It Happened To Me Contest Entry: I Dated A Porn Addict

I guess I thought that a porn addict would be into sex. Little did I know that it is often impossible for porn addicts to achieve orgasm during real-life sex.

Mar 14, 2013 at 10:00am | Leave a comment

 
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By Ashley Kreutter
 
I was in my junior year of college and had just broken up with my abusive, on-again-off-again ex of three years and I was a mess. I had various nervous breakdowns, been diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder and put on a daily regimen of pills, therapy and mindfulness techniques.
 
To cope with these life changes, in addition to coping with the drama of going to a two-hundred student art school, I looked for guys to date. Or fuck (whichever came first.) 
 
After a series of beyond dead-end blind/Internet/”Oh hey, I sort of know you” type dates, I was done. I felt hopeless, and resorted to writing on my dorm room floor and popping Ativan three times a day. Cue Dave.*
 
Dave seemed innocent enough, big and goofy with a penchant for comics and The Cure. When I initially saw him, I assumed that he was either gay or asexual. He was…errr…nice and kind of funny but he was in NO WAY sexy or alluring. That’s what made him perfect for me. He was safe.
 
So when he asked me to be his girlfriend, with his eyes on the linoleum floor and a sheepish, red-cheeked face, I couldn’t turn him down. An hour later, when we were kissing (albeit awkwardly) on my twin bed, with his 200+ pound frame hovering over my 98 pound body (lordy, lordy!) and he said: “I just want you to know, I’m a virgin and I don’t want you for sex.”
 
I should have taken that as some sort of red, or yellow, or motherfucking purple, polka-dotted flag, and pursued the sex issue further, buuuuut I didn’t. I smiled, said “OK” and kept kissing him. I thought that at the time he was just being nice.
 
Any sexual contact I tried to initiate was slow and bumbling at best, with him not wanting to touch me or not knowing if he was going to come or not being able to get hard or not even trying. I continued to date him. I continued to try. When we finally had P-in-V intercourse, he freaked out and made me take the morning after pill despite the fact that we used a condom. I thought that since we had overcome the hurdle of the bumbling first time that we’d continue to have sex with some frequency. Notsomuch.
 
I’d kiss him and try to slip off his pants. No dice. I’d climb on top of him naked after a shower. Nope. I’d buy sexy panties and parade around in them. Nada. I’d ask him if he wanted to have sex, and every time I’d ask he’d turn me down with some excuse. “People can hear us” was the one I heard most often.
 
After nearly two years of dating and sexual disappointment, combined with graduating college and moving in together, I gave up and became miserably depressed. I stopped taking my meds, started cutting (again) and fought with Dave about everything every day.
 
We fought about money, about my unhappiness, about his sloppy appearance and constant hours sitting in front of the computer which he would defend by saying “I’m WORKING.” The number of man hours logged in front of that screen seemed well beyond that of any typical freelance writer. I stopped questioning. I gave up on trying to be with him, trying to be happy with him, trying to have a normal, adult, relationship.
 
I moved out. We broke up. He said things, I said things. I was tired and very, very done.
 
One day, while I was trying to save some files I needed to print up, I found  one of Dave’s flash drives at the bottom of one of my boxes. He had tons of them floating around our apartment when we lived together so it did not surprise me at all that one of them got mixed in with my things. I figured it would be perfect to store my files on, and that he wouldn’t go searching for it since he has countless others.
 
I plugged that sucker into my laptop and was beyond surprised to find the thing crammed with porn.” Alt schoolgirl gets fucked by big, black dick” type porn. Mortified, I showed my roommates, who figured that the flash drive simply couldn’t be his, he wasn’t into sex. They weren’t even sure if he was into women. (FYI: My one roommate often refers to Dave as an “asexual jar of mayonnaise.”)
 
image

The flash drive in question

 
I cleared off the flash drive and tried to push the incident as far from my mind as possible, that is until Dave called me shortly after Christmas, begging to talk, insisting that he had something incredibly important to tell me, something that may “change the way I saw him.” 
 
(When I picked up the phone I totally expected him to tell me he was gay, or asexual, or that he was joining the circus.)
 
“When I was in high school, I had a really severe porn addiction and I kicked it before you and I started dating, but last year, when you began to get really depressed, I relapsed.”
 
WHAT. THE. FUCK?
 
The kid who I stripped, shimmied and splayed myself out for, the one who denied nearly all of my sexual advances was a PORN ADDICT?
 
I sat there, beyond stunned, listening to the words, listening to him sob and apologize profusely and all I could do was say “Umm, OK.”
 
My mind reeled and went back to the flash drive I’d found a few weeks earlier. That was his porn. He put it there. I tried to change the subject of the conversation by telling him that I’d found the iPod I’d given him when we were first dating that he lost a few months later.
 
“Well, that’s part of it. There might be ‘something’ on there.”
 
“But you had this iPod with you while you were visiting my family…”
 
“Exactly.”
 
My jaw hung slack, a string of drool trailing on my jeans. The douchebag had looked at porn while he was visiting my 70-something-year-old grandparents, he had porn on the iPod in his pocket while playing video games with my then seven-year-old brother who considered Dave to be his best friend. I did not know what to do. I told Dave I had to go, hung up the phone and immediately Googled “porn addiction.”
 
One article stated that porn addicts lose sexual interest in their partners because it seems near impossible to emulate the in-porn scenarios in the context of reality and a real relationship. Another listed off the symptoms, the same ones I had seen in Dave months earlier: increased time spent on the computer, disinterest in romance and sex, depression, anger.
 
Everything started to make sense and yet it still seemed so impossible, so unreal. I guess I thought that a porn addict would be into sex, that because they liked to watch it, they wanted the sensations and experiences in real life. Little did I know that it is often impossible for porn addicts to achieve orgasm during real-life sex.
 
I tried really hard not to be disgusted. I tried to comprehend that it was an addiction, it was beyond his control at this point. I accepted his apology when he called asking for forgiveness and told him that I was proud of him when he revealed that he had started going to therapy.
 
Every day I try to be understanding and compassionate. I try to be his friend and I try really, really hard not to be disgusted, because it’s an addiction and it’s something he can’t help.
 
It’s something he can’t help.