This story is true, every last word of it. And it has been leaving me with the question, "why?" for many years. Let me tell you what I am. I'm a straight white male, divorced, father of three, addicted to women, and now single and dating. I've never cheated on my women. I'm not as great in bed as I once was, but I look good for my age, and women 30 years younger still ask me to call them. My sexual addiction for women has gone unchanged--or maybe even increased substantially--over the years. I love sexy young women. I download pictures of them whenever I can. I have special ones like Liz Hurley, Elle McPherson, Halle Berry, maybe one I spotted on the street. I fantasize only about women, and they give me pleasure.

I'm not sexually attracted to men. But once when I was very young and inexperienced, a sexual predator took advantage of me, and to this very day, I ask myself: "Why did I let it happen?" First, let me explain, readers (and I'm assuming most of you are far younger than I), that when I was 21, most young women, and most young men, were virgins until they got married! Oh, there were always "studs" and what we used to call "easy women," but the large majority of young women and men saved themselves for their honeymoons! And so, (there were no drugs readily available) young men got drunk, and lied to their buddies about last night's date! (Women probably did the same!) Mostly, though, young guys like myself came home from a date very frustrated and very hard. Thank goodness for masturbation!

When I was around twenty, I started working for a big company. One of the guys in my department was a damned good creative writer after working hours, having sold several stories and books. When I told him I liked to write short stories, he expressed a keen interest in seeing them. The guys in my department all respected Bernie as a co-worker. He was (apparently) happily married (I met his wife; she was attractive!), had children, and was in his mid- forties. He was rarely without a cigarette, like many people in those days. An average looking guy, what little hair he had was closely cropped to his head, and he had thick glasses and an ever-present "five o'clock shadow." He spoke gently, but was solidly built. In those days, very few people said, "Hey, I'm gay and damned proud of it!" Bernie, though, exhibited characteristics of a gay man... in his walk, his talk, his mannerisms. The guys in my department were all older than I, good natured, and worldly. They never said cruel things to or about Bernie, and I think he enjoyed their light teasing!

Maureen Antonio was my first love! She worked in another department, and was a perfect mix of Irish and Italian, with piercing blue eyes and a natural tan, Tall, slender, dark haired and mysterious, she looked very much like the sultry and beautiful Ava Garner, still one of my all-time favorites! Maureen was a "poor man's Ava Gardner." The problem with Maureen (or was it me?) was that she was a very experienced young woman, to say the least. I went "steady" with her for four months, and we kissed and hugged and pawed very passionately. I was always ashamed and embarrassed at the massively aroused penis that always pushed at her belly, but I never opened my pants. I know now that her little rule was that the man had to make the first move. Times have changed! At one time during our relationship, her grandmother, whom Maureen idolized, died unexpectedly. I attended the funeral with Maureen's family and parents. Only one person was missing from the funeral... and missing for about three days: Maureen. When she finally showed up, told me that her old boyfriend "Pete" had flown in unexpectedly from California, and had called her. "He's not much to look at," Maureen admitted, "You're much better looking! But whenever he's here, I have to be with him!" And when we split up, she told me: "Someday I'll marry you, but only after you've had experience." Hey, guys and girls, times were different then! And to make matters even worse, I was a catholic (still am). I really don't think I was afraid of "hurting God," but rather of being doomed to hell.