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Thread: One Day at a Time

  1. #1

    One Day at a Time

    A few weeks ago, I became obsessed with televised sex lines. I felt that going cold turkey and diverting my mind towards other things would be the best course of action, but a recent dream I experienced has sparked fears of a relapse and made me change my methods. I'm now sure that tackling the issue head on will serve me better.

    The dream featured Scottish siren Caty Cole, my favourite girl from these "babe channels", and was about Caty and I going on a hiking trip in the Scottish Highlands. The Proclaimers hit "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)" was playing on repeat in the background throughout the dream, which began with us having porridge for breakfast before setting off on the expedition. During our walk, we stopped intermittently for breaks and ate haggis and shortbread, and when we reached the peak of Ben Nevis we consummated our achievement with a game of Travel Scrabble. I won.

    I woke up and was immediately struck with fear at the thought of falling off the wagon, so I have decided to confront the problem and quell my desire for this seedy pastime by recounting how it all began and how it escalated.

    It was early March, and my girlfriend told me she was going to be away on business for several weekends meeting clients as part of her job. I wasn't sure how I would pass the time while she was away, though my hope was that I would possibly find a new hobby. Little did I know that I would, and that it would be something so sinister and consuming.

    I saw her off at the train station on the Saturday morning of her first weekend away, then bought a notepad from the shop on the platform and planned to spend the rest of the morning trainspotting. I hadn't actually done it before and didn't know what I was supposed to do, so I ended up just drawing pictures of the trains instead. By early afternoon, the notepad was almost filled with my artwork, and I decided to go home.

    When I got home, I put some of my train pictures on the fridge before going outside to try and make a documentary about the squirrels in my garden. My Sony Xperia S would be my recording device, and I had downloaded an app for it that would allow me to add exciting effects to my videos. Annoyingly, the squirrels chose that afternoon to hide away in the nearby trees, and after waiting for a few hours until it became too dark, I accepted defeat and went back inside.

    It was now around ten o'clock at night. Sleep was not something I desired, so I turned on the television and flicked through the channels. Alas, there was nothing interesting to view, with my only options being films I had already seen and signed repeats of soap operas. The latter was rendered unwatchable by the sign language man in the bottom right corner of the screen, who I find quite ignorant and distracting. I then came to the adult channels section of the TV listings menu, and while these shows had never interested me before, I decided to tune in just out of curiosity.

    I put Babestation on and entered its world for the first time. The girl on screen was a brunette named Georgie, who was on all fours on a bed wearing only a pair of black knickers. Her body was greased in baby oil, and she pouted and groped her ample breasts as she spoke into a phone. The only audio was the continuous soundtrack of hypnotic keyboard music, so you couldn't actually hear what was being said. The message at the bottom of the screen advised that you would need to pay one pound fifty per minute for the pleasure of either talking to the girls or just listening to the calls. I decided against spending any money and instead tried to hone my lip reading skills, but I quickly discovered I didn't have any lip reading skills to hone.

    Anyway, it didn't matter, as I was very content just watching. It did take me a little while to feel completely at ease because when the girls simulated sex acts it looked like they were being f*cked by a ghost, but the more I viewed, the more comfortable I became. I stayed tuned to Babestation for a couple of hours and found it so relaxing that it soothed me into sleep. I watched again the next day and was pleased that Georgie was on screen once more. It was like we were now friends.

    For the next few weekends, watching Babestation became a regular treat. As well as Georgie, the other girls featured, such as Lolly, Lori and Tiffany, also became familiar to me. Sometimes, in a feature known as "2-4-1", two of the girls would be on screen together as they caressed each other's bodies and tweaked each other's hardened nipples. They also would squirt white lotion that was designed to simulate semen onto each other before rubbing it in. Over time, I became moderately attached to these channels, but I was still sure that I could easily stop when my girlfriends weekends trips ended. How wrong I was.

    Eventually, on a fateful Saturday night, the moment everything began to change occurred. The change wasn't immediately effective, but I didn't realise at the time that I was at the thin end of the wedge. I tried a channel I hadn't watched before, Studio 66 TV, and on the screen was a girl called Caty Cole.

    The soft, innocent, high-pitched Scottish accent I heard as she spoke into the microphone to encourage viewers to call was like all the angels in heaven signing gently into my ears. This, along with her devastatingly alluring appearance, caused me to be dragged in. When she put the microphone down to resume her calls my eyes were locked to the screen and I watched all night.

    Caty was completely naked as she lay on the bed writhing around and teasingly revealing her succulent rear. Her face had a perfect symmetry, her complexion was immaculate, and when she smiled and mischievously bit her lip, it was an image even the greatest artist would struggle to capture. She spoke into her phone and looked into the camera with her large, come-to-bed eyes whilst touching every inch of her curvaceous body. She would play with her brown locks, fondle the large globes that were her breasts and sometimes spank herself.

    When she finished her shift for the night, she spoke again into the microphone to announce her departure. My heart sank. Caty winked, waved and then blew a kiss from her luscious lips to the camera before she left the bed, leaving me feeling eager for more of this green-eyed goddess.

    The next day, I met my girlfriend at the train station and found myself calling her Caty. Even though I averted disaster and managed to brush it off as an innocent mistake, this was a sign of doom. Worse was still to come. When we got home, my weekend obsession began to seep further into my daily life when I made porridge for our breakfast. I also told my girlfriend to get some Irn-Bru the next time she went shopping and to buy me the Blu-ray version of Trainspotting. The descent had truly begun.

    Over the next few weekends, I continued to watch Caty and became well and truly entangled in the web of the temptress. I began to research her further and compile a report. A small sample of my findings are that Caty was born in Glasgow in 1984, her real name is Alycia Rendall, the tattoo on her lower back says "princess" in Arabic, and she studies BSci Geology. I also scoured internet forums dedicated to these "babe channels" for videos of Caty, and I amassed a 50-gigabyte collection of over 200 videos from a site called

    I then started to follow her on Twitter, becoming one of her "dirtbags", which is what she calls her fans and followers. I even thought about calling Studio 66 TV while she was on and was worried about the thought of running up stupidly high phone bills. Although I managed to resist the urge to call, there was another way I lost money. She had a link to her Amazon wish list on her Twitter page, so I purchased an ASOS dress from the list as a gift to her, and in return I received a personalised card from Caty. Despite this feeling nice at first, I was left feeling somewhat empty after the initial rush.

    I must say that during the nadir of this addiction, there were some dark days when I didn't think I would make it through, but here I am. Luckily for me, things came to a head after the events of one momentous night.

    My girlfriend's business trips had ended, so she was now home at the weekends. This meant that I would have no further opportunities to watch these channels, and I realised my videos weren't enough. I needed live footage of Caty. One night, I told my girlfriend I was going downstairs for a glass of milk and that I would also be looking out of the kitchen window at the stars for a short while. I did actually get a glass of milk, but then I crept into the lounge and turned on the TV. I knew from Twitter that Caty was on that night and when I saw her, I was like a junkie taking a hit.

    The night was warm, meaning that my balls were a little sweaty, so I took down my shorts to let my testicles breathe. As I continued to watch, I was so preoccupied with Caty that I didn't hear my girlfriend come downstairs. The lounge door began to open. I tried to engage my mind and think of a solution, but it was too late to save the situation. The remote was too far out of reach to change the channel, and there was no way I would have been able to get my shorts up in time from around my ankles. The door opened and my shame was revealed.

    "What the f*ck are you doing?" she asked calmly.

    "Letting my balls breathe," I replied.

    "Don't p*ss me around!" she said, becoming angrier. "Is this what you've been doing while I was away?"

    "I didn't call her," I said truthfully, "and I only touched myself once."

    "You're sleeping down here tonight," she said. I could tell she was becoming truly annoyed because her nostrils flare like Kenneth Williams' when she gets mad. "This stops as of now," she added as she confiscated the power lead for the television and went upstairs.

    I was left to sleep uncomfortably on the couch, thinking how lucky I was that her tirade wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. The next morning, I realised my pardon was temporary when she unleashed her full fury. I regained my sense of hearing by noon and resolved to dedicate myself to my real relationship.

    Over the next few days I took various courses of action to purge my fixation, beginning with me dropping the external hard drive I had stored my Caty videos on out of a window. This failed to bring about its destruction, however, as it just bounced when it struck the ground and didnít smash. I went outside with a hammer to complete the job and rid myself of this Pandora's Box, but as I pounded the hard drive into a terminal state I realised it would have been easier to just delete the videos. It was too late and the damage was now irreversible, so I thought about trying to use the power of my mind to go back in time to the moment just before I dropped the device. I then realised this was stupid and accepted the hard drive's demise.

    Another of my soul-cleansing acts was to purchase a box set of the compete first season of New Girl. This was a way to fill the void and provide me with a new, purer pastime. I have so far worked my way through all twenty-four episodes of season one and have also watched eight episodes of season two on Sky Plus. Maybe the thought of the fast-approaching season two finale has subliminally brought about fears of a relapse, what with season three not due to premiere in the UK until 2014.

    Although these things have helped, one thing that still concerns me is that it is said that you are never truly free from the temptations of your addictions. The best I can do is to keep resisting. On a positive note, I am still doing that. My relationship with my girlfriend has regained some stability, and I don't think the dream of Caty is necessarily indicative of a definite setback. Also, the decision to reflect on this strange episode in my life, instead of running away, has actually helped me a lot.

    So, this is where I am at the moment. I'm still keeping my head above the water. I will continue on my path of sobriety, with the hope that the path is a long one. It's about taking it one day at a time.

  2. #2
    Registered User
    Join Date
    Sep 2011
    I think this is well-written and somewhat interesting, although I am not into it or was ever into it and can't grasp the excitement. But I was into changing habits and I found out I had to have substitutes to retrain. Resisting never worked. Good luck to you. Find other ways that interest you and are more useful to your purpose.

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