One of my readers confesses to being a sex addict. A few months ago, Lord Laidlaw, Scottish Tory peer, announced that he had the same addiction. I don’t doubt that there can be such a thing, but I have problems with describing someone who likes a lot of sex as an addict. It’s a bit like saying that because I have three meals a day, I’m addicted to food.
I have other problems with the description, too. It turns a love of sex into something negative. I suspect that those who describe themselves as such are trying simply to justify their actions to disapproving others, rather than arguing the case for a rich and varied sex life. I once watched a TV documentary on someone who had a genuine sex addiction, but such people are extremely rare. The man in question could do little else other than masturbate or have sex – not for an hour or two a day, but eight ten or twelve hours every day so that he couldn’t work and had no social life. In my judgment, simply having a number of lovers isn’t addiction but rather a healthy appetite.
Talking of having a healthy appetite, I hadn’t had sex up to today since Monday with the masochist. I was beginning to feel impossibly horny and so I phoned Kate. I’ve been working away and managed to get back home by lunch time and entertained Kate to a quickie in her lunch hour. It’s risky having her at home, but needs must. It will keep me going till tomorrow with Norma…
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