[BLOG]Evans From The Heavens
"Confessions Of A Sex Addict"
04.24.14
BY KEITH EVANS

OK, maybe that title was a bit dramatic. Perhaps it seemed more appealing because of it's "buzz phrase" categorization in recent years. Even if we throw out my theory that there is truly no such thing as "sex addict", by definition, bullshit or not, I am not. What I am can probably be better described as a "sex brat".

/brat/
noun, derogatory, humorous
1. a child, typically a badly behaved one.
synonyms: badly behaved child, spoiled child; rascal, wretch, imp, scamp, scapegrace, whippersnapper; minx;

informal-monster, horror, hellion; archaic-jackanapes
"now that I've met his two little brats, I'm not so sure about this relationship"


Yep, that's it. I'm a sex brat. I'm whiny, I sometimes throw tantrums, and I behave badly if I don't get my way. That sad irony is, I didn't become a "sex brat" until I started actually being good AT sex, which if I'm being totally candid, wasn't till about 7 to 8 years ago... Let's start from the beginning.

I lost my virginity at age 15. Freshman year. To girl named Dalmatia. Like any typical boy at that age and time, it mattered that I was "good" at it my first time just about as much as it mattered that the first girl I accepted the opportunity to share this special moment with was named Dalmatia. It was my first time, and probably like her 7th or 8th, so obviously, I fumbled and stumbled my way through it, simply content with my first "release".

Sophomore year came, as did I, a handful more times with 1 or 2 different gals, when something astonishing happened. By, what I can only now label as a miraculous mistake, I found my way down into the depths of VagVille with the deadly weapon that the Bible has taught me is called my tongue. Assuming it was no different than kissing, which I had mastered, seeing as i had my first tongue kiss in kindergarten, I went to town. She seemed to be extremely pleased, far more pleased than anything my penis had done to this point. No wincing, no blatant signs of boredom, all smiles and moans. Also, besides the slight fear of having her thighs crush my face like a vice, there was no "stage fright" factor that immediately effected my tongue's performance. She told her friend, who became curious, then I "went down" on her. She told HER friend, who became curious as well, then I went down on her. So on and so forth.

Word got around, a reputation was established. I was officially "Keith, the dude who eats pussy". Because this was the mid 90s at an all-black high school, I was constantly ridiculed and made fun of by the majority of the male population in my school. Lucky for me, I could give two fucks about what a bunch of dudes thought of me when I had the majority of the female population walking past me in hallways shooting me smiles. Like an idiot savant, I studied and honed my craft. You know how some people are "self taught" musicians? Yeah, that was me, orally, and THIS is the origin story of the "Cunnilingus Specialist".

In hindsight, this was a gift and a curse. A gift for obvious reasons. A curse because... well, I became so good at it that it was all I needed. I didn't have to be good at "actual" sex. Why would I need to be? I could bring women to completion 2 or 3 times with my mouth alone, and by the time I got to insertion, I just needed to finish up with my ejaculation and I was done. Ignorant to the notion that not all girls "get there" the same, you couldn't have convinced me I didn't possess the "holy grail" of sex skills. Look at it like this way, you know that quarterback whose got accolades up the ass from high school and college because he's always been blessed with a little bit of Michael Vick shuffle and an amazing offensive line? Cunnilingus was my offensive line. Women who can only be stimulated via penetration and all the other different combinations of what other women need to get off are the All-Pro, Ray Lewis led defense. I probably didn't come to this realization until my mid 20s, and by that point, it seemed slightly irrelevant because I was participating and long term relationships that gave women the luxury of either lying to me because they loved me, or simply being content with my A+ cunnilingus/C+ coitus, because they "loved me".

Well, needless to say, I did what I could to survive. Like a species that adapts to it's environment, I sought change. Little by little, I studied, I learned, I paid attention. Then, the weirdest thing happened...

After going through almost all phases of sex, from novice beginner, to braggadocios know it all. From discovering that it's not always your "skill level" but sometimes just the chemistry shared between two people, to being jaded and almost completely bored with it in general, in search of something greater and more fulfilling, ...I got good. Not to say I'm some porn star, but I'd be re missed to say I wasn't deece. Stamina increased. Resiliency on point. Positions I hated before started to become normal and expand my move set. Transitions got smoother, and also, oddly enough, something you don't particularly expect from men in their mid 30s... I actually got bigger.

Fast forward to now. My girlfriend and I have AMAZING sex. Sometimes intense. Sometimes passionate. Sometimes archaic. Always good. But, I think maybe, JUST maybe, I want it on a more constant basis than she does. Now, I feel like I should clarify this on a few different levels. This is not at all a jab or cheap shot at her and her sexual prowess. She is fabulously active, as well as adventurous in this department, and to be fair it's far less that she's not wanting it as consistently as me, and farther more that she enjoys sleeping and resting way too much. I'm also sure she had no idea at my age that I would all of a sudden go through this weird teenaged jackrabbit phase. That brings me to my other point. I'm going through some weird teenaged jackrabbit phase. Like I haven't been THIS horny, THIS often since I discovered that I could milk my penis. I'm a horrible cuddler. I just can't do it. I mean, I CAN do it, just not for what it is. I enjoy the concept of it. I definitely enjoy the act of it to an extent, but my body itself doesn't accept spooning as a prolonged loving hug, or simple act of comfort and adoring relaxation. As far as my body is concerned, it's simply a prelude to a monumental sexual conquest. And if A doesn't automatically lead to B or C or D, I get pouty as fuck.

I'm not talking normal pouty either. It's more like, if you stuck a telescope in my brain after an attempt to "get it on" with "my person", who is obviously exhausted and barely able to hold her eyes open, after she turns over (foolishly nestling her gorgeous heart shaped ass into my crotch) and goes to sleep, you'd probably just see a compilation of those YouTube vids of all the white kids throwing tantrums at Wal-Mart. It's shameful. It's like my sex drive is having a mid life crisis, bought a motorcycle, and wears fedoras. I'm a sex brat. A whiny, self entitled little sex brat. It's as if I have the thought process that now, since I feel I've finally "come into my own" (pun intended, though, I'm not sure it should), I now feel I should have it all the time, whenever I want, and my partner had "betta' raise up to my level". She does everything, including all the indiscrectionary things, I like. There are times where she even "feels bad" and wakes me up with some good lovin. It's simply me. When I want schtuff, I want schtuff now, and if I can't immediately receive said schtuff, I pout. Like a baby. A big, grown, adult sized, slightly over-weight, over sexed baby.

Nonsense.

Funny thing is, none of this new found virility has improved my "comeback game" at all. I mean to say, after I come, I still sustain the normal average time of flaccid uselessness that most men experience. It's simply this, as long as I haven't JUST came (masturbation exempt), I want it... NOW... Like a wolf to his prey. Like Lindsay to her cocaine. Like Michael Jackson to his supple boy (Not like HIS boy, like his sons. Michael Jackson was not only the King of Pop, but a philanthropist, and probably an awesome fucking Dad, and I don't believe he would ever molest his children... he did touched those other little boys though). Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to throw some toys and squirm around on the floor in tears like a grown baby. #science






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