Here is another excerpt from Aching: Memoirs of an Unrequited Sex Addict. In this selection, I talk about what a horned-up little kid I was.
From Chapter 4:
Before I knew anything specific about sex, I knew it was taboo and therefore interesting. The kids in my neighborhood were several years older than me. They told me dirty jokes. Retelling these dirty jokes at my school made me popular. Although I didn’t know what the jokes meant, I maintained a status among my peers as the kid who knew about filth. The neighbors who told me the dirty jokes also introduced me to porn. I didn’t know what was happening in the pictures, but I was intrigued. I tried my best to find more. Not long after this, I was the one showing porn to other kids. By nine, I was a pervert by most people’s standards.
That year, I saw my parents having sex. Our home was small and offered little privacy. Finding time to fuck must’ve been tricky for them. One night, I walked in on them. My mother was mortified. My father was annoyed. They each tried to explain what they were doing. I didn’t believe them. I’d seen images of sex, but I didn’t make the connection. I’d been reading about the occult and I thought they were selling their souls to the devil. Over the next few months, I became afraid of most of the adults in my life, assuming they were all in league with Satan.
By ten, I began to notice more of the sex around me. To help calm me during my devil-worship paranoia, my parents gave me their separate versions of the Sex Talk. My mother called it “making love.” My father called it “sex.” After their speeches, I noticed sex on television, in movies, and in music. I saw the way people kissed. In a horribly uncomfortable and confused moment, I tried to kiss my mother’s neck the way I’d seen a couple kiss in a movie. I really have no idea what prompted me to think that was okay. Sometime that year, I began drawing sexual illustrations in textbooks at school. My teachers weren’t pleased, and not just because of the laughable inaccuracy of my drawings. My parents got a phone call.
All the while, my neighbors were getting older. Shorty after I started sixth grade, one of them showed me a picture someone had taken of her holding some guy’s cock. I’ve no idea why she showed me. She would’ve been about fourteen. This was a step up from the magazines she’d shown me. It reminded me that sex was something people really did. My neighbors—two girls, a year apart from one another—seemed to do it a lot.
My first feelings of genuine arousal started later that year. I still was the dirty joke kid, but now I told dirty stories as well. Most of these were about my neighbors. By peering from my kitchen window, I’d seen them cavorting topless in their kitchen. Their round bodies didn’t look like what I imagined naked bodies to look like. I used my imagination to piece together stories about what they did with the boys they brought over for backyard tent parties. My friends hung on these stories. I also told stories about my older stepsister. I didn’t know I had a stepsister until she moved in with my family. She was ten years older. While she was supposed to be babysitting me, she had trysts with her boyfriends. Years later, I pieced together that she might have had one with her boss. As I grew old enough to notice them, I caught a few glimpses of her tits. I rummaged through her underwear drawer when she wasn’t home. I brought some of her panties to school to go along with the stories I told about her. Doing this turned me on, which even at twelve I realized was weird. I acknowledged she had a nice body. Finding her attractive has made me wonder what my youth would’ve been like had my mother ever been even remotely attractive. As it was, my stepsister was my sole direct inspiration for sexual fantasy around the house. I don’t speak with her as an adult, but I’m thinking she had no idea about any of this…
I’ll post more later this week.