Diary of a s*x Addict

December 8-1

December 8

It’s 10 P.M. Do you know where your s*x addict is?

I’m slouching in a tub filled with steaming water and Mr. Bubble brand bath milk, ruminating on the fact that it’s always hardest—and that is not a c**k pun—it’s always emotionally hardest between 10 P.M. and midnight. Why? Maybe because for years I was always stoned at this time of night. Or maybe as a boy I was finger f****d in a blackout by a fat man at this exact time. Or maybe there is an ultraviolet ray that shines from the moon onto Manhattan at 10 P.M., turning my guts inside-out and making me want to throw myself into traffic. The fact is, it’s very emotionally hard at 10 P.M., and I choose s*x to escape.

Having slipped in the ‘throw myself in traffic’ line I will acknowledge my whole-hearted love of life and schizophrenic nightly obsession with suicide. Which leads me to my black hole—again, not a s*x pun, though I have lately begun fantasizing about athletically f*****g Bing’s hot and nasty man-cunt.

My black hole comes to life every night at 10 P.M. It looks to me like the edge of a perfectly-rounded, country drinking well. The type a rural pig farmer digs in his backyard. I see my black hole during these nightly Mr. Bubble baths, when the manic, over-caffeinated rush of my daily routine has faded into despair and drab, heavy loneliness. I see all of this now, with my eyes shut in my very hot, very soothing, very glamorously scented bath. I see the blackness and it is simple and comforting and I think, ‘Oh, why not slip in, isn’t that the ultimate letting go?’

It is at this point that I can either dope and drown myself, or have s*x. For the drowning, I’d swallow a fat stash of post gum-surgery Vicodin (stored in the medicine cabinet) and sink forever into my imaginary black hole. I saw a film where a drunk blonde woman did this, vanishing elegantly under a veil of bubbles. So far, I have always chosen the brain-numbing s*x.

So I snap my eyes open and drain the lavender scented water and douse the spring breeze candle and get ready to go study my hot little body in the huge mirror in my kitchenette.

Before I go, I watch the last gasp of soap bubbles swirl happily into oblivion.