He was wearing a UCLA sweatshirt. Before I dosed off I smiled at him, and I think I might have blown him a kiss. My mind was so fucked up, who knows. ...he chairs were all in a circle. It was some kind of 12 step meeting for sex addicts. One by one the people shared their story. This one gal got up. Her name was Ginger I think. ‘Hi, Ginger.’ everyone chorused. She started talking about how she was addicted to playing with herself. When she was younger she’d bend her legs a certain way and rock. Her trophies and ribbons decorated the blankness of the walls. They were good memories once, but on the day we lost our prayers, they are nothing more than the haunting verses of our past. “That’s right, Alice, let’s go to the beach!” I tried to act cheerful for her. I knew she was listening. “Just the two of us. Let’s pack our cutest swimsuits, reserve in the finest hotel and who knows? We might find ourselves some males. Lured by the seductive allure of glistening oils and strong scent of. More

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