My Secret Life as a Sex Addict

It was only the fourth day of the cruise and I was already on my seventh penis.
I met Jack at the pizza station by the pool. I went there to binge on pizza, partly because pizza is delicious and partly to punish my bad behaviors with food. I just wanted to engorge myself with cheese, crust, and soda like a bloated tick. Jack, “Hey, I’ve seen you around. This pizza isn’t the greatest…” After a few minutes of small talk, the next thing I know, I’m on my knees in the closest men’s bathroom to the pizza station. No kissing, no foreplay, just c*ck in my mouth. “ Thank you so much. I needed that so badly. I was going crazy hanging out with my wife and kids this entire cruise. I gotta go.” I’m not really sure how I find myself in these kinds of situations. It seems to only happen to me. Somehow I attract random men to do this. I don’t even like to suck c*ck. Much less a guy I don’t even know who has a wife and kids. Stranger C*ck is disgusting, so why did I suck it?! What the f*ck is wrong with me? It is said that once the pain of the addiction is greater than the reward, that is when change occurs. Sex addiction is a shameful topic. There are some books written for male sex addicts, but few from a female sex addict’s point of view. I am an American middle-class mom who works as a physician. I was smart enough to get a medical degree and to live a seemingly beautiful suburban soccer mom life. Until the age of 49, I lived with significant anger, resentment, shame, and guilt about myself and my behavior. I couldn't live like this anymore, riding this sickening merry-go-round of binging, sexing, regretting, crying, and still acting out. I was turning 50 this year and had to fix my mental and physical health. I did not want to hit the milestone of age 50. Still a mess. This is my story.