Compulsive Promiscuity

"I am pleased to tell you that I do not find any evidence of any neurological diseases that could damage the brain and lead to aberrant sexual behavior.I must conclude that your difficulties most likely are caused by deep psychological frustrations."

"Thanks for that eye-opener, Doc."

"From what you've told me, your Mom was promiscuous. What about your Dad?"

"Dad had a strong sex drive; he was always chasing Mom around, kissing, and touching her. Sometimes it was a bit too much for me. I'd leave the room. But as anxious as he was to be fucking Mom, it didn't mean he was a faithful husband. He frequently traveled to client countries that the family firm supplied with arms. Since he was bad at languages, he traveled with his Latina secretary, who acted as a translator."

"Her name was Olga Rivera. She was quite a character. I knew her from the dinner parties my parents gave. She was a tall, good-looking, dark-skinned woman of Nicaraguan ancestry, a medium brown-skinned, quite exotic woman. She wasn't married but had a young son that stayed with us when she and Dad went on their bi-yearly sales trips. The kid's name was Hector. Olga would take me aside and say,

"Lizzie, I want you to look after Hector as if he was you 'liddle broder'."

"When Olga passed away from breast cancer a few years ago, I was living in the dorm at college. Hector was now a teenager. Dad insisted the boy come to live with us in the big house in Connecticut. That's when I saw his birth certificate, in an envelope in the library. Who do you think the father was? You guessed it."

"When I confronted Dad, he said,

"It's not what you think, Olga was a single mother and had to put someone down on the certificate as the father. I told her she could list me."

"Of course, the fact that Hector looked just like Dad, as much as Arnold's kid with the housekeeper looked like Schwarzenegger was no coincidence.

From the way Dad had been looking at me, I began to feel uneasy. When Dad was at home, I kept a distance from him. I had little doubt he was thinking of having sex with me. I woke up a few times to find him sitting on my bed in a bathrobe. Once he took my hand and placed it on his penis, which was moist and hard. I wasn't ready for that and pulled away.

"Could you hold me for a while," Dad said, I can't satisfy myself with one hand."

I acted like I was asleep as he took my hand and placed once more on his rod, then moved my hand back and forth. At a certain point, Dad shifted my fingers to his ball sack and quietly jerked off, cuming into a hand towel. I didn't let on that I was aware of what he had done. He got up and left. After that, I got into the habit of locking my door when I retired. On some nights, I could hear someone trying to open it. That must have been Dad. He asked me,

"I noticed you lock your door at night. Don't you feel safe here?"

"Did I, Dad? What does 'safe' mean? I mean, I love you, but I don't want to jerk you off."

"When Olga died, I was studying Spanish in college and was quite fluent. Dad asked if I'd like to accompany him on his sales trips."

"One Hector is enough," I replied, "We don't need any two-headed babies needing adoption."

"The next week, Dad was gone on a trip. I'm sure he had no trouble finding local translators when he traveled. There might be several 'Hectors' scattered in different parts of South America for all I know. You never know when they might show up."

"You stated that your father has a mild tremor. That might have been the onset of Parkinson's as he was in his mid-fifties. Some afflicted with Parkinson's treated with dopamine medications can enter into compulsive sexual behavior. You have not developed any Parkinsonian symptoms that could be related to your promiscuity problem. Let's hope you never do.

"Well, let's hope not. I seem to do alright without added stimulus. I think Dad was just very horny. He once remarked his tremor was due to a youthful motorcycle accident."

"As a professional, it is my job to note my findings in your medical profile. If you decide to seek treatment elsewhere, which I encourage you to do, I will be pleased to forward these observations.

You seem to have difficulty managing your sexual activities, situations that border on the abnormal, yet you do not seem distressed by your participation in this litany of aberrant activities. You have not attempted to hide your behavior in our sessions, and I commend you for this. I do have serious concerns that you may well run up against law enforcement at some time if your behavior does not moderate."

"Yes, your concern is justified. I was living in a lovely apartment, small but near perfect in every way. In the first months, I had noticed an attractive dark-haired guy in the building who was always staring at me. Often I'd encounter him in the elevator. He said his name was Armen. I think he lived two floors above me. He started with small talk, and he was quite pleasant. I could tell he found me attractive. The building was undergoing various modifications. The manager had sent out notices the elevator was undergoing servicing, and the security camera was replaced."

"I had that in mind when Armen saw me enter the elevator and ran to enter behind me. Once the elevator started to move, he quickly pushed the stop button, freezing the carriage between floors. He reached out for me, I didn't stop him. His hands were all over me, he started kissing me, my neck, my lips, and then he fell to his knees. Between his fingers and tongue, I became very excited. He stopped going down on me and rose to his feet, pushing me against the wall. I didn't stop him when he got his penis inside me. I enjoyed the seduction. I thought of it as 'my elevator fling,' and it put a smile on my face."

"I was unaware that Armen was married, not that it mattered, most married guys are ready at any moment for a fast zipless fuck. I was astonished when an ugly short, dark-haired woman accosted me in the grocery store.

"I'm the wife of the man you are fucking in the elevator. You are trying to steal my husband, you whore."

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"You made him fuck you in the elevator. You made him pay you. Everyone in the building has seen the tape."

I guess I got pretty nasty,

"Well, maybe if you'd get your hairy face and cunt shaved and went to a plastic surgeon, your husband wouldn't be so horny he has to fuck strangers."

I figured that was the end of an embarrassing moment. For the next few days, I was getting dirty looks from all the women in the building. Early in the morning, a few days later, a policeman from the Vice Department knocked on my door. He identified himself, showed his badge, and said there had been a complaint about me,

"We understand you are selling sexual services to the married men in this building."

"That's absolutely untrue."

"He took out a cell phone and played the video of my tryst in the elevator."

"That was consensual sex, in private, no money involved."

"Well. it turned out not to be so private."

"Mrs. Armen says her husband is giving you money to have sex, and she can no longer feed her children for lack of money."

"That troll is a fucking liar."

When I said that, he seemed to get angrier. I took a good look at him, his heavy beard, his dark hair, his wide eyes. I wondered if he was the troll's brother.

"Let me give you a suggestion. I'll be back in two weeks. If you are still living here, I will arrest you and charge you with prostitution. After a few weeks in the county jail, your taste for sex will be much less. The Sheriffs and prisoners will fuck you till you bleed dry. So take a hint, get the fuck out of here, and this complaint will end up in the trash."

"Yes, officer, I will do as you say, even though..."

"No stories, no excuses, just leave."

"As he turned to leave, I began to cry."

He turned back to me and handed me a card.

"When you get established in your new place, give me a call. You owe me a freebie for my advice. I love big titties."

"The cop reached out and twisted my nipple, which made me cry even more."

"I love fucking girl who is crying," said the Vice Cop.

He turned on his heels and was gone. A week later, I was gone.

"Did you contact him after your move?"

"Is that a serious question? Of course not."

"I must caution you," said Thomas, "if you cannot control your sexual behavior, you may well create problems for those around you. Excessive sexual behavior tends to increase with time. That is why it is best to treat you now before your behavior becomes more extreme."

"I'd say you are already late, quite late."

"I am still guessing at the reasons for your compulsive sexual behavior. I'm concerned it can lead to harm, affecting your relationships and career. Serious health problems like HIV and STDs are a common consequence. I'm amazed you haven't run into those side effects. You have frequently had unprotected sex with strangers, don't you realize the risk."

"Oh, I don't talk about it. I caught chlamydia a few times, and not from a toilet seat."

"I'm not talking about a venereal infection you can cure with a week of pills. I am talking about HIV, which though manageable, will put you on a lifelong regiment of medications to manage the virus.

"You're right, Doc, you are."

"Lizzie, with continued treatment and self-help, you can learn to manage compulsive sexual behavior. We were working in that direction. I'm sure you are aware our Friday sex sessions may not be in your best interests."

"Don't get started on that, Doc, we both need those weekly fuck buddy times. You are as horny as a jackrabbit."

"Changing the subject, you will be interested to know the results of your blood work have returned. The tests indicate you have a very high testosterone level."

"Testosterone, isn't that a guy thing? Now you're telling me I'm a guy?"

"Testosterone levels on the high side are common in ultra-promiscuous women," said Thomas.

"No, I'm not saying you are a guy, far from it. Men test at 280 to 1,100 nanograms. Normal Testosterone for women is only 15 to 70 ng/dL. You are 95, which might be the reason for your willingness to partake in these frequent sexual encounters. We should test further to see if serotonin levels, dopamine, and norepinephrine are in normal bounds. If you test with high levels, it may well be that we have found a contributing cause of your compulsive behavior."

"So you are saying my body chemistry is all fucked up and that's why I like sex?

"Not precisely, but brain chemistry does affect behavior. In your case, I believe there is also a strong psychological motivation. Your childhood experience of seeing your mother with various lovers and witnessing your father's philandering has programmed your behavior. Your incestuous relations with your Uncle, your father's abusive bedroom conduct, and your family's casual view of incest have also effected your idea of normalcy."

"Yeah, I guess you hit that nail dead center, Doc."

"Your most significant relationship, the love relation with Luthro, had abusive and sadistic masochistic aspects that were life-changing. Luthro's sharing you with his friends destroyed your concept of exclusivity. When you discovered Luthro's infidelity, you abandoned a promising artistic career. Was your way of punishing yourself?"

"Yep, that is something to think about, Dr."

"Where will we arrive? I'm not sure. By the end of our sessions, and they will end shortly, you should at least have some idea of how to continue your life without harming yourself or others, that is my hope."

"Please excuse me, Doctor Frankenstone, I do appreciate all you've done for me, as well as bending your ethical rules for my benefit. I promise you I'll try to reform and continue therapy, but I must admit, all this sex talk about being fucked just gets me into the fucking mood."

That was our last therapy session. I still saw Thomas for our Friday sex session. We had great sex behind locked doors, but I will keep the detail secret as I try to reform my conduct.

STORY 15 --RELEASE FROM THE ASYLUM AND A NEW START?

Finally, a week later, the great day came. My rehab was over. I packed my clothes in a suitcase and got my other stuff together in a few plastic bags. I had just finished my period, which was a good omen. I have brief periods, three days of mild bleeding, and then disappear for another four weeks.

I stopped at Thomas's office to say goodbye. He embraced me, grabbing my ass tightly. I reached out for his cock; it was nicely erect. I shook it like I was shaking hands. He laughed and wished me the best. He admitted that our relationship had been mutually beneficial.

I wondered what Thomas thought of me. Did he care for me outside of his professional responsibility? Did he believe his work with me might cure me, and let me find a less troubled existence? I know when you had sex with a person, it created a fondness, and Thomas and I had that if nothing else. I guess I wanted him to like me despite my disgusting behavior. Yet I was still hoping that we'd do a threesome with his awesome wife. That was when Leonard's tune popped into my head,

"Ah, you loved me as a loser

But now you're worried that I just might win

You know the way to stop me, but you don't have the discipline"

(Leonard Cohen, "Dance Me to the End of Love," 1984)

I pushed all that static out of my brain, and I called an Uber to take me the 35 miles back to my parent's home. The Uber sent back a message the ride would cost three times normal. It was 'busy time.' I called a cab instead. Call me old school or just cheap. I might be a slut, but I'm not stupid.

It was a warm summer day. I didn't feel like wearing panties. Best to let the vag breathe, even if the air is so polluted. It was a white cab. I could see it rounding the corner where the entrance to Saddlebrook bisected the street. I waved, the driver pulled right up to the curb and told me to enter on the passenger side.

I got in the cab. The driver got out and put my suitcase and the bags into the trunk. The car was a white Nissan and rode well. It looked new, except for a ding in the rear door. I was sitting with my legs up in the back seat when I realized the driver was looking at me through the rearview mirror. When he adjusted the mirror, I realized he was looking at my beaver, sans panties.

"I know the Uber guys are all rapists, are the cab drivers also?"

"Oh no, mam, I would never do such a thing. I'm Hindu, a very peaceful person. "

"You're from India?"

"No, Mam, from Pakistan."

"Well, Sir, if a passenger wanted a rape, to get fucked, could you do it?"

"Well, that is a different kettle of fish."

"So pull over behind those trees, Swami and come back here and let me see your yellow cock."

He pulled over and did as he was told, except that he wanted his dick sucked first. Every guy wants to be a director.

I obliged. Then Swami got his yellow rocket inside me. I understand why those countries are so overpopulated. The little guy dropped an elephant load in my love pocket. By the time we reached home, most of his sperm had dripped out, and I was semi glued to the seat.

I apologized for the mess, which was his doing. He got out and carried my stuff to the front door. Last I saw him; he was cleaning off the back seat with a spray bottle and a roll of paper towels.

There I was, less than an hour out of rehab, and I'd done it again. Did I feel good? Oh, yes, indeed. Was this my last sex with a stranger? What do you think?

I know I promised to reveal the secret message that Leonard sent me written on a napkin. These are the words he scrawled, perhaps the lines of an unfinished song or poem that has never seen the light of day. A message that Leonard sent to a distraught young person, myself. That he found the time to reach out and touch my heart was a miracle of its own.

"All my friends have loved you

You were naked too

Do I still want you?

Maybe yes, I do."

I'm still not sure what those words mean, but I have an idea.

----------------------

SHRINKS DEFENSE

OK, let's get something straight right away. I'm the Shrink, the one Lizzie calls "Tom' s-ass." Lizzie has written that we engaged in consensual sex. Nothing could be further from the truth. The truth is, she once grabbed me by the testicles. That's the beginning and the end of any sexual contact. Nothing else took place. I would point out that Lizzie is a schizo. She hears voices, has an overactive imagination and frequent bouts with hallucinations.

I'll give a further discussion of her condition and my diagnosis as she has asked me to. I can do this without invading her constitutional right to privacy and her rights as a patient, as she has asked me to do so. But before that, I want to make it clear that no sex ever took place. To admit that would jeopardize my professional standing in the community, not to mention it might cost me my license, employment at Saddlebrook, and my wife's trust.

SYMPTOMS: Lizzie, like most Psychotic patients, is suffering from severe schizophrenia. The physical cause of schizophrenia is unknown. We believe that chemical imbalances in the brain are the cause. These "neurotransmitters" in the brain are dopamine, serotonin, and glutamate. Schizophrenia can result from abnormal interactions between them.

Lizzie hears voices and music inside her brain. Her obsessive involvement with the songs of Leonard Cohen has resulted in the phenomenon that she hears Cohen's music and lyrics when there is a degree of commonality with her life experience at that moment. The effect is similar to those who wear earplugs in their ears to listen to music. Lizzie needs no earplugs. The music is self-generated by her brain. Something in the jukebox of her mind picks out the tunes that it thinks are appropriate.

Hallucinations are common for Lizzie. It is her way of leveling the playing field in her relationships, especially with persons against whom she is rebelling. In the ninety days of her commitment, I prescribed different antipsychotic medications. I was hoping that any one or combination of meds might improve her condition. As most medications do not take effect until a regiment of 14 days, finding the appropriate drug and dosage is a year-long project. I tried clozapine, amisulpride, olanzapine, and risperidone. Risperidone was the most effective medication. However, no prescription returned her to a satisfactory level of behavior.

When she completed the 90 days of commitment, I am still not convinced of her release. I do not expect an improvement in her extreme compulsive sexual behavior. Unfortunately, deinstitutionalization is the current state of the art. We let them go. It's like stocking a pond with fish. We let them go out into the world and periodically check on them, hoping to see their progress.

The American Psychiatric Association recommends optimized therapy for each patient. We were unable to find a drug that addressed her problems successfully. The range of medications now available had little effect. I conclude that we are dealing with treatment-resistant schizophrenia, the diagnosis when a patient fails to respond to two or more antipsychotic medications. It is interesting to note that her fantasy of subjecting me to a bondage scenario took place when her dosage was at its highest level.