The preteen years of a sex addict

I knew bringing the note home would end badly. My third grade teacher told me that I was doing good in class. I walked home as slow as I could clutching the note that would get me in big trouble. I wasn’t in a hurry because I knew a whipping would be coming. It felt like a fat man was sitting on my chest, my eyes were weepy and felt like I was going to puke. I had a hard time swallowing as I made the climb to our government issued family apartment on the fourth floor.

When I realized that nobody was home, I was somewhat relieved. I had some time. I grabbed my bike out of the basement and headed my cub scout meeting1. I would face the music when I got home, but for now, I was free.2

While we were in Germany I started third grade at the DODDS3 elementary school that was in the housing area across from “Centerville,” where my family and I lived. The class work was much more than I was ready for and the reports home often lead to beating sessions with my dad followed by long term grounding.

My circle of friends in the housing area were all latchkey kids like me. We mostly spent our time after school in the large playground and fields between the apartment building and parking lots of the housing area. It wasn’t entirely unhappy, as a group, we were tight. As we got older, into our pre-adolescent and teen years, hide-n-go-seek was replaced by tackle football5 and kissing games.

Many times somebody would buy a porno magazine from the German convenient stores, or find a stash that was thrown out in a near by dumpster. We would take these into the wooded path and find a spot to look at the adult material we found. Often the guys and girls would talk about sex on the path. Sometimes we played showed off our private parts to each other; and sometimes the kissing games would lead to heavy petting. I missed the girl in California and long to resume the secret sex life I had.

I don’t remember where I met Margo. She was a half-German girl who lived in the “economy,” or German houses right off the path of the government housing area. Margo became my secret friend. Unlike the girl in California, Margo was more than two years older than me. She was pretty and more developed then the other girls I had seen in private before. I liked her and developed what I thought were real feelings. We never went out in public together. We spent most of the time in her attic playroom. It started much like the “play” that I did with the girl in California, but ended differently.

Margo began to learn how to get me aroused on a normal basis. I also noticed that Margo’s private parts would get wet if things got a little exciting. When I was eleven and she was about thirteen, we managed intercourse but without ejaculation. It was both extremely exciting and somewhat disappointing. I didn’t know how it was supposed to feel, but I felt that it should be more intense and less clumsy than it really was.

I left Germany at the peak of my relationship with Margo. I promised to write and so did she, but we never did.


1 I stared scouting in Cub Scouts; my father was the local Boy Scout master so he made me. It was good though. Learned a lot about how to be a boy and overall it was a very positive experience. I stuck with it and nearly earn the rank of Eagle Scout. Dad was a great Scout Master. He treated my brother and I like the other Scouts while we were involved with it.
2 Dad whipped me with belt until I clearly had open wounds on my rear.
3 Department of Defense Dependent Schools.
5 We played both neighborhood tackle football as well as organized football with the youth recreation program.

The early childhood years of a sex and porn addict

As I walked up to their room, I heard strange noises but didn’t know what to make of them. I didn’t need to open the door, it was already slightly open, and I had an odd and exciting feeling as I walked closer. When I was finally close enough to see inside I was entranced. The two cloth-less bodies were intertwined as one yet moving rhythmically. The noises coincided with the movement. It was exciting to watch at four years old. I didn’t know what my parents were doing and I was far too young to be grossed out by it. I thought, “wow! I can’t wait to do that!”

Little did I know that this thing would be the obsession of my life.

I suppose we were a typical military family; dad was in the Army and he was as demanding as any drill sergeant. My mother battled depression throughout my childhood and was often withdrawn. My brother was academically gifted but was also my closest friend and confidant.

I came from a long line of addicts. My father is a sex addict as well. His brother, my Uncle Bob, was an alcoholic. My step grandfather was also an alcoholic. I didn’t know my real grandfather, but from what I understand is that he was a scoundrel of many types. Possibly a sex addict, alcoholic, a “traveling man” with many families and a con man.

On top of the addictions, my family has a long history of mental health problems. Though my mother’s side of the family didn’t have the addictions my father’s side had they had plenty of depression and bipolar disorders. They were also artists, writers, inventors and thinkers. Just the kind of people my father really couldn’t identify with.

Dad was more of a practical man. He understood math, money and grades. My brother was the perfect son in his eyes. He is academically gifted, thrifty and quiet. I was none of those things.

I was dyslexic, artistic, inventive and athletic, the antithesis of my brother. My dad has since acknowledged my intellect as my bothers equal but when I was a child, that understanding was clearly absent. I struggled with reading and writing immediately when I started school. Dad didn’t understand. He spent nights keeping me up trying to get me to write the way he felt I should. When I didn’t do, what I supposed to I was scolded, physically punished and verbally abused. I came to the point where the physical pain no longer bothered me. I would withdraw to a place where I was always safe, a place that was only mine, I found sanctuary in my mind and imagination. Of course, my daydreaming didn’t help the situation with my father at all.

Mom did what she could to help. I was good at two things that were apparent at an early age, drawing and sports. Mom took me to as many activities she could, earnestly trying to find things that would make dad proud of me and give me some peace. It was in activities like gymnastics and ice-skating that I discovered girls. Not that I didn’t see girls before, I knew of them but these girls were graceful little pixies.

Girls were always my playmates, like my tomboy cousins and the girl next door who was always covered in ice cream. Now girls became beautiful little angels with little bodies that held wonders that I had yet to realize. They were like a pirates treasure that I just found the map to and a world of adventure ready for me to explore. I began to pay a lot more attention to girls from then on. I met a girl in my neighborhood a few doors down from my house. She liked to play “dirty” as I found out. I saw as a chance to practice the thing I saw that late night through the doorway. At least she could be more fun to explore this with then my sock monkey.

We started by playing “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” behind a tree in her yard. We learned from there that the garage at my house was always unlocked and while my parents were at work, no one would catch us if we played in there.

There we kissed, petted, explored and tried to do more but really were not capable yet as we were only 6-8 years old. This type of play with her lasted about a year before my family moved away to Germany.