Of course this is all fictional, I love my wife deeply and I continue in my quest of recovery. Peace to us all my brothers and sisters.

She walked in…said “you see me in my dancer stuff all the time so how about..” and in a few seconds she was naked. A Mom with two kids, but an amazingly taut, muscular, sexy ass frame.

She wanted to be choked and it worried me how tightly I pulled on the ends of my silk tie, but we had a hand safety signal arranged and she got rather red…then returned the favor. Loved being bitten on the bottom…hard. And she loved to take my trussed up cock and slap it on her clit. And then took my hand to alternately drive my fingers deeply into her, then massage her delicious clitoris at varying speeds.

Nicole. Nicole….ahh…Nicole.

How did I respond? By going into a 3 month binge of sex, depravity, booze and some sort of geeked up bipolar lust groove that left me shocked, sated, embarrassed and with what had actually been a fairly cool recovery completely in tatters.

My little domme-in-a-thong, Amazonian biker chick and her pregnant girlfriend (who knew I had a pregnant fetish?..she was hot) as well as my white trash ex-stripper and recently Christine, a goddess from back in my politician days, who even though she now drives a forklift…she also drives a mean tease and denial roleplay.

I will try to chronicle all of the above. I was breathtakingly bad.
And I broke my own heart with my actions. So much for the lighter side of this addiction shit.

To return to the darkness is familiar, comforting, erotic as a ‘shroom rush’ and at this time of my life, a little (or maybe a lot) sad.
Peace to us all, but mostly to me. I need it.

After fine wine at an elegant outdoor restaurant,  and eventually naked expect for a leather hood/mask and on my knees in front of my beloved Domme-in-a-Thong, with a hymnal in my hands, I had to rethink. Singing odes to Jesus interchanges well with a paen to your dominatrix, I’m here to tell you. It remained witty, weird and actually was very hot. (not the mask, the erotically charged musical homage I was singing).

The above is fictional, I love my wife and remain firmly enmeshed/entrenched in my recovery. Peace to us all my brothers and sisters.

Towards the end of my radio days before I went back for a second hitch in the ad agency biz I had a particularly twisted convention in Dallas. It may have been NAB and it may have been RAB…I now forget but it was cosmically dysfunctional.

I was managing a cluster of radio stations in a university town and that in and of itself will be a springboard for future memorable posts. My wife was living in a town an hour away and I had a 3-year period of behaving like I was back in college myself. I now hang my head in semi-shame but at the time….

Back to Big D….the owner of the company brought all the managers from the chain to the convention. We got tickets a couple of rows off the court at a Mavericks-Heat game. Pat Riley has the coolest damned suits. I want more Armani in my wardrobe..

One of the managers was a colleague from my Navy days in American Forces Radio and TV…Yes during the Vietnam War we were the American Forces Radio Network instead of Armed Forces…perhaps so it would seem less likely we’d lay waste to your home or village. If you’ve been in the service you know that you take a master’s class in how to party that puts frat boys to shame so my friend and I guided our group in how to take after hours action way over the top.
Needless to say we didn’t hit much of the convention. We hit the Heat-Mavericks game the first night and the second night turned mondo ugly…in a brilliantly hot way. We started at Bob’s Chop House, which serves the best steaks in the country except for maybe that Japanese steak house in the Bellagio in Vegas. Then the owner of our broadcast chain, who was an ol’ SMU more-money-than-Croesus type, took us on a tour of his favorite strip clubs…I adore strippers. They’re like guys..they love to curse, party, take illicit substances and when they get naked it’s more fun than hanging with the dudes.

I had pre-arranged for not one but two hookers when I got back to the hotel…I had hoped to see Alea, a high-end courtesan who still works in Dallas, but there was some kind of scheduling conflict. I still think of her and sigh.

Anyway, eventually back at the hotel,hammered and headed down to the ATM machine to gather my cash for the soon to arrive young lovelies. It was 20 minutes ahead of time so I knew I’d have time since hookers, strippers, actors and musicians are always late and have some of the most amazingly creative and funny excuses.

As I got off the elevator, two fresh-faced lasses got on who I assumed were fellow convention attendees. We smiled at one another and as I trudged my addict’s walk of shame and giddiness to the ATM I wished my two hookers would look as good as those two.

Money scored and back to my floor and OMG, they were my gals of choice! They were newbies, friends, nervous, high and semi-drunk. Needless to say it was one of the sweetest and sexiest encounters I’ve ever had. I spent awhile putting them at ease as they had just started doing this a week or so before. When they finally got their freak on, they did things to one another and to me that a more seasoned pro would’ve gone…first…show me the “extra” money. They were adorable and I think I orgasmed out my ass I came so hard.

The funeral. The morning show host of our alternative station had to bury his father the next day there in Dallas. I woke up, sated, badly hungover but got in my rental and headed to a funeral home in north Dallas. He basically hosted the portion of the service where friends and family came up and shared. It was beautiful, sad and it spoke to me, mired in my addictive ways, that I needed to lean more towards the light and the heart in my own life.

Progress brothers and sisters, progress.

And in the current “Weeds” I’m watching, she starts wearing less. Tossing off her undies and hiking her legs over the shoulders of Matthew Modine who continues to have scarily good hair, by the way. Some other scantily clad moment and I’m thrown down from communing with her artiste to artiste. I’m now crawling about in lust, still loving how she can do magic with her delivery but now aware of that other aspect…ahh….

Ego note: I’ve been cast in a small independent Western to be shot up in Colorado next summer. I’ve worked with these guys before and I’m usually a weasel-type but this time, I get to be bad…really bad. I relish it and dream of Miss Mary…

Then tonight I return home from the opening night of our state arts council convention down here in the Great American Southwest. Hot trisexual artistic types, a couple of galleries, wine, conversation and burgeoning lust. Back to a computer, browsing my blog and I ran across my earlier tip of the quivering member to Melissa and I thought, what the heck, I’ll Google…and she’s back and out of retirement. The minx!

“Hampton Glamour” I think is the studio and Mike Louis the photographer. A glorious photo of Melissa and the lyrics of John Lennon’s immortal song scrolling along her delicious naked flesh. I must buy one. It’s sexy, moving and just a great, powerful image, along with John lurking within the piece.

How many Beatles were there? Four, if you count John Lennon four times. Peace to us all my brothers and sisters and welcome back Melissa.

Stacy, my much beloved Domme-in-a-thong, was back in circulation and we gathered for an evening in a town that has been the scene of some of my most delicious debauchery and cavorting in years past. Just entering the city limits and thinking of the various carnal episodes always makes me smile.

We began at a funky little wine bar. She arrived looking fresh-faced, sweet and unbelievably enticing. She’s a committed leftie, so we dueled over politics for quite some time as we dissected the upcoming election. Her passion for issues and green-leaning perspective makes her all the more hot. Great mind and a body to match: I was re-smitten.

The we decamped to a strip club where she used to work. We indulged in both getting lap dances from an array of charming to delightfully nasty young ladies until Stacy settled on a lean and lovely African-American lass. She even went to their “gift shop” and bought a strap-on to use on her and also, moi. She arranged for the lady in question to join us later in the evening.

Let me see, I was tied to the chair back in our boutique hotel, virtually all orifices were  thoroughly probed and the little progressive/Red/liberal of my dreams even spent the night. She looks wonderful in the morning light, no small accomplishment. And it was her birthday weekend.

I am officially intoxicated with her memory.

The above is fictional and I’m merely a sex addict, working my recovery, loving my wife and charging on to the next 24 hours. Peace to us all my brothers and sisters.