My Story: Scott W.


My addiction started like so many others – in a dysfunctional family. My
mom had a drinking problem that started when I was in the fourth grade. As
her addiction grew, mine took root.

I discovered masturbation quite my mistake while taking a bath. I soon
learned how to use it to make myself feel better. I was not that aware of
that at the time, though. I had my first sexual experience at a birthday
party for my sister. All of the older kids thought it would be funny if
they got me drunk. After two beers I was totally wasted. I remember trying
to put pajamas on a yucca plant and feed it beer. (My first love!)

One of my sister’s friends took me up to put me to bed and that night I was
molested for the first time. Mark started to set up situations where we
would be alone. The sex was always one sided. Mark would use me just long
enough to get off and then he was gone. We continued to have sex for the
next seven years. One night, Mark had taken me from a party to the
playground of a church where I got to kiss him for the first time. When I
kissed him, he told me to never do it again… because that was not what I
was good for.

I took the opportunity to have sex with a neighbor one night. He had been
out drinking with my brother and I molested him after he fell asleep. I had
discovered a new way of taking control. I get them drunk and then I take
advantage of them. I did this time after time. I got caught in the act one
night by the brother of one of the guys I was molesting. The next day, I
got beat up in front of all of our friends. That was the first time I knew

I went into high school a total love addict. I was in love with over fifty
guys. I wanted them to notice me, but it never happened. When it became
obvious that I was not getting anywhere with the guys, I decided to get
close to them another way. I would get into the locker room at night and
take the gym clothes of the guys I liked. I had a way into the locker room
any time I wanted in. I found myself locked in there night after night,
totally wrapped in a fantasy world. I ended up with over one hundred pair
of underwear under my bed – not to mention the sports uniforms hidden all
over my room. At home, I started to do the same thing. If I liked someone,
I would case their house for a few days and when the opportunity came up, I
would break in and take their underwear for my collection. I have broken
into nine or ten homes.

I was now living a life of secrets, crimes and lies. One day, I overheard
someone talking about the parks and malls as places to pick up sex partners.
I wasted no time in starting my search. Once I found the acting out places,
I threw myself into anonymous sex with everything I had. I was soon acting
out with eight to twelve men every time I was there. I met my lover in the
park acting out one day. He and I moved in together three months later. I
thought this was the answer to all my problems. I wanted to stop acting out
so bad and I came very close to getting some sobriety. But, only weeks
after Randy and I got together, I was looking for ways to act out. I had
stopped having sex with Mark only a few weeks before Randy and I met. I had
had sex with several hundred men in the previous four years. I was not
aware of how difficult it was going to be to stop.

My answer came when we had the opportunity to move. This would be my way to
start fresh. About a week after we moved to the desert, Randy told me about
all the acting out places. He had grown up there and he had no idea what he
was telling me. I’m sure I would have found them soon enough on my own,
however. In the seven years that Randy and I owned our business in the
desert, I had slipped to the lowest depths. I was arrested for climbing on
the roof of a gay hotel and trying to look into the skylights. After I was
released that night, I went back and acted out there. I acted out a
different fantasy in each room. In less than two months, I had totally
trashed the hotel. I was sure that I was HIV+. After all, I had to go with
the odds. I had acted out with over 1000 men in the desert and I was often
less than careful. There is a great danger in presuming. As it turns out,
I was using that HIV status as an excuse to act out even more – and I’m
negative! Sometimes, I would have to get drunk before I would act out and
this would often lead to my being raped and abused by strangers.

Without Randy knowing anything about my behaviors, I was beginning to feel
depressed, guilty and worthless. I was making deals with myself only to see
them go down in failure. I knew I needed to move again if I was going to
stop. We moved to the beach and settled into a new life. In such a small
town I knew I would be free from this addiction. That was true until Randy
and I went to the beach. Randy came back from a walk and told me I should
see what was going on in the bushes. That day, I resisted the temptation to
go check it out. But, by my next day off, it was business as usual. By the
end of that summer, I was worse than I had been in the desert. On our tenth
anniversary together, I told Randy all my secrets. I was prepared to move
out and live on my own. Randy just listened and we talked for most of that
day and all the way through our anniversary dinner. During that dinner, he
told me he would stay with me and try to work it out.

I went to my first SCA meeting on a Saturday night in Los Angeles. The
drive was 180 miles, round trip. I didn’t mind, though. I had found a
group that would understand and support me. I became literature person at
that meeting a few months later, and I loved taking home the literature to
read. Just before Christmas, I had a slip and I got caught in a public
restroom acting out. I was alone, but I was definitely breaking the law.
When the police officer found me doing what I was doing, I found out what
hitting bottom is really all about. The officer asked me if I was on drugs
or alcohol. I told him, no. He asked if he could look in my car just to
make sure. I told him he could. He slowly opened the literature box, not
knowing what to expect. He asked me to explain the literature. After I told
him about my meetings in Los Angeles, he said they were obviously needed in
my life. He let me clean up the mess I had made, and, in leaving, he
suggested that I start a meeting in the area because there were others he
had seen who needed the same help.

Now a year has passed and I have celebrated more sobriety that I could ever
have imagined. I do still have slips and difficult moments, but they are
far less a part of my life now. Randy is still with me and I am truly
grateful for all he has done to help me through this. With the help and
understanding of my mom and dad and all my brothers and sisters, as well as
the countless numbers of people at the meetings, I will know a new

Thank you,