Ultra Vulgar Super Fiend

Running myself ragged just to get laid used to be my calling card. My phone would go off at one, two, three in the morning and it was anyone’s guess which boy was buzzing for a booty call. Who’s on the menu tonight? Friends would ask and like a borderline vegetarian’s worst nightmare, one evening my “meal” actually posed the daunting question: Have you ever sought counseling for sex addiction? I was speechless and, readers, I will let you know that it is because of this very blog that he was asking the question; not because of any sudden obscene outburst or a random grab for his junk. No, it was none of that. He was actually a fan of my writing; intrigued by my unabashed honesty about sex but also wary because, let’s face it, like Sarah Michelle Gellar says in the acclaimed motion picture (I’m being sarcastic here) Cruel Intentions: Everybody does it; it’s just that nobody talks about it.

But I do talk about it. A lot. And to say that I’m a seasoned sex veteran is a modest declaration. I have seen things most don’t care to see and while my hunger to continue down the depths of sexual depravity is still very much alive, gone are the days when it used to rule my every waking hour. But it’s still a battle and the inkling to surrender and spread my legs to mind bending unencumbered anonymous orgy orgasmic sex is always going to be a major temptation in my life.

So do I have a problem? Well I’ve continued to ask myself that question since I was a teenager and then last night I saw the movie Shame.

In the British drama Shame, Michael Fassbender stars as Brandon, a successful thirty something living in New York City where anyone with a dollar and a dream can get just about anything they want. For Brandon, all he has are soaking wet dreams; with an unending appetite for internet porn, prostitutes and one night stands he utilizes the perks of Manhattan to the max. But even with his nightly needs, afternoon boinks and then some, he has managed to keep his addiction under wraps. That is until his sister, Sissy played by Carey Mulligan,  comes to stay with him and his passion for smut is unveiled.

I myself have always hated the indeterminate house guest conundrum. Having my masturbatory sessions limited to a shower would be quite problematic for me since I rely on a vibrator that plugs into the wall. But even though Brandon is lucky enough to be satisfied by his own hand he still isn’t safe in the bathroom, Sissy eventually walks in on him

His addiction to sex like most addictions is completely entangled with his need for control and when he finds a woman he might actually have feelings for – she wears sweater knit thigh highs – SO HOT- he can’t get it up for her. Even after a hefty line of blow in a beautiful hotel room, he is still sans erection.

His sister on the other hand is desperate for intimacy from her brother and any other beau that might come her way. A very poignant and also very classically indie scene in which Sissy sings New York New York reveals a child like vulnerability coupled with a womanly sexuality that makes her character irresistible.

While at first glance she and Brandon appear to be on opposite ends of the volatile personality  spectrum, a closer look proves that they are actually very similar. Both are desperately in need of the peace that comes from feeling fulfilled; the quiet haze of warmth that consumes a body after sex is the closest thing to nirvana that Brandon has found thus far and the hunt for his next fix is a struggle he continues to battle at the close of the film.

Like any good addict, he is full of self loathing and toward the end of the film Sissy says: “We’re not bad people, we just come from a bad place.”

I am in no way a sex addict. Closer to Sissy’s side, I continue to search for the perfect fuck; But there is no perfect, see? It doesn’t exist. Beyond the porn and suntanned silicone breasts, everything including a cheap fuck gets complicated. There is no such thing as a night without consequences. And despite my firm grip on everything but a cock these days, my phone still goes off sometimes; at one, two, or three o’clock in the morning I wake up with that familiar ache between my legs and I want to pummeled over and over and over again.

I come from a bad place too.