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I can never get enough!

My sexual appetite is destroying my life


Published by: Polly Taylor
Published on: 15th November 2010

Pulse racing, I perched on the edge of the bed, crossing and uncrossing my legs, drumming my fingers. Not long now until my boyfriend Tony, 18, got home and I’d be able to get my fix…
Raking trembling hands through my hair, I realised that beads of sweat were forming on
my forehead.
Deep breaths… I tried everything to distract myself – scrubbed the kitchen, thumbed through magazines, but nothing worked. If I didn’t get what I needed right now, I was going to go mad.
Just then, I heard a key turning in the lock. Tony!
‘Janine, I’m ho…’ Before the words were out of his mouth, I’d pounced.
Kissing him hard on the lips, I pushed him on to the bed, tore off his jacket, and wriggled on top of him.
But before I could have my wicked way, he pushed me off.
‘You don’t fancy me,’ I sulked, turning my back to him.
‘I’m just tired,’
he soothed.
‘You had a headache this morning,’ I huffed.
You’d think a girl who was always up for it would be every man’s dream, and with my long dark hair, and size eight figure, I wasn’t difficult to look at either! Yet, the more I demanded sex, the more Tony distanced himself from me.
At times, when I was thinking straight, I could understand why. It wasn’t that I just liked sex – I needed it, like a drug. If I had my way, we’d have been at it all the time.
As it was, I had to make do with seven times a day – and even that wasn’t enough. I constantly felt tetchy and irritable if I wasn’t having sex.
I was addicted.
If I’d been an alcoholic, people would have worried but, because I was a sex addict, people thought it was a joke.
Friends looked at Tony’s exhausted face and whistled. ‘You’re wearing the poor bloke out,’ my best mate Jade would laugh.
Male friends nudged each other and winked. ‘Get yourself a real man,’ they’d joke. But it wasn’t funny – my insatiable need was controlling my life.
Now, Tony gently turned me to face him. ‘Sorry, Janine,’ he sighed sadly. ‘I can’t do this any more.’
As he closed the door behind him, I curled up and sobbed.
I was heartbroken, but even through my tears, I could feel the tingling… God, I was horny!
What sort of person thinks of sex at a time like this? I was abnormal, a freak! I hated myself. I wanted to be loved for who I was, to settle down, have kids, be like everyone else, but I never would be.
No man could keep up with me, I always got dumped in the end. I was destined to be alone and desperate for sex.
Despair washed over me. I couldn’t face going on. I wanted it to end – the pain, the loneliness, the overwhelming urges…
In a daze, I opened the bathroom cabinet, reached for a packet of painkillers, and shoved a couple of handfuls into my mouth.
Moments later, I collapsed. My sister Danielle, 33, found me and I was rushed to hospital.
When I came to, my mum Lynne was at my bedside. ‘Why did you do this?’ she cried.
‘Because I hate myself,’ I whispered to her.
At rock bottom, I plucked up the courage to tell my doctor what had happened.
‘These will dull your sexual appetite,’ he promised, prescribing me antidepressants.
Fat chance! Even after everything I’d been through, I still had bonking on the brain.
Not long after I got out of hospital, I met Mark. His eyes twinkled as we chatted and, before I knew what was happening, we were back at my flat, having sex.
When we’d finished – the sense of relief I felt… It was like the first drag on a ciggie, only a million times better!
After that, Mark and me were at it like rabbits. 
‘Put him down!’ my pals chorused, whenever we got a bit frisky on a night out.
He had a high sex drive, too, and I thought finally I’d found the perfect man who’d love me just the way I was.
But after two years, my constant needs ground him down. One night, I called him on his mobile demanding he come home from the pub to satisfy me.
‘I’m with my mates,’ he sighed.
‘Call yourself a man?’ I hit back. Cruel, unfair, but I was desperate.
‘I think you’ve got a problem, Janine,’ he spat, hanging up. After that we called it a day.
So I gave up on finding a long-term fella and had flings instead – I’d see a man for about six weeks then move on after I had worn him out. Del, Vince, Tony… I could barely remember their names. Over the next two years, I got through 30 blokes.
Yes, I felt ashamed, but what was my alternative – to try killing myself again?
Then Jade called me. ‘I’m getting married!’ she sang.
‘Congratulations!’ I smiled.
Even as we discussed dresses, venues, honeymoons… my heart sank a little. Yes, I was happy for her. But it made me remember how much I’d wanted that for me, too.
The past two years I’d been so busy acting like a junkie, getting high on sex, that I’d pushed that dream to the back of my mind. Now it had resurfaced.
How was I ever going to settle down and have the life I’d dreamed of when my other desires got in the way?
It was time for drastic action.
Desperate to beat my addiction, I vowed not to sleep with anyone unless I thought there was a chance of a serious relationship. No more meaningless sex, no more wham, bam, thank you ma’am.
It was hard at first, but I developed my own tactics. ‘Feel that!’ I grinned to Jade, holding my leg out as we got dolled up for a night out.
‘They’re… hairy!’ she gasped in astonishment.
‘Yep!’ I said. ‘And my underwear doesn’t match either!’
It might sound silly, but this was my own take on aversion therapy. If I felt unattractive, unsexy, then it would help keep my desires in check, I reckoned.
And it worked!
That night, I winked, flirted… but went home alone. Yes, I was as jittery as any other addict giving up, but at least I managed not to give in.
The next day, I did the same. In fact, I managed to hold off for three whole days. Slowly, I weaned myself off sex until I was only doing it once a week. Now I’ve managed to get my habit down to just a couple of times a month.
I still have a long way to go because, although I’m not giving in, I do feel constantly frustrated.
But I’m confident that one day I’ll have everything I’ve ever wanted – not just great sex, but a loving relationship, and a happy home to go with it.
Janine McKee, 23, Watford, Hertfordshire