Sweet Tooth

As best I have been able to tell, my sugar addiction started even before I was born. My mother ate sweets for more than half her caloric intake from my conception until my birth.

Things got worse when I was a child. We always had candy and soft drinks around the house, donuts or sweet rolls for breakfast, and intensely sugary desserts like baklava every night. It was really lucky that my intellectual or physical growth wasn't stunted by the sugar since today it is known that sugar is capable of doing both. I probably avoided problems for two reasons: 1) we had protein-rich foods like lentils and chicken daily too and I ate a hamburger with tomato, lettuce, and onions for lunch every school day; and 2) I was VERY active, maybe due to a sugar high, and competed in three different sports every year and was good enough in cross country to run for my college team.

No one believed when I was growing up, although it is considered fact by most scientists today, that sugar is as addictive as cocaine.

I first became aware of my unusual bond with sugar when I was in high school. I was eating a glazed donut when I experienced a very anxious feeling about a pair of tests that I was going to take the next day. I alleviated my anxiety by eating the entire box of donuts.

Sugar bingeing became so noticeable that I could no longer fail to deal with it when I was a freshman in college, once cross country season had concluded. I was a little homesick – especially for my high school boy friend, whom I had started a sexual relationship with shortly after we turned eighteen -- and I turned to sugary foods to deal with it. No Twinkie, cupcake, bag of caramel corn, or cherry Danish was safe if I was around. Since I had a fast metabolism and during cross country was extremely active I didn't get fat, which in those days was the only tip off of a dietary problem. After Thanksgiving I got ill, with stomach problems and even a fever. To relieve my misery I ate chocolate bars, but I felt worse, not better.

The summer after my freshman year, on the recommendation of my family's stymied GP, I checked myself into a macrobiotic clinic. I was required to give up white flour, milk products, animal fat, caffeine, and sugar. In less than a week I sneaked to a local store several times to buy candy bars and caramel corn with the only money that had not been confiscated when I checked in, and then stole a few candy bars when I ran out of money. Eventually I was found eating a PayDay candy bar under my covers and was kicked out. "You're toxic," the psychologist at the rehab facility told me.

I stumbled through college. Fortunately I was smart enough to still make the grade, although I should have been doing better than I was. When I gave up cross country and started eating even more sugary foods during my junior year I gained twenty five pounds. The only place to turn at that time was Overeaters Anonymous. That didn't work either, so I turned back to regular exercise and lost twenty of the twenty five pounds I was overweight.

Somehow I graduated college a year early and enrolled in graduate school. I decided to study psychology to see what made me tick. It was in graduate school that I finally found someone who diagnosed my sugar problem, surprisingly a doctor at the University health center. While it was far from a mainstream concept at the time – she showed me probably the first truly intellectual article that had been written about sugar addiction – I believed her.

Unfortunately, by that time I had developed what some psychologists – myself included – now call "an addictive personality." My cravings for sugar when I went cold turkey had to be replaced by something. I had always enjoyed sex (who hasn't) although I was far from promiscuous or slutty, probably only twenty five total fucks by that time (I was twenty two) and all with condoms. I first started looking at porno magazines. Then with one date I went to a sex club.

After my trip to the sex club, the only thing that could alleviate my sugar cravings was sex – with lots of different guys. Sucking cock was just as rewarding as eating a chocolate covered donut, and getting fucked by one guy while sucking another guy's cock alleviated all of my sugar cravings. However, my sex yearnings caused me to be less careful and more desperate, so I started having unprotected sex. I got pregnant, had an abortion, and my life seemed to be spinning out of control.

I got lucky – that is all that it was, no skill on my part – when the doctor at the University health clinic introduced me to Brian, another graduate student who had the same sugar addiction problem that I did. The doctor didn't know that I had transferred my sugar addiction to a psychological sex addiction (even today no respected scientist believes that there is a physical sex addiction except for maybe one in more than a million exceptions), and now was reverting back to sugar after I had been scared by the pregnancy. The guy was decent looking and after we talked on several occasions (not really dates, but "therapy sessions") I told him how I had handled my problem.

His eyes got wide.

"Interesting, Amy...I shoot blanks as a result of having Scarlet Fever as a kid. If we were exclusive we wouldn't have the chance of getting some disease, and could deal with our sugar problem at the same time," Brian said. Then he got a concerned look on his face. "Oh shit; I hope that I didn't insult you;...I...I..."

I put him out of his misery. "You have your own apartment, don't you?" I asked, stroking his hand.

"Yes...." He cautiously replied.

"Let's go there and discuss it. We don't want anyone here in the Student Union overhearing us."

We were only in Brian's apartment for seconds before I was sucking his cock. He had a perfectly sized cock, including its aspect ratio, and big low hanging testicles. After I swallowed a full load of jism, he stripped me naked, ate my pussy to an orgasm, and then we went to his bed and fucked.

It turned out that both Brian and I were completely uninhibited; he loved me to suck his cock, I loved him to eat my pussy, and we loved to fuck. We gave up sugar cold turkey. I moved in with him as soon as my lease was up, and we were able to function like normal non-addicts as long as we had sex six days a week (sometimes multiple times a day). While we mated like rabbits, we never developed what was love, only mutual respect, and we both were never interested in marriage or anything close.

Our therapy sessions continued until we both got our degrees from graduate school at the age of twenty five. By then we thought that we had overcome our sugar addiction and as long as we had normal regular sex that we could function normally. I don't know what happened to Brian, but that was not the case for me.

Fortunately, I met a guy that I thought that I could have a lifelong relationship with shortly after I started work. His name was Franklin. He was an attorney. He was nice looking, average size, smart, and compassionate. I think that I pushed sex into our relationship a little before he would have thought appropriate, but he fell in love with me, I assured him that I was exclusive with him. Our relationship soon matured into love.

While the sex with Franklin was very good, he didn't really appreciate my situation with respect to sugar, although I had told him about it (I never told him about my sexual addiction to replace my sugar one), so he cavalierly had sweets around the house. Considering my past I started to develop my old feelings of insatiability. I went off the wagon regarding sugar consumption since it was available. I convinced myself that the balance I had between sex and sugar – neither as extreme as they had been in the past – was acceptable, especially since I regularly went to the health club so that I was only a few pounds over my optimum weight. Therefore I never sought out what I ultimately found out was the only thing that would eventually help – therapy.

Franklin and I got married just before my twenty seventh birthday, when he was twenty eight, and life seemed to be good. I worked in psychology, but only as a teacher, not in a discipline that would really help me with my problems. After we had been married two years Franklin badly wanted a child, and although I knew that it could cause me problems, I agreed and went off the pill. I got pregnant quickly, and as soon as I did I went cold turkey on sugar again. By then I had figured out that my mother's sugar intake while she was pregnant with me was a likely root cause of my addiction, and I certainly was not going to take the chance of doing the same thing to my child.

At first the glow of being pregnant masked my problem. It started to rear up when I was four months pregnant, however, and was now showing. Franklin was incapable of providing as much sex as I needed to overcome the lack of sugar, both because of his natural libido and also because he started to treat me less sexually once I started to show. I was starting to lose my mind, and one night when he was out of town on business and I ate half a dozen glazed donuts before I caught myself and induced vomiting, I knew that I had to do something.

Franklin had an older brother Tom (actually half-brother; Tom's father died while his mother was pregnant with him but she remarried when Tom was only nine months old). Tom lived nearby. Tom was married to Connie, a beautiful and intelligent woman but more-or-less a cold fish, and someone who definitely did not want children. I also knew from discussions with Franklin's mom that Franklin was being nursed when Tom was a three-year-old toddler. From my psychology training I also was well aware that more than 75% of boys who are toddlers when their mother is nursing a sibling (85% if it is a male sibling) develop a fetish – they want to fuck a pregnant woman.

The above facts, combined with my excellent relationship with Tom, the appreciative looks that he had always given me (now even more appreciative since I was pregnant), and his six foot five inch, 220 pound athletic body (Tom's father was much larger than Franklin's) planted a seed in my brain that I could not shake. Only two days after the seed was planted I had lunch with Tom, told him about my sugar addiction history and the only thing that could replace it; I blatantly propositioned him.

Tom got red, blabbered, then stuttered, said some complimentary things, but in the end said that he just couldn't do it to Franklin (no mention of Connie). As we parted I promised him complete confidentiality and gave him a passionate kiss while I "inadvertently" stroked his hard on, which was about to burst his zipper.

Tom didn't call saying he had changed his mind, and I was about to place a Craig's List ad, when serendipity hit. Franklin and Connie were both going to be out of town on business Wednesday and Thursday night the next week. I called Tom and invited him to dinner on Wednesday. "I promise not to push the subject we talked about at lunch, and I'll pick you up and we can go to a restaurant."

There was a little hesitancy on Tom's part but he said "OK – but we go Dutch, you don't have to treat."

"Great – I'll pick you up at 6:30 Wednesday night," I joyously replied, and ended the call with the most sultry "Bye, now," that I could muster.

Of course I had every intention of fucking Tom senseless on Wednesday night; while I was going to act more than talk there would be no way to avoid the subject he and I had discussed at lunch. I deliberately arrived early, wearing only a trench coat and thigh-high boots. When he opened the door and said "Hi Amy; you're early but I'm almost ready; come on in," I did just that.

I followed him to his bedroom where he was retrieving his wallet and keys from his dresser and dropped the trench coat.

When Tom turned to look at me his eyes got bigger than baseballs and he moaned "Oh shit."

"Please Tom, you've got to help me otherwise I'll become a tramp. I swear no one will ever find out," I murmured as I approached him, flipping my hair over my shoulder, licking my lips, and reaching for his belt.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," he mumbled as he perfunctorily deflected my hands from his crotch.

"This may be your only chance to fuck a pregnant woman, and I know that you really want to do that," I said in my sexiest voice.

That did it. In what seemed like less than a minute we were on his bed in a sixty nine. I was rapaciously sucking his very meaty cock while he was just as ravenously eating my pussy. After my first orgasm he turned me over on my hands and knees, buried his rock hard flagpole in one thrust, and fucked the shit out of me while massaging a tit with one hand and stroking my belly with the other.

We had sex on and off the entire night. I could tell that he was slightly guilty the next morning, but not enough to pretend that we would be doing anything else Thursday night.

After Thursday night Tom was hooked. "The last two nights were the most fun I've ever had. I don't know how you knew that I had a pregnancy fetish, but I do and fucking you is even more rewarding that my high expectations. Not only are you pregnant but you're hot and really know how to fuck."

"Why you'd almost think that you want to establish a fucking schedule," I grinned.

"You bet your sweet ass, I do," he growled, then passionately kissed me as he fingered my cum-filled pussy.

The next three months were about the best of my life up to that point. I was off sugar completely, having enough sex between my cautious loving husband and my well-hung passionate brother-in-law to completely fulfill me, and I had a pregnancy glow. A lot of the guys at work must have had nursing younger brothers too, because I was constantly being hit on, and though most of it was clearly good-natured, it was clear that for some of the guys one word from me and it would be serious. Of course all good things must come to an end.

Franklin came home before I expected him to one day once I was on maternity leave, and I foolishly left my computer open while I was showering. Worse, it was open to an email telling Tom to come over two days later at noon for another rewarding fuck. The only good thing about it was that Tom and I never used our names or any details that could possibly identify us, and the email address that I sent his communications to was one that I had set up for him and had a name that would never logically be associated with him.

Franklin was unusually quiet when I found him home. The computer lid was closed, but I know that he saw it – and probably my history of emails with that address, all sexual in nature. He didn't confront me then but I knew that there was no way out of it. I was sure that Franklin was going to follow up and just cancelling the rendezvous would just cause him to hire a private detective and even if I didn't have sex with Tom again he would eventually confront me. The last thing that I wanted was for him to find out that Tom was my paramour.

That night I called Tom on a burner phone, told him the bad news, told him that we had to cool it, and advised that I would handle the situation in a unique way that would only bring shit on my head, not his.

Jack, one of the guys at work who had been hitting on me, and obviously the most serious one, was a young single guy. The next morning I went back to my office to talk to him face-to-face. I explained the situation to him – obviously without details or names – and asked him if he would be willing to fuck me the next day at noon, knowing that my husband would find us.

"Is he likely to get violent?" Jack asked.

I thought that a somewhat odd question since Jack was three inches taller and thirty pounds heavier than my husband – although then I realized that he had never met my husband or knew whether or not he had a gun.

"No – and I can protect you if necessary because he'll never hurt me; and he doesn't have a gun. He'll just be distressed and may divorce my ass, but I'll have to suffer the consequences. Also, my bedroom has two exits."

Jack smiled. "OK on two conditions – number one I get to fuck you today; and number two that we not be actually in the throes of sex when he finds us. I'll still be dressed and eating your pussy, but we won't be fucking."

I had no choice but to agree. "OK," I replied after a short pause. "But you have to pay for the motel room with a credit card, and I'll reimburse you with cash."

"I don't need reimbursement," he cackled. "I'm checking off number one on my bucket list."

"You're too young to have a bucket list," I replied, since Jack couldn't have been more than twenty five.

"Then call it my fantasy list – in any event I want to fuck a well along preggo, and one as hot as you makes it that much more delicious!" he cackled.

Jack took the afternoon off, and we met at a local motel about 12:30. I was feeling guilty, but didn't think that I had much choice because I definitely could not take the chance that Tom would be exposed as my paramour. I wasn't really into the sex, however, until Jack started eating my pussy while he pinched one nipple with one hand and rubbed my belly with the other. I got even more into it when he had me sit on his lap facing away from me and fucked my brains out while molesting my pregnancy-enhanced boobs.

My three hours with Jack turned out to be a wonderful sexual experience. I never had a guy cum in me three times in such a short time period before, each ejaculation like a firecracker detonating it was so intense. I was exhausted but very well satisfied when we left, and he was beyond-giddy. "That was the best experience of my life, sexual or otherwise," he chortled just before we exited.

"Don't forget; you need to be at my house by noon tomorrow," I reminded him.

"After today you can be sure that I'll keep my promise," he grinned.

Things were tense with Franklin that night, but I tried to pretend that they weren't. I cried when he left for work the next morning with only a token kiss on the cheek. I did really love Franklin and even though I knew that my addiction was more responsible than I was for what had happened, I still realized that I had fucked up badly and that it may ruin my life – and his.

Jack arrived on time. It was hard getting into it while he licked my pussy while remaining clothed, but I put on a good act. Franklin appeared just when I thought that he would. He yelled "Get the fuck out" to Jack, which Jack carefully did (fortunately it was easy due to the two exits), while making sure that Franklin wasn't reaching for a weapon.

I didn't bother trying to cover up. I did start crying. "I'm so sorry Franklin, you deserve so much better than an addict like me," I got out through my tears.

Franklin didn't go ballistic, but he was obviously very hurt. He wanted to lash out. "Is the baby even mine?" he boomed.

"I never had sex with anyone besides you during our marriage except after I got pregnant," I remorsefully replied. "We can have a DNA test done to prove it. It's not an excuse, but giving up my sugar addiction led to a sex addiction, and Jack just happened to be there."

"Is there anyone else?" he bellowed.

"No...just Jack, and maybe a dozen times with him," I mumbled in reply with my eyes cast on the floor.

"Did he use a condom?" was the next question.

"No, but he was tested and he has no STDs," I quickly responded, again without making eye contact.

"I've got a meeting with a client this afternoon that I can't miss," he said with crossed arms and eyes both teary and angry at the same time. "We'll talk at six tonight."

"OK," I softly replied.

That night I tearfully told Franklin everything about my addictions since I was a teenager, and how I had handled them. I didn't ask that he consider them as excuses – just that he understand them enough so that he could hopefully forgive me. "I'll have to see," he mumbled. "I'll sleep in the guest room until I make up my mind."