I am not here to judge anyone’s use of drugs to enhance sex. I did plenty of it. If you can take it on a weekend or a vacation and then put it down and go back to your life, have fun and be safe. If it ever stops being something you do and starts being the only way you can feel your own cock, reach out to me.

I was not one of the men who could put it down.

Chemsex ruined my life and my health. It started as occasional use. It took over. I lost jobs, relationships, and my house. I lived in my car for about a year and I did not stop partying. Then I lost the car. Then I ended up in a mental institution. I am sober now, and I am way better. My story is not rare. Once the chemicals get welded to your sexuality, disentangling them is slow, confusing work. Nobody handed me a map. If someone had told me what I am about to tell you, the way back would have been cleaner.

Here is the weld. The drug triggers sex. Sex triggers the drug. You get high because you want to fuck, and you want to fuck because you are high, and after a while you cannot tell which craving showed up first. Sobriety does not magically cut that wire. For a lot of us, sex itself becomes the trigger. A hard cock, a man’s smell, a long stroke, a room with the door closed, and the body starts asking for the old key. That is a precarious place to live. It is also the place where a lot of men either go back out or shut the whole sexual self in a closet and call the numbness recovery.

I got married to another man early in my sobriety. He was supportive of a sexuality that was weird and fucked up and still full of landmines. He understood that sex would trigger me. We got through a lot of the weirdness. Then, like a lot of men in early recovery, we swung the other way. We got slightly sex-negative. We gained weight. We watched movies and played video games. We did semen retention for half a year and went celibate with each other, partly to ease the discomfort and partly to bury feelings we did not want to feel.

I do not regret the celibacy. It reset me. I had been wasting sexual energy for years, and I needed the circuit to go quiet before I could trust it again. In early sobriety I would get hard, watch porn, and jerk off furtively just to get it over with. I did not want to stay in the feeling. Staying in the feeling was how the old sessions started. Late in the addiction I was such a tweaked-out nightmare that real men wanted nothing to do with me. I ended up on cam, jerking off for hours and sometimes days with other men who were also too fucked up to be in a real room. That was the sex life. Chemicals, a screen, and nobody who would have stayed if the drug wore off.

When I got married I cancelled my Bateworld account and deleted the apps. I shut the door on my bator life and put everything on the relationship and on sobriety. Closed doors do not stay closed. Whatever you used the drug to cover will come out somewhere. Mine came out as a body and a house. I developed a strange digestive disorder. The weight stayed. The extra bedroom started filling with boxes and bags of trinkets and toys we did not have room for. We became pre-hoarders. We bought things we could not afford. Neither of us wanted to deal with our sexuality, so life made us deal with “things” instead. That is how it works. The stuff you will not feel turns into clutter, illness, spending, numbness. It does not disappear because you cancelled an account.

During that celibate stretch we made art and music. We livestreamed on YouTube about spiritual topics, mostly to women, and we told ourselves that was fine. A lot of those women were not kind. They had severe resentments toward men, and they watched us in order to antagonize us. We wanted men in the room. That want pushed us toward content about masculinity, and then toward the thing we had actually been circling. Sex music for gay men. We were longing for a sexually integrated life, and we were done performing spirituality for an audience that did not want us to be sexual. We were done neutering ourselves for approval.

This could have stayed a phase. A private experiment. Something we grew out of once the marriage felt safe. I saw pretty quickly that the art was doing more than soothing me. Making the sex music and the videos became a reintegration ritual. It gave us permission to be sexual with other men without abandoning the marriage. It put the cock back in the work without putting a drug in the blood. We started gaining fans. Eventually we started bating with other men who loved the music. I started doing, sober, the things I used to do high. Long sessions. Edging. Pits. Other men’s bodies in the room. Brotherhood with the door open and nobody holding a pipe.

That was the turn. I felt the old voltage come back without the chemical, and I understood what we were actually building. Not just songs. A way back in. Chemsex had made sex exciting by force. Making art about sex can reach a version of that excitement that you get to keep in the morning. When sober men make music and images about sex together, two things happen at once. You get the connection you used to rent from the drug. And the uncomfortable feelings the drug was covering get dragged into the light, where you can finally look at them. Shame. Want. The fear that if you stay hard and present you will relapse. The fear that your husband will leave if the old life walks back in. None of that dissolves because you avoid it. It moves when you make something out of it with your eyes open.

I made art out of the old sex tapes I made while I was high. I took old photos of me and animated them with AI. I took those bad memories and turned them into celebrations of survival. I saw myself as a sexual being again.

There is nothing wrong with sex and sexuality among men. We had to learn that again. The culture will hand you two bad options: be a tweaked-out ghost, or be a respectable sober man with a dead cock and a spare room full of boxes. Both are rejections of the same thing. The integrated man is sexual and sober. He can edge for an hour because he wants to, not because a stimulant stole his orgasm. He can be in a room with other men and still go home to his husband. He can feel the heat on a Tuesday with nothing in his system but coffee and breath.

I know men use drugs while they listen to our music and watch the videos. I am not naive about that. I also know men use the same music and the same videos to recalibrate, because that is what we did. The work can be a session or it can be a ritual. The difference is whether you are still in the room when it ends.

If you want the pattern named, here it is. In the old masculine psychology, the Lover is the part of a man that wants to be alive in his skin. Sensation, appetite, beauty, erotic relatedness. Uncontained, that energy splits. One shadow is the Addicted Lover, eternally restless, mainlining the next hit of aliveness because nothing ordinary finishes the hunt. The other shadow is the Impotent Lover, flat, ashamed, sensually offline, unable to feel his own body unless something else switches it on. Chemsex is often the first shadow hiring a chemical to do the Lover’s job, and waking up as the second. The high is counterfeit vividness. The comedown is the bill. You did not lose your sexuality. You outsourced it.

The way you know it is a problem is not that you did it. Some men do it and walk back to their lives. You know because of what it starts to require. You cannot get fully hard, or fully present, or fully off, unless something is in you. You plan sex around supply. One line becomes the night and the night eats the week. Craving shows up before desire does. Sober touch feels like a rumor. You have said you were done and were not. Jobs, housing, the man you live with, your actual health, start losing to the session. If that is the direction of travel, it is already a problem. You do not need a car and an institution to call it that. I had both. I would not recommend the scenic route.

The numbers, if you want them, say this is common and not universal. Across a large pool of studies, chemsex shows up in roughly a fifth of men who have sex with men, higher in scene and clinic samples, lower in broad community surveys. In France it has sat around 13 percent in the past six months. In a recent UK survey, about 8 percent in the past year. Meth, G, and the cathinones are the usual weld. Meth is the one that most cleanly ties horniness to the drug, and it is the one most tied to compulsive sex that later will not work sober. G can put you under, and the withdrawal can seize. None of that is a moral score. It is mechanics.

What brought me back was not a lecture. It was ritual with a pulse. Art. Music. Other men. A marriage that could hold a sexual man instead of a managed one. Doing sober what I used to do high, until my body believed the drug was no longer the door.

The offer is simple. If you are a sober man who wants to reconnect his sexuality through art and music, we want to work with you. If chemsex has already taken your life apart and you want help, we have resources. Reach out. You do not have to become beige to get your cock back. You have to stop renting it out.

The fire was never in the pipe. The pipe only turned the volume up on a signal that was already yours, then stole the dial. Taking the dial back is not a smaller life. It is the same life, finally in your hand.

Sober men in recovery should make sexual and erotic art together. Whether that be music, sculpture, painting, photography or even making content for OnlyFans. It creates something out of an experience that used to be destructive. It’s the way I healed and I highly encourage other men to do it. Grab your phone or a video camera and make art with your sober friends. It rewires and inspires. And it encourages other men to reclaim what chemsex stole from them.