Confessions of a Cockaholic

"Hello. I'm Richard S., and I'm a cockaholic.

Tonight's topic is "What it was like, What happened, and What it is like now." So here goes:

Like most cockaholics, I came from a cockaholic family. I was first introduced to cock at the age of 12, when one of my uncles got me to suck him off while another bum-holed me. They were uncles by marriage, and not much older than I was. They had both discovered they liked fucking each other as much as they liked fucking their wives. And they had also discovered that they liked fucking their younger nephew – me! I didn't mind. In fact, I loved it! I was hooked right from the start. I had my first black-out as I came in the first uncle's mouth when he was sucking me off while the second was still in my butt hole. When I came to my senses, my dick was wet with saliva and cum, and the second uncle's dick was spurting cum deep inside my ass - and I was loving it!

From that day, I progressed rapidly. I never stopped thinking about cock. I beat off my own cock repeatedly while I fantasized about my high school buddies. I had a chronic hard-on. I was afraid to take a shower after PE at school in case the guys saw my hard-on and people found out I was a cockaholic.

My name also made it harder for me to stop thinking about cock. Every time someone called me "Dick" images of cock sprang to my mind. I would get aroused and start to get a hard-on. I began to insist thet people call me "Richard." I said it was because I thought it sounded classier. Little did they know!

It was the same after hockey practice. My cup would be full of my own pre-cum from imagining my team-mates' hard dicks in my hand, my mouth, or my ass, so I would never take a shower at the rink.

When I went swimming at the pool, the only thing that saved me was that it was unheated, so as long as I went back in the water regularly, my stiffy would shrivel away. But as for joining the other guys in the sauna - forget it! Even if they all wore undies or bathing suits, the outlines of their dicks would be enough to make me ravenous for cock, and my own would stand out like a red-hot poker.

I tried to subdue my "unnatural" cravings by going out with girls. I was a good-looking guy even then, and I had no trouble getting girls to go out with me - or to go all the way with me! But the more often they sucked me off or let me fuck them, the less I liked it and the more I wanted some good stiff dick. It became a chore for me to even get a semi when I was with a girl unless I imagined I was with a hot guy with a hard cock!

In the end, I gave up dating and turned to men's "health" magazines, and "naturalist" magazines. Back then, they rarely had pics of guys completely naked, and never with a stiff cock, but it was enough - for the time being.

Just before I graduated high-school I met another guy just like me. He liked cock as much as I did, and we soon took to "binge cocking." We would make excuses to stay over at each other's homes on the weekends and spend the whole time sucking each other, jacking each other, or fucking each other. As far as our parents were concerned we were locked in the bedroom studying for the upcoming finals, but in reality we were cracking each other, not textbooks.

That was a little bit of heaven, but it was not to last. He moved to the city to go to university, and I moved to another town to find work.

But on the plus side, the move also meant I could find men anonymously. No-one knew me in this new town, and there were lots of guys with lots of cocks, and I soon found ways to contact guys who wanted to play - or have their cocks played with. Bars, mens' rooms, sports fields, swimming pools, and gyms - all were meat markets for me. All had delicious cock to feed my habit, my need, my addiction.

It was a time when finding jobs was easy, and just as well, because I went through lots of them. In every case, it was my need for cock that lost me the job.

I lost my job at the men's wear store through groping one too many cocks as I measured inseams while fitting a guy for a suit.

I lost my job on construction by staring up the leg of my boss's shorts while I was supposed to be hoisting bricks up to him.

I lost my job as janitor in a mall when I spent too much time hovering around the urinals in the mens' rooms looking at all the beautiful cocks, careful though, not to make the mistake of grabbing any.

I lost another job at another mall for a similar reason. I was caught drilling new glory holes in all the mens' room stalls instead of repairing existing ones.

One job was perfect: male nurse for a urologist. I not only got to look at lots of cock, but to touch many. I had a gift for touching them just right, and many a guy would get an instant hard-on - which led to my dismissal. One guy got a massive woody which looked absolutely delicious. The fact that I made him hard so readily led me to presume he was into it. I covered his swollen knob with my mouth and he cried bloody murder. It turned out he was a homophobe who was being treated for an involuntary erection problem.

I tried to convince myself that I could beat this. I could cure myself of this dreadful disease. I tried all the suggested methods:

I would not bring cock into my home. If there was no men in my home, I could not suck their cocks, therefore I would not be a cockaholic. But instead I went to bars - or the mens' rooms in bars.

I told myself I would only suck small cocks. But that was easier said than done. Too many times that small cock grew into a massive one. So many guys are "growers, not showers."

I tried the "geographical cure." I moved to another town where no-one would know me. This actually made the hunger worse, because there were so many new men with so many new cocks to try.

This is a progressive disease. The more cock I findled, sucked, or took into my manhole, the more I wanted. It didn't matter whose cock, as long as it was cock - young, old, fat, thin, black, white, cut, uncut, long, short - as long as it was cock!

I became unemployable. My unemployment benefits ran out. I haunted public toilets, parks, and back alleys in search of cock. Food became unimportant. The only meat I wanted, needed, was cock in my mouth; the only liquid, freshly-pumped cum!

One night, at my most desperate, I approach a man at the urinals in the public toilets on Main Street. "Mister, can I suck your dick .... please?" He stared at me with furrowed brows. "At least let me hold it for you while you piss ... and shake it dry?" I begged. His hand shot out and grabbed me by the wrist. I thought he was plain-clothes, about to arrest me. But he spoke to me gently, kindly:

"Man, I was just like you, hungry for a fix of dick, until CSA found me."

"CSA?" I asked.

"Cocksuckers Anonymous," he explained. "It's all guys just like you and me, who help each other kick the habit. It has helped me put my life back in order. It can help you, too."

Here was a lifesaver being offered me on the perilous sea of penis madness.

"How much does it cost to join?" I asked him.

"There are no dues or fees," he told me. "All CSA asks is that in return you help others who are addicted to cock. Tell you what, come to a meeting with me right now and see for yourself."

I couldn't think of any excuse not to, so I hesitantly agreed. And that's when I first came to these rooms. All I remember of that first meeting was that I felt relief to find out there were lots of guys just like me who were addicted to cock, and who wanted to kick the habit. I was not alone.

Listening to others share their stories, I had the weird feeling that they must have been spying on me all along. They all told MY story, or parts of it. After a while, I came to understand that they were all just like me. We were all addicted to cock! We were a fellowship of victims to our impulses.

I did what they told me. I went to lots of meetings, I got a sponsor - Tom, the guy who introduced me to CSA, and I started working The Steps. And it worked! One day at a time I did not suck dick, fondle dick, or stick dick up my butt.

I won't say I never thought about cock, or eyed a guy's crotch, or took a sideways glance while I was standing at the pisser. but I never acted on my impulses. Yes, I had cock-sucking dreams and butt-fucking nightmares. and would wake up in a sweat of guilt.

But days went by that I never even thought about dicks - well, at least not other guys' dicks. I still played with my own regularly. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. I found a new job. I paid off my debts. And then it was twelve months. I celebrated one year free of cock!

I was cured. I was no longer addicted to cock. I was like any other guy. I had it under control. I could take it or leave it!

To prove it to myself I went to a gay bar one Friday night. I would find just one cock to suck, just one, and then I would go home!

They say it's a progressive disease. I know that's true. I never went home that night, or the next, or the next. I bounced from gay bar to gay bed to gay bar and back again, sucking cocks and taking them up my ass, or just revelling in playing with hard man-meat.

I rarely went to meetings; I never practiced the steps. I crossed the road rather than come face to face with other members of CSA. My higher power was the Great God Dick. I knelt down before my God every chance I got. I bowed for him, and kissed his lips at every opportunity.

My path led steadily downward. They say cock addiction leads to institutions, prisons, and death. Well, I went to institutions like hospitals and clinics for crabs, syphillis, and gonorrhea. Twice I spent the night in jail, accused of propositioning some straight guy, but both times the charges were dropped because the normie refused to testify.

On the few occasions I did go to meetings, it was not to get a cure, but to get a fix. We all know that every one of us here is still addicted to cock and that anything can trigger us. I came to the occasional meeting looking for the backsliders, the guys who were ready to take the plunge once more. I always found someone who was ready to join me in a sixty-nine or turnabout fucking.

It was not long before I hit a new bottom. I emerged from a blackout to find myself on skid row sucking the stinky uncut dick of a wino who had passed out while trying to take a leak. I staggered out of that reeking alley to walk straight into the arms of a fellow member of CSA who recognized me from meetings. He took me to the Good Gospel Mission. The good folks there took me in and cleaned me up, gave me food and shelter, a place to live and a place to recover.

My social worker has found a rehab center he thinks will help me. It deals with "lost causes" like me, guys who just can't seem to give up cock completely. This place has abandoned the Step programs. It works on the "damage control" model, and tries to teach guys to choose the path that will do the least damage to themselves and those around them if they must give in to their addiction once in a while.

In the meantime, here I am, an here you are, and I hope that together we can help each other get through another 24 hours without cock.

Keep cumming ... "

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