“I thought you got rid of all your toys,” he says, confused. I imagine his brows furrowing and his forehead wrinkling in a bit of disapproval.
Shit. I did tell him that the first time we talked. Along with trashing my porn （which was the truth）， I told a lie about ditching my sex toys.
“I lied,” I blurt out the truth. “But I really did throw out my porn.”
“No more lying,” Lo says roughly. “Not with each other and not with our friends. We have to do better.”
“Yeah, I know. I will. That was…that was all before I met my therapist.”
I hear him shift a little, the chair creaking.
“Are you on that ugly orange chair?” I ask.
“No, I’m in my room at my desk.”
“Oh…” I try to picture his room, and just when I’m about to ask, he pipes in.
“What did your therapist say tonight?”
I cringe. “No more self-love for me.” I press my forehead to my knees. “I think it’s going to be impossible though until you get back. It’s been so long; I can’t even imagine…” Not touching myself? Not reaching that high just once…it seems infeasible.
“How old were you when you started touching yourself?”
I kiss my kneecaps, knowing the first moment well because Dr. Banning made me dig through my memories and give it to her. “Nine, but I started doing it to porn at eleven after I found that magazine at your Dad’s place.”
“Okay, that’s disgusting,” he snaps. “Please never mention how you masturbated to my father’s porn ever again.”
“It was yours, you jackass,” I say lightly, not as offended as I should be I think.
“How do you know?”
“It was in your shoebox of porn on your shelf and in your closet.”
“Oh. Never mind then.”
I smile. I miss talking to him, even if our conversations aren’t normal on any standards. I don’t think we’ve ever been normal. Maybe that’s why it works.
“Well, that sounds like a solid plan,” I say. “I’ll try to minimize now, but completely eliminate self-love when you return home.”
“That’s the shittiest plan I’ve ever heard.”
“What?” I frown. This is not normal. He usually agrees with me.
“It doesn’t matter if I’m there or not. If your therapist doesn’t think it’s a good idea, then it’s probably not one.”
“But that means…I won’t be able to have any kind of sex until you come home…” My pulse speeds up in sudden fear. I know Lo is cutting alcohol completely from his life, but my therapist said that recovering sex addicts shouldn’t strive towards celibacy forever. It’s an impossible standard to maintain. Sex is a part of human nature.
“Unless it’s with me,” Lo adds.
Now I’m really confused. “I don’t understand. You’re not here. Unless you’re going to mail me a dildo of your dick,” I say hopefully.
“Uh, no. I’m not letting anyone mold my cock for your pleasure. You can have the real thing at the end of March.”
“Then how am I supposed to have sex?”
“What about phone sex?” Ohhhh. Wait…
“Isn’t that the same thing as me masturbating?”
“Not if you’re doing it to my voice and only my voice. That way, you know when to stop, and it’ll set up a system for you. The hardest part about recovering from sex addiction—for you, I think—is going to be establishing limits, right?”
It sounds like a really good idea, and I’m kind of surprised he came up with this on his own. “Yeah, how do you know so much about it?”
“I’ve been talking to some counselors who know a lot about addictions, some have worked with sex addicts before. They’ve been giving me some advice.”
I smile. “So can we have phone sex now?”
“No.”
“What? But you just said—”
“You have to earn it.”
Huh… “That’s kind of mean.”
“I never said I would be nice. I’m done enabling you, which means we’re not going to have sex whenever you want it. You’ll have to find the strength to hold out until the time is right.”
“And you get to choose when the time is right. How is that fair?”
“I’m not the sex addict.”
Touché. “Jeez. I thought sober Lo would be nicer.”