\n<\/p>\n
T<\/span>o everyone else, it probably looked like a regular summer\u2019s evening. Couples and families enjoying the beer garden, people playing cricket on the green \u2013 and I was being handcuffed in the passenger seat of a 4×4 by a man I barely knew.<\/p>\n My name is Leesa, and I\u2019m a recovered sex addict.<\/p>\n I was 32 years old, and we\u2019ll call the man Simon. I\u00a0was fresh out of a divorce, and I had met Simon two weeks earlier on a website for people who were into BDSM (that\u2019s bondage, dominance, submission and masochism, for the uninitiated).<\/p>\n Up until this point, I had spent most of my adult life being told that my sexual tastes were weird. Aged\u00a017, when I asked my first boyfriend to spank me with his belt, he looked at me as if I\u2019d just asked him to flay a\u00a0kitten. The boyfriend after him thought a bottle of lube counted as foreplay, so getting him to indulge in the dark arts was out of the question. Then, at 26, I\u00a0met a very kind, intelligent and funny man who later became my husband. I knew from the get-go that we weren\u2019t sexually compatible, but by this point I had figured that a full and fun sex life wasn\u2019t on the cards for me anyway. So I stuffed my kink in a drawer and hoped that it would stay quiet while I got on with the business of life. Shockingly, it turns out that ignoring your needs\u00a0and preferences isn\u2019t a sustainable long\u2011term plan. Over time, that thing I\u2019d stuffed in a\u00a0drawer started whispering for attention. I masturbated constantly in\u00a0an attempt to keep it quiet, but it wasn\u2019t enough. The whisper turned to shouting, and it started trying to claw its way out. Within a few short years, it took all\u00a0my energy to keep a lid on it. I knew I could either leave or\u00a0have an affair. So, aged 32, I found myself crying\u00a0over a decree absolute, determined never to make that mistake again.<\/p>\n Freshly single, I went straight to where the kinky people hung out online, and that\u2019s where I met Simon. I was deeply uncomfortable at first. Talking about my fantasies with a stranger was no easy feat, and the thought of getting naked with someone I barely knew was pretty revolting. But I had denied my sexual needs for so long that I was hell-bent on pushing through. So, after two daytime meet-ups where we discussed hard boundaries and safe words, Simon booked us in for a four-hour session in a house on a residential street just outside London that had been converted into a BDSM dungeon.<\/p>\n We went for a perfunctory drink in a local pub on the evening in question. While Simon made small talk, I\u00a0looked around at all the other apparently normal people enjoying the balmy summer\u2019s evening with their partners and families. I felt so very other<\/em>, as if there must be something wrong with me because I hadn\u2019t been able to make that kind of thing work in my own life.<\/p>\n I knew I had an extremely high sex drive, and\u00a0thought the problem was finding suitable partners who could keep up with me<\/span> Photograph: Amit Lennon\/The Guardian<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re not listening, are you?\u201d Simon asked, breaking me out of my rumination. He looked mildly amused and not at all bothered about being ignored. It had been pretty clear from the off that Simon wasn\u2019t interested in me as a human being. The \u201clet\u2019s get a drink first\u201d had been wholly for my benefit. He was 16 years older than me, and had told me he\u2019d been doing this a\u00a0long time. I imagined this was his usual routine with the skittish ones.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, I was,\u201d I lied. Then I gulped back my wine, Simon led me to his car and slapped on the handcuffs. He drove us to a spectacular \u2013 and very clean, I might add \u2013 dungeon. He led me inside, inspected the whips\u00a0and\u00a0paddles, and we got down to business. Well, I should say, he <\/em>got down to business. I was more of a\u00a0prop than an active participant. He barely looked at me throughout. The only time I saw emotion in the man\u00a0was when he orgasmed. I got my orgasms, too \u2013 several. There was no doubt about it, the domination got me off. It didn\u2019t matter that I wasn\u2019t attracted to Simon. In a\u00a0way, I wasn\u2019t really focused on him either. I\u00a0just wanted him to keep doing what he was doing. After\u00a0spending so many years trying to resign myself to my hunger, I could hardly believe I was finally experiencing the things I had been fantasising about. I didn\u2019t want it to stop.<\/p>\n When Simon dropped me off at the train station at the end of the night, there was a creeping sense of emptiness. The experience had been entirely transactional. I now realise I also needed warmth and\u00a0connection, but at the\u00a0time I thought that I just needed more sex.<\/p>\n Simon had been clear that he didn\u2019t do relationships. So I kept seeing him casually while searching for something more long-term that would give me a steady supply of the kink I craved. I tried the regular dating apps, but it was tricky trying to guess whether a man might share my tastes. Some men said they were up for trying BDSM, but didn\u2019t come through when we got down to it. Nothing kills your buzz faster than a limp spanking. Others were very much on my side of the fence, but talking about sex that early on rarely set the stage for anything meaningful. And, let\u2019s be honest, I\u00a0wasn\u2019t in the most emotionally healthy place, and like tends to attract like.<\/p>\n This is where things got tricky. I had very little connection with many of the men I was meeting. A solid part of healthy BDSM play is the cuddles afterwards. The official term is \u201cafter-care\u201d, and it\u2019s when the dominant heaps affection on the partner who has taken the punishment. Closing the loop, if you will. But because I wasn\u2019t making meaningful connections, the guys would usually leave afterwards, and I\u2019d be alone with my bruises. Just when I was at my most vulnerable, I would feel abandoned. That would send me reaching for comfort, meaning I\u2019d have to go again, only with more internal pain to add to the pile.<\/p>\n Gradually, my need for physical pain became more and more central to the whole experience. I wouldn\u2019t have been able to articulate it at the time, but when a\u00a0sexual partner hurt me, I felt seen. It was proof on a\u00a0visceral level that I existed. The first time Simon slapped me across the face, I didn\u2019t like it. It hurt. Pain still feels like pain even when it turns you on. But when he pulled his hand away, I felt adrift, alone, and I immediately wanted him to do it again. In a warped way, it felt like love.<\/p>\n B<\/span>y this point, I had become a pretty terrible\u00a0friend. I went to a housewarming dinner party once and spent most of the night sexting a man from the toilet. And I missed my stepmother\u2019s 50th birthday party because I was out of it on painkillers, after a man twisted my arm so far behind my back that I ended up in A&E. I wasn\u2019t even aware that I was being selfish or flaky. I thought about sex constantly, and when I wasn\u2019t having it I was masturbating myself into oblivion. I\u00a0would tell myself that I\u2019d get up and start the day after this last one<\/em>, only to still be there an hour or more later. And it didn\u2019t stop there. I masturbated in toilets, in my car, and I once went to a five-day silent retreat and barely left my room. The physical surge of the climax, mingled with the crushing deflation of once again failing to hit the spot, drove me relentlessly. Several times over the years, a few friends tried to have a quiet word with me about what was going on, although none of them knew quite how bad things had become. I brushed them off, assuming they just didn\u2019t understand my kink. I also questioned whether they would have been so concerned if I were a man behaving the same way. And while I\u2019m\u00a0sure there were elements of both those things, it\u00a0was also true that I was not in a good place.<\/p>\n For the first few years, I thought my only problem was the lack of a steady sexual supply. But one morning, as I climbed out of bed after a particularly rough session, I\u00a0caught my reflection a full-length mirror. My body from the neck down was a collage of purples and blues, interspersed with angry red lines from a variety of whips, front and back. I was horrified. It was as though the pain that lived in me had gained expression through my skin. Something inside me was screaming. But even as I crumpled into a ball on my bedroom floor, I had no plans to stop.<\/p>\n Over time, all those unmet needs had globbed together and created a monster<\/span> Photograph: Amit Lennon\/The Guardian<\/p>\n I would like to say there was one pivotal moment that changed everything, but I\u2019m not sure that\u2019s how it works. There were many moments, and I don\u2019t think recovery is ever linear. But I can tell you the exact thing that drove me screaming to a therapist\u2019s office. I\u2019d had a bad day in a long line of bad months, and years, of the same. I was lost, lonely and utterly miserable. So I called Simon and asked him to beat it out of me.<\/p>\n \u201cNo orgasms this time,\u201d I told him. \u201cJust hurt me.\u201d I\u00a0wanted something so extreme that it would obliterate everything else.<\/p>\n He hit me in the face the second I opened the door, then he dragged me into the bedroom and set about doing what he had come to do. I felt like a rag doll, being thrown around with no autonomy. That was when I\u00a0caught the words, just before they tripped off the end of my tongue. Please, just kill me<\/em>.<\/p>\n There was no denying at that point that something was very wrong. I didn\u2019t want to die, but I had nowhere else to go. I wanted to kill the pain that lived in me, and the only option left seemed to be to kill its host. Me.<\/p>\n I screamed my safe word at him, along with a\u00a0few words of profanity. He stopped straight away, mumbling, \u201cOK, hang on\u201d, as he untied me from the bed. Simon had never been one for cuddles, and this time was no different. So we gathered ourselves up, had\u00a0a very civilised, if slightly awkward, chat about what we each had planned for the week, and he left.<\/p>\n A<\/span>t this point, I still couldn\u2019t have told you what my problem was. I had heard the term sex addict and thought it was just something famous men like\u00a0Tiger Woods had come up with to excuse their infidelity. I knew I had an extremely high sex drive, and\u00a0thought that the problem was finding suitable partners who could keep up with me. But I also knew that I was desperately unhappy. So I called a therapist and turned up week after week. During one of those sessions, my therapist handed me a book called Facing\u00a0Love Addiction, by Pia\u00a0Mellody. I scoffed. Sex and love addiction weren\u2019t real, and even if they were they had nothing to do with me. When I spotted myself in its pages, it was a revelation.<\/p>\n It turned out that the root of my problem wasn\u2019t sex at all. It was my pattern of relating, the people-pleasing, attention-seeking version of myself that I brought to relationships. I had put all my energy into figuring out who another person needed me to be, in the hope that if I did everything right I could avoid abandonment. This never worked, of course. You can\u2019t make genuine connections without bringing your actual self to the table. Over time, all those unmet needs had globbed together and created a monster.<\/p>\n It\u2019s worth saying that plenty of people enjoy BDSM without it morphing into anything remotely harmful. I\u00a0spoke to Dr Paula Hall, the clinical director of the Laurel Centre for sex and porn addiction, and the founder of Pivotal Recovery, which provides online courses to help people overcome compulsive sexual\u00a0behaviours.\u00a0She\u00a0told me that \u201cthe type of behaviour is not what defines an addiction. It\u2019s the dependency on it.\u201d BDSM, or indeed any sexual preference when\u00a0done\u00a0between consenting adults, is\u00a0perfectly normal and healthy.<\/p>\n I also spoke to Andrew Harvey, a BACP-registered psychotherapeutic counsellor working with clients struggling with compulsive behaviours and addictions. Both he and Hall were clear that treating sex addiction isn\u2019t about pathologising normal sexual behaviour. And let\u2019s not forget that women are at particular risk of being culturally shamed for expressing their sexuality. Harvey told me that when he starts working with a client, he begins by exploring why that person thinks their behaviour is a problem. He said: \u201cSexual expression is healthy. We mustn\u2019t go straight to addiction.\u201d<\/p>\n I\u2019m still kinky, and I still enjoy sex. But now I treat my body and my heart like they matter<\/p>\n So, when does it become a problem? The World Health Organization\u2019s International Classification of Diseases (ICD-11) recognises the term compulsive sexual behaviour disorder (CSBD), describing it as \u201ca persistent pattern of failure to control intense, repetitive sexual impulses or urges\u201d and behaviour, despite negative consequences. There is some debate in the mental health field about whether we are talking about an addiction or an impulse control disorder. With addiction, you are chasing the object of your craving. With an impulse control disorder, it\u2019s about doing things because you feel compelled to, regardless of how it feels. Both are characterised by a loss of control, and the problem is very real.<\/p>\n A large-scale, cross-cultural study was completed in 2023 to estimate global prevalence of the disorder and develop screening tools. The study found that 4.8% of people globally showed significant symptoms consistent with CSBD. This included 8.17% of male participants, 2.42% of female participants and 6.46% of gender diverse participants. This is not solely a male issue.<\/p>\n Despite this, the problem isn\u2019t well understood in the mainstream. As already mentioned, there is a prevailing myth that sex addiction is something that has been made up to excuse infidelity. But, in fact, infidelity has no bearing on whether the criteria are met for CSBD. Nor\u00a0is it true that all sex addicts are promiscuous. Hall tells me that many sex addicts aren\u2019t actually having much sex at all. What is true of all sex addicts is the obsession with sex.\u201cIt\u2019s the dependence, the preoccupation,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n Once I opened my eyes to what the actual problem was, I worked through the 12 steps and remained abstinent from dating and sex. When I asked my therapist how long I had to be abstinent, they said: \u201cUntil you are no longer asking that question.\u201d Because as long as my focus was on when <\/em>I could have sex again, I clearly wasn\u2019t ready.<\/p>\n Eventually, I learned to sit with the pain. I can\u2019t speak for anyone else, but that was the way through for me. Because every time I sat with my feelings instead of rushing to a distraction, I was telling myself: I\u2019m here<\/em>. I\u2019m not abandoning you any more<\/em>.<\/p>\n T<\/span>hen it was time to put it into practice. All the therapy in the world will only take a person so far. Real change came from making different decisions every day. This meant leaving a date when a man told me he thought arguments bring spice to a relationship. I\u2019m all for open communication, but if you need conflict for things to feel good, then I\u2019m not the girl for you. I\u00a0also accept that I\u2019m no good at casual sex. I mean no judgment whatsoever here. Plenty of people have a\u00a0wonderful time with casual sex. I even envy them a\u00a0little. But it doesn\u2019t work for me. I need my partner to hang around afterwards, and I\u2019m upfront about this.<\/p>\n Which brings me to the really good news. Recovering from sex addiction doesn\u2019t mean you can never have sex again. Nor does it mean you can\u2019t enjoy whatever your kink or fetish happens to be. You just enjoy it for what it is \u2013 pleasure, fun, a wonderful part of the human experience \u2013 as opposed to using it as a coping mechanism that takes over your life. Hall says sex addiction isn\u2019t actually about the sex. It\u2019s about the pain you\u2019re trying to soothe or avoid. Once you heal that, you can enjoy \u201cthe whole fruit bowl of sexual experience\u201d.<\/p>\n As for me? I\u2019m still kinky, and I still enjoy sex. But now I treat my body and my heart like they matter. Because they do. This means I only have sex within the context of emotionally safe, trusting relationships. And if I don\u2019t have one of those, I can live without it. There are still times I find myself masturbating more than usual \u2013 what\u2019s usual for me, anyway. (There is no \u201cnormal\u201d amount, by the way. You do you.) But now, instead of reaching for a dating app or finding a dirty number in my phone, I call a friend or walk my dog.<\/p>\n Connection had to start in my relationship with myself. Then, I gradually brought a more authentic, boundaried version of me to my friendships. From there, I developed more meaningful connections with others, and for the first time in my life I felt as if\u00a0I\u00a0were standing on firm ground. Eventually, I got to a\u00a0place where I\u00a0felt\u00a0solid enough to invite another being\u00a0into\u00a0my\u00a0life.\u00a0So,\u00a0I\u00a0got a dog. A miniature dachshund by the name of Pluto, who has taught me so much about\u00a0unconditional love (though he still needs to work\u00a0on his boundaries).<\/p>\n A couple of years ago, I got a text message from Simon. He was driving through my town and he wondered whether I\u2019d like to hook up. It was easy to say\u00a0no. These days I\u00a0love and respect myself, so I couldn\u2019t conceive of sharing my body with someone who doesn\u2019t\u00a0feel the\u00a0same. Also, Pluto needed a walk, and he\u2019s the boss of me now.<\/p>\n For support with sex or porn addiction, visit thelaurelcentre.co.uk<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" To everyone else, it probably looked like a regular summer\u2019s evening. Couples and families enjoying the beer garden, people playing cricket on the green \u2013 and I was being handcuffed in the passenger seat of a 4×4 by a man I barely knew. My name is Leesa, and I\u2019m a recovered sex addict. I was<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":44138,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[51],"tags":[2595,22965,22964,582,4113,3837,12086,637],"class_list":{"0":"post-44137","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-health","8":"tag-addict","9":"tag-hookups","10":"tag-masochistic","11":"tag-meeting","12":"tag-sex","13":"tag-spent","14":"tag-strangers","15":"tag-years"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/naijaglobalnews.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/44137","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/naijaglobalnews.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/naijaglobalnews.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/naijaglobalnews.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/naijaglobalnews.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=44137"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/naijaglobalnews.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/44137\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/naijaglobalnews.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/44138"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/naijaglobalnews.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=44137"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/naijaglobalnews.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=44137"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/naijaglobalnews.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=44137"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}