent looking and after we talked on several occasions (not really dates, but "therapy sessions") I told him how I had handled my problem.
His eyes got wide.
"Interesting, Amy...I shoot blanks as a result of having Scarlet Fever as a kid. If we were exclusive we wouldn't have the chance of getting some disease, and could deal with our sugar problem at the same time," Brian said. Then he got a concerned look on his face. "Oh shit; I hope that I didn't insult you;...I...I..."
I put him out of his misery. "You have your own apartment, don't you?" I asked, stroking his hand.
"Yes...." He cautiously replied.
"Let's go there and discuss it. We don't want anyone here in the Student Union overhearing us."
We were only in Brian's apartment for seconds before I was sucking his cock. He had a perfectly sized cock, including its aspect ratio, and big low hanging testicles. After I swallowed a full load of jism, he stripped me naked, ate my pussy to an orgasm, and then we went to his bed and fucked.
It turned out that both Brian and I were completely uninhibited; he loved me to suck his cock, I loved him to eat my pussy, and we loved to fuck. We gave up sugar cold turkey. I moved in with him as soon as my lease was up, and we were able to function like normal non-addicts as long as we had sex six days a week (sometimes multiple times a day). While we mated like rabbits, we never developed what was love, only mutual respect, and we both were never interested in marriage or anything close.
Our therapy sessions continued until we both got our degrees from graduate school at the age of twenty five. By then we thought that we had overcome our sugar addiction and as long as we had normal regular sex that we could function normally. I don't know what happened to Brian, but that was not the case for me.
Fortunately, I met a guy that I thought that I could have a lifelong relationship with shortly after I started work. His name was Franklin. He was an attorney. He was nice looking, average size, smart, and compassionate. I think that I pushed sex into our relationship a little before he would have thought appropriate, but he fell in love with me, I assured him that I was exclusive with him. Our relationship soon matured into love.
While the sex with Franklin was very good, he didn't really appreciate my situation with respect to sugar, although I had told him about it (I never told him about my sexual addiction to replace my sugar one), so he cavalierly had sweets around the house. Considering my past I started to develop my old feelings of insatiability. I went off the wagon regarding sugar consumption since it was available. I convinced myself that the balance I had between sex and sugar – neither as extreme as they had been in the past – was acceptable, especially since I regularly went to the health club so that I was only a few pounds over my optimum weight. Therefore I never sought out what I ultimately found out was the only thing that would eventually help – therapy.
Franklin and I got married just before my twenty seventh birthday, when he was twenty eight, and life seemed to be good. I worked in psychology, but only as a teacher, not in a discipline that would really help me with my problems. After we had been married two years Franklin badly wanted a child, and although I knew that it could cause me problems, I agreed and went off the pill. I got pregnant quickly, and as soon as I did I went cold turkey on sugar again. By then I had figured out that my mother's sugar intake while she was pregnant with me was a likely root cause of my addiction, and I certainly was not going to take the chance of doing the same thing to my child.
At first the glow of being pregnant masked my problem. It started to rear up when I was four months pregnant, however, and was now showing. Franklin was incapable of providing as much sex as I needed to overcome the lack of sugar, both because of his natural libido and also because he started to treat me less sexually once I started to show. I was starting to lose my mind, and one night when he was out of town on business and I ate half a dozen glazed donuts before I caught myself and induced vomiting, I knew that I had to do something.
Franklin had an older brother Tom (actually half-brother; Tom's father died while his mother was pregnant with him but she remarried when Tom was only nine months old). Tom lived nearby. Tom was married to Connie, a beautiful and intelligent woman but more-or-less a cold fish, and someone who definitely did not want children. I also knew from discussions with Franklin's mom that Franklin was being nursed when Tom was a three-year-old toddler. From my psychology training I also was well aware that more than 75% of boys who are toddlers when their mother is nursing a sibling (85% if it is a male sibling) develop a fetish – they want to fuck a pregnant woman.
The above facts, combined with my excellent relationship with Tom, the appreciative looks that he had always given me (now even more appreciative since I was pregnant), and his six foot five inch, 220 pound athletic body (Tom's father was much larger than Franklin's) planted a seed in my brain that I could not shake. Only two days after the seed was planted I had lunch with Tom, told him about my sugar addiction history and the only thing that could replace it; I blatantly propositioned him.
Tom got red, blabbered, then stuttered, said some complimentary things, but in the end said that he just couldn't do it to Franklin (no mention of Connie). As we parted I promised him complete confidentiality and gave him a passionate kiss while I "inadvertently" stroked his hard on, which was about to burst his zipper.
Tom didn't call saying he had changed his mind, and I was about to place a Craig's List ad, when serendipity hit. Franklin and Connie were both going to be out of town on business Wednesday and Thursday night the next week. I called Tom and invited him to dinner on Wednesday. "I promise not to push the subject we talked about at lunch, and I'll pick you up and we can go to a restaurant."
There was a little hesitancy on Tom's part but he said "OK – but we go Dutch, you don't have to treat."
"Great – I'll pick you up at 6:30 Wednesday night," I joyously replied, and ended the call with the most sultry "Bye, now," that I could muster.
Of course I had every intention of fucking Tom senseless on Wednesday night; while I was going to act more than talk there would be no way to avoid the subject he and I had discussed at lunch. I deliberately arrived early, wearing only a trench coat and thigh-high boots. When he opened the door and said "Hi Amy; you're early but I'm almost ready; come on in," I did just that.
I followed him to his bedroom where he was retrieving his wallet and keys from his dresser and dropped the trench coat.
When Tom turned to look at me his eyes got bigger than baseballs and he moaned "Oh shit."
"Please Tom, you've got to help me otherwise I'll become a tramp. I swear no one will ever find out," I murmured as I approached him, flipping my hair over my shoulder, licking my lips, and reaching for his belt.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck," he mumbled as he perfunctorily deflected my hands from his crotch.
