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I would still have been a sex addict without the Internet, but it’s hard for me to picture because those two tweaky compulsions are so tightly wrapped together for me.
I even discovered my sexuality and the World Wide Web at the same time.
I was 13 in 1995 when we finally went online at my house.
It would be another six or seven years before I fully embraced the Internet’s ability to bring me a steady flow of anonymous sex partners.
But from the moment I first heard those dulcet dial-up tones and the hopeful purr that followed, the online experience was tinged with sexual possibility.
I remember signing into a Prodigy chat room and communicating with another purported teenager whose screen name was “slyweasel13.” My mother stayed seated next to me at the computer desk, so the chatting never turned explicit, but it was loaded with flirty winking emoticons that left me panting.
Before the first dis-inhibiting sips of alcohol allowed me to go on dates with these guys, the Internet enabled me to talk to them, and maybe more thrillingly, to remake myself in the image of someone boys would want to talk to.
Online, I wasn’t overweight, nearsighted, brace-faced and lacking in social skills.
I was a sexual being capable of courting and receiving male attention. The Internet is a dangerous place for any sex addict, but for female sex addicts, there is the extra appeal of judgment-free access to an endless stream of sex partners willing to offer intimacy, flattery, money and whatever else it takes to get our attention.