The Baseline

I’m Gallo the chivalrous chauvinist. Welcome to another episode of Sucias are my favorite. So who the fuck am I? And why should you listen to, or pay attention to what I’m about to say? I’m a recovering intercourse addict. How does a kid in the sixth grade get the balls to get girls, to blow him? I’m a Chicano, Latino, Mexican American by heritage.

First generation on my mom’s side and second generation on my father’s, which is another way of saying that machismo runs through my veins. First off, you gotta protect your wife and kids. Take care of your family. Number two, pay the bills three, fix what needs to be fixed around the house four. You do one, two and three.

You can fuck around on this side. Five, the more women you’re with the more of a man, you are one, two and three. I learned by word and by example, both four and five were implied. Though often joked about, fortunately my mom realized that I was interested in girls just before I started acting on it. I say, fortunately, because I probably would’ve gotten laid in the sixth grade.

If she hadn’t warned me with the following, which is “If a little girl loves you enough to open her legs. That little slut better love you enough for you to move in with her. I’m only raising you, not your kid”. Now some of you twat waffles might have the balls to talk back to your mom. Or maybe your mom’s just soft, but I saw mi jefa stab a man in the arm for interrupting her among other things.

She was a lone shark and my father was no angel by any means. He was rumored to have been a Hitman in the best light my aunts called him instead of their husbands, because my father was scarier than el Cucuy. That is the Latin American boogeyman hell he’s been dead for over a decade. And I still won’t call him anything other.

Mr last name or father. Growing up I was always one of the tallest kids for my grade, even though I was one of the youngest, the other kids on my street were all so smaller and frail compared to me, there was one other kid that was as tall as me, but he was skinny as a rail. And some of those kids took some type of medication for what I don’t recall now.

But at the time I remember being told what it was and the other kids that weren’t on medication took vitamins. Still, they were tiny and frail compared to me. So this cemented in my mind that medication, drugs, vitamins, and the like things that you have to take are for weaklings. I even grew to have a disdain for those that needed drugs, particularly drug addicts, whether it was to keep ‘em alive or for recreational use, they were all seen as less than to me.

The Fundamentals

So that’s part of the background, as far as the fundamentals of who I am, how would I get good with girls? Well, this took some soul searching. See, it’s been at least. 30 years since I cried over a girl because she wasn’t interested in me or because she didn’t want me to be her boyfriend, but there was a time that I would’ve done nearly anything to get a girl just to hold my hand and let me walk her to class.

I don’t remember all the details, but there were several things that kind of came into play over one particular weekend that was a turning point for me. Some kid didn’t invite me to a party. I wasn’t even finished in time with my work at a bakery. So I missed out going to a flea market with some cousins and some girl who had given my number to didn’t page me with a code, basically agreeing that she wanted to be my girlfriend by whatever arbitrarily deadline I’d given her.

And at least two or three other things that I didn’t recall. This all came to a head one day in spring in 1990. And I wanna say that somehow I thought that by giving her my pager number she’d know that I had money. So. Clearly she’d want to be with me because I was in decent shape. I fell victim to the American belief that if you have money and you look good, you’re gonna get a girl.

Apparently American media had its hooks in. For whatever reason, she didn’t PA me about my deadline. So all these things kind of boiled up together and got to me. So I hid in the corner behind some of the ovens and I cried. It could have been five minutes, could have been half an hour, maybe even longer.

Now, remember I was a product of this whole boys. Don’t cry in other hyper-masculine things growing up in the eighties. So the more I cried, the angrier I got by the time I dried my eyes, I vowed to be the kind of guy that she dreamed would be her boyfriend or. That I was the type of guy that she would wish would give her the time of day, whatever my resolution, that was the end of the nice guy that was still in me.

Now, I also had a secret weapon with the ladies. I didn’t listen to eighties music growing up in the eighties, except when I went roller skating, which was probably three or four times a year. The rest of the time I listened to my mom’s tapes or cassettes, which were Spanish balance. Not by choice simply because she had control of the radio and there was the only one in the house.

And of course that’s what she’d play most of the time. If it wasn’t Spanish ballot, radio, the lyrics, I learned them by osmosis, such sweet nothings, like,

which means I want to quench the thirst in my soul with your lips and discover love with you every day. Yeah. It’s sappy. I know. When your competition can only come up with roses or red? Well, I guess I didn’t have any competition. Plus I had an additional secret weapon, a piece of advice from my mom, which was whether you’re with her for an hour or the rest of your life, make her feel like she’s the only one.

Sure. It sounds a lot like Simpin’, but read into that for an hour. I mean, HEFA basically told me whether you’re just getting it in or if she’s gonna be your wife, make her think she’s a queen.


By the time I buried my mom in 95, I’d been shot at, in drive bias. Seen a few kids die in front of me. I’d been jumped, mugged, held at gunpoint and at knife point I’d buried five close relatives in over a dozen classmates.

And short, I learned how to turn off. My earliest memory is actually the first time I nearly drowned. I was about four or five and my mom was cleaning this house. There was a Creek in the back. I dunno if it was a Creek or a river, but it was about 10 to 12 feet wide. And it wasn’t a natural slope to the back.

It was actually a cutout channel. So this was manmade. There’s also piers in each backyard and each pier was about four feet long. So I went to the edge of the pier and I was looking into the water and I noticed this scourge of mosquito. They were just kind of hovering shimmering over the water. And I distinctly remember feeling being pushed into the water.

I started drowning. I’d sink, I’d jump back up. I kept fighting. I’d going up and down versus staying buoyant, which I knew how to do. I’d been swimming for years. But when I came outta the water, I would scream. I was panicked. I’d yell, mommy, mommy, help, help mommy, anybody save me. And there were some big kids down and across from me on another.

Now I know that they were teenagers, but the point is I was yelling for them for anybody, but nobody came. But I do recall that fear and that panic in my shout and my screams crying for help. Then I heard a voice in my head that wasn’t mine. It was clearly an adult voice and essentially said, rather, I felt that it said calm, breathe, reach.

I found my rhythm. I calmly paddled was finally able to take a breath without any panic. I reached her, the pier and I scrambled up once I made it inside, my mom yelled at me for going swimming and getting dirty and bringing a muddy mess into the house. As an adult, I realized that at that moment she was frustrated and she was angry, but that was also the start of my coldness as a toddler or whatever age, a four, five year old is.

I don’t know what exactly I thought, but I know it formed the basis of who I am now. Yes, I know my mom loved me, but I still had this foundation that started that day. No one is going to care more for me than me. And of course my mother loved me. She took care of me. She did the best that she could with me with what she had, but I still didn’t have that trust that if I needed something that I could ask for it and get it.

So it’s been something that’s been a struggle throughout my life, because if I do need help, I tend to be stubborn enough to just try to figure it out on my own. The last time I nearly died was in 2016. An avoidable accident. The rear tire of my motorcycle was bald. And for whatever reason, I had it in my head that that tire wasn’t bald, that I just recently replaced it.

Riding with the bald tire for a year, took a wide sweeping turn tapped on my rear brake. The rear tire locked up and it slid out from under me when it caught dirt, it flung me off and I came to an abrupt halt with a telephone. That stop separated my Ilia from each other. And from my sacrum. Now those are fancy medical words to say, basically that I separated both parts of my hips from themselves and from my lower spine, the previous motorcycle incident was a collision head on with an 18 Wheeler, both going about 35 miles an hour.

And I wasn’t wearing a helmet. My mother punctuated the last major death in 95. After that it was my father in 2011. From 1990 to 95, I lost a grandfather under suspicious circumstances, an aunt to cartel violence. My cousins, it seems to somehow just simply disappeared. Several classmates, lost them to drive bys one, just a few freed in front of me and a few that overdosed.

The Girls

My mom was live-in nanny for an upper middle class family. The dad was a doctor. His wife was an attorney. Sounds like the makings of a sitcom, right. A daughter was a few months younger than. I was going to kindergarten and I was going alone because she wasn’t old enough at the start of the school year. So when I got home from school, this girl we’re just gonna call her Laura.

She would decide that I was her boyfriend because some couple on some soap, opera got together. And so the two of us were together and one or two days later, her friend, Tina, who, my mother also. I ended up being her boyfriend because another couple on another soap got together or broke up or whatever happened.

But when I was Tina’s boyfriend, Laura would try to get me to cheat on her by playing house. Although in this iteration, I would come home and find her in the shower, which was basically one of the hallway closets though. Her showers consisted of her being in her panties and a tank top. Somehow I got it in my head one night that I just had to pee in.

Or on her butt. In hindsight, I clearly had either seen a porn or I’d seen a couple having sex. I know this was a hundred percent my idea, but when we got caught, I flipped it on her because my mom was aware that Laura liked to play house and she would have to get after her for being around the house, in her panties, in a tank home.

So that night we were interviewed by both parents. And I said something to the effect of, she told me that if I didn’t play this game, she would get my mommy fired. which was technically true. That’s how she threatened me to get her to play house. But I used that line to apply to this situation. After that girl didn’t page me and agreed to be my girlfriend.

I realized that the worst thing that could happen when dealing with girls is they say no, which if you think about it, isn’t that bad at all. So I went through middle school, messing around and by that, I mean, making out. In case the meaning of messing around has changed in the last 30 years. But I was messing around, making out with countless girls in middle school.

The point was to find someone that would have sex with me, because I did not want to be the only Virgin in high school. Of course now I realize all the other guys were lying, but nearly every time that I would set something up with a willing girl, usually a girl that was known as a slut I hear about some guy from someone else and his girl that had sex.

One time they wore a condom and now they got pregnant would scare me into just sticking with getting blow jobs and fingering girls. Because after all that seemed like just the right amount of fun for me, fast forward to my senior year, I started dating my senior year sweetheart, and we’d spent a lot of time writing notes back and forth to each other, but we wrote it in a little notebook.

And in that notebook, I made her aware of my feelings about drugs, medication. My silly ideas and hopes and dreams of what I planned to do when I graduated, which really wasn’t much of anything. We ended up being each other’s first. And after we graduated from high school, I proposed to her a month after I proposed, I found a notebook in my truck with saccharin sweet nothings and musings that grew darker as I read on from, oh, I can’t wait to be Mrs.

Gallo and ending with, or rather the last thing I read was how can something so wrong feel so right. And my heart San. This was dated a month before I proposed, I avoided talking to my fiance until I could talk to her in person. And I confronted her in front of her family and asked her, are you cheating on me?

She chuckled with her reply. And she said, yeah, I’m cheating on you. And if her mom wasn’t there and had talked me down, you wouldn’t be hearing this from me. At least not on a podcast. I actually thought about how I could murder the whole family and how to get away with it. But I couldn’t come up with an nail by, I couldn’t think.

This would be more of a documentary about a guy on death row in Texas, or actually it’d probably be me dead already. So I decided to do the next best thing. I was going to fuck a hundred women and throw it in her face. Soon after that I got on AOL, I ran through a few dozen women and I started playing this game with some guys that I met online, where we would earn a point for every woman we hooked up with within 24 hours from the first message and half a point for head or hooking up after 24 hours with that game.

Eventually through all this, I met my unicorn and through her, I got into a lifestyle, which I realized early on wasn’t for me, but I didn’t care because I wasn’t emotionally attached to her. And I was winning because I was getting threesomes, foursomes and orgies out of it just about every weekend until the day we ended up at a fetish party and I realized that BDSM is what I was born to do, or so I thought between 99 and 2002, nothing special happened other than just getting it.

Being depraved and subjugating women who were willing participants, then I got married and it was great at first. But what I failed to do was what I had been doing since I was living single. And that was communicating clearly. So I let a seat of resentment grow and fester until I rationalize that I can cheat and do as I.

If I got caught, all I had to do was play nice for a couple of days. And later on, I would just ignore her until she Cav in due to lack of attention and acknowledgement. Remember, I learned how to turn off a full decade before I got married.

The Reckoning

After my divorce for my first wife, I fell into old habits, running through women, keeping a small hair so that my dry spells didn’t go over two days.

Until I met a woman that for some reason, I thought would be better to keep her as a friend, even though she was a people pleaser and I could have easily manipulated her into whatever I wanted to do being her friend kept me calm, so to speak. However, because she was a people pleaser. She had a hard time excusing herself from group settings.

So I started to go with her to celebrate. To be her excuse to leave after was over, instead of her getting rope into cleaning up and other chores until 10 or 11:00 PM. This went on for a few weeks and I would go to the men’s sex addiction group because I had no chemical or alcohol dependencies and I wasn’t a love addict or a food addict, but I did enjoy sex though.

The sex addicts group within celebrate recovery, the males would complain about either not getting enough. Or the kind of sex they wanted from their spouse. They either spent too much time on porn or they’d go talk to sex workers and get it thrilled from talking dirty to a woman. I would lie and say that I had an issue with watching too much porn as well.

Then one day this guy gave his testimonial about his drug addiction and in my mind, for whatever reason, every time he said anything about drugs, I would switch it in my head to. Those were the exact same reasons that I would use to go out and have sex because I was sad because I was lonely. I was bored.

I had a bad day. I wanted to feel better. I was emotionally hurt. I was angry. I didn’t get the promotion I wanted. And it was humbling because until that moment, until that realization, I thought sex addiction was just a term that celebrities used as a one time. Get outta jail free card to not get divorced and get stuck.

Paying Ali. It took me about a month to process this information about myself and figuring out the best way to get help while I was going to celebrity recovery. I didn’t wanna admit, Hey guys, I was lying about all those times. I said I was into porn. I’m actually into sex. I didn’t wanna get into it with you guys because I think you guys are lame.

So I found a few therapists through my medical insurance, but none were a good match or a good fit for me in terms of getting help, because I didn’t respect them to begin with because to me they only knew clinic. The issues that I had, they couldn’t really understand me known the things that I’ve done or understand what I’ve gone through.

To me, it was like an electrical engineer. Yes. They know the codebook, what it says and how to design a building’s electrical needs, but they are not electrician. They have no clue how to bend pipe, run wire, install, devices, and so on. So I moved on to S SAA sex addicts anonymous. At first, it was PROMIS.

After all, these are my people, but after a few meetings, I realized that a lot of those guys were just white knuckling it, oh, I’m doing good. I’m doing great this week because, uh, yeah, I didn’t have sex and I didn’t try to do anything crazy. So I called my sponsor and we went and we sat down and we went out to eat and we had a bunch of appetizers.

And we, we, you know, we talked about the sex that I’m not having and the sex that I’m not doing. And I just didn’t wanna let you guys down. And so I’m not having any sex and sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, and occasionally someone would slip up and share what they did. My thought would be shit. I might as fucked up as that guy.

So I ended up going back to CR celebrate recovery and working the steps to identify my issues, traumas, and triggers, and how to deal with them in a healthy way.

The Lie

About the time I was working the steps in Celebrate Recovery. I got a message from my ex-fiance. She found out through social media that I was divorced and wanted to sit down and have a chat.

I was tempted to meet her, just to get her, to beg me to have sex with her one last time. But I figured I should meet her anyway for closure and to make amends. We finally got into a long conversation. After we got over the initial awkwardness of seeing someone you felt numerous angry emotions towards for the better part of a decade.

I don’t recall how it came about, but she made a comment to the effect of, oh, well, I didn’t cheat on you until you started cheating on me. Say what look ex. I know you’re adits, but I didn’t cheat on you until you started cheating on me. That’s why I cheated on you with your coworkers, your friends, and a cousin and anyone I could find on AOL.

And again, she stated that she didn’t start until she knew that I was cheating on her. Did you forget that you admitted to me that you cheated when I asked you, are you cheating on me? And you laughed and said, yeah, I’m cheating on you. She staring at me blankly for a good two minutes. Maybe longer felt longer, then she closed her eyes and chuckled.

Oh my God. I forgot about that. I started getting angry and angrier because I was in a public place and she probably told people that she was meeting me. And with cell phones, pinging all the towers. There’s definitely no way I could get away with killing her this time.

“I told you that because I knew how you felt about druggies”

“Bitch what?!”

“Remember you hate druggie. You wouldn’t forgive me for being on coke. And I thought you noticed the way I was acting and you assumed it was because I was cheating. So I figured that was my way out. You’d forgive me for it”

“you dumb ditz. What man on earth would forgive a woman for cheating on him”. Man, not male in a way.

I’m glad things went down the way they did. I never felt for my ex fiance, how I felt for me Reina

Mi Reina

After my divorce, I got into roller Derby as a referee, and I became known as an honest and fair. I was doing this before, during, and after my realization that I’m an intercourse addict and I am not one to shit where I ate.

So I kept it strictly professional. In fact, the only skaters that I hooked up with were the ones that I was dating or had the intention of dating. And one, I was led to believe she was separated. The first one I dated, we broke up because she moved up north to finish her degree. And the second one ended up becoming my second wife.

But by then, I’d worked on myself. and I made sure that we always communicated with each other, honestly, and clearly, and we’d never go to bed angry. So from time to time, we’d take home a woman or two for the most part though, we spent a lot of our time either in and around roller D or out and about living life from art shows to galas, to museum opening.

Housewarmings weddings, divorce parties, bar mitzvahs, bar, crawls, dancing. We were out every night of the week until midnight at the earliest. At one point we decided to take it easy. So once a month, we’d sleep in late, have a few friends over to play a tabletop game, either Pathfinder, Dungeons, and dragons.

After a few hours of that, we’d cook a few things and have a potluck slash bonfire. Which I would DJ or host karaoke, depending on how big of a crowd we got. In other words, we were that hashtag relationship goals, couple that everyone wanted to be. The best thing about the relationship wasn’t the parties or the other women.

The best thing was the way she would look at me. It made me feel and truly believe down to my bones, into my core and into my. That I could accomplish any mother fucking thing on earth. That is until July 21st, 2018, she got into a car accident, fell into a coma and took her last breath a week later. I thought I could turn off, but losing someone you love to that degree that I love my wife hurts more than most can imagine.

And I would not wish this feeling on anyone, not even known terrorists. and so on 28, July, 2018, I relapsed my wife wasn’t even cold 24 hours. And I had already run through four women and I felt guilty about that. So I decided to try alcoholism. I worked my way up to drinking about a fifth, a day, half before work, and don’t worry, I wasn’t driving.

I was taking a shuttle to work and I’d Polish that off on the way home. Whenever I woke up rinse and repeat for almost a month. Until I realized I was putting headaches and hangovers on layaway

My Kitten

Almost a year later, I started dating a few women and I went back to my old ways in terms of finding a girlfriend.

I don’t just meet one girl and date her for a few weeks and decide, okay, I want her to be my girlfriend or this isn’t gonna work out and go find someone else and work one girl at a time. My methodology is to find a few women to date and it starts off in a stagger. I meet one or two or three, go out on a few dates, spend more time with each one of them until they prove.

That they aren’t worthy. And by that, I mean, by misbehaving or mistreating others, not willing to communicate, especially not willing to compromise. And lastly making any ultimatum or threats, I don’t settle into monogamy until we’ve been dating for a year specifically to see how they behave during the holidays.

And if they can respect my decision, not to celebrate Valentine’s, but most cannot handle behaving for that long. That is most except my kitten. And I have another healthy relationship. Plus we encourage each other though this time we’re more home bodies, but we can paint the town red from time to time.

As we’re both widowed, we have a short hand and a more twisted sense of humor that usually makes others ask if we’re all right, whenever they hear some of the comments we make,

The Point

What’s the point of all this? Well, nothing really. This is just for you, my friend, to get a better idea of who I am. And to show that if I can do it and come out the other side and be a better person and stay good minus a hiccup after losing my wife, I think anyone can turn their life around.

Thanks for listening. I love you. You are worthy of it till next time besos.

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