I’ve prayed about it.
More than once.
I’ve sat in my car after church, eyes closed, hands gripping the steering wheel, and asked God—sometimes begged Him—to take this away from me. I’ve asked Him to remove the craving. To make me normal. To make me the kind of woman who doesn’t get wet at the thought of a man finishing in her mouth.
I’ve asked Him to deliver me.
And He hasn’t.
At first, that used to scare me. I thought it meant something was deeply wrong with me. That maybe I was too far gone. That maybe this was the one thing God had decided not to fix.
But over time, something shifted.
I stopped seeing His silence as rejection.
And I started seeing it as permission.
1. I Don’t Actually Want to Be Delivered
This is the uncomfortable truth I’ve had to face:
Deep down, I don’t want to stop wanting it.
I’ve had moments where I genuinely tried to quit. I deleted numbers. I avoided certain men. I told myself I was going to be “better.” And every single time, I eventually found myself back on my knees—sometimes literally—chasing the same high I swore I was done with.
The difference now is that I’ve stopped lying to myself about it.
I don’t want to be the girl who no longer craves cum. I want to be the girl who gets to keep craving it without feeling like I’m failing at being a Christian.
2. It’s Not Just the Act. It’s the Surrender.
What I’m addicted to isn’t just the taste or the texture.
It’s the moment right before it happens.
It’s the way a man’s breathing changes. It’s the way his grip tightens in my hair. It’s the split second where I have to decide whether I’m going to pull away or stay exactly where I am and take it.
That moment of surrender—of choosing to stay and receive something I was taught to see as dirty—is what I actually crave. The cum is just the evidence that I gave in.
And I’ve realized I don’t want to stop giving in.
3. Maybe This Is Just How I’m Wired
I used to believe that if I prayed hard enough, read enough scripture, and surrounded myself with the right people, this desire would eventually fade.
It hasn’t.
And at this point, I’m starting to wonder if it was never supposed to.
Maybe this isn’t a flaw that needs fixing. Maybe this is just part of how I experience intimacy, power, and surrender. Maybe my faith and my depravity are going to have to coexist for the rest of my life.
I’ve spent years waiting for God to make me less of a slut.
He hasn’t.
And I’m starting to think that’s not an accident.
4. The Addiction Makes the Faith More Honest
Here’s something I’ve noticed:
The more I accept that I’m addicted to this, the less I feel the need to perform in other areas of my faith.
I used to try so hard to be the “good Christian girl” in public while secretly being a whore in private. The gap between those two versions of me was exhausting.
Now that I’ve stopped asking God to remove my addiction, I’ve also stopped pretending I’m something I’m not. I still go to church. I still read my Bible. But I no longer feel the pressure to act like I’m further along than I actually am.
My cum addiction has, in a strange way, made me more honest about my faith.
5. I’ve Stopped Waiting to Be Fixed
I used to believe that one day I would wake up and the desire would be gone. That I would finally feel “delivered.”
I don’t believe that anymore.
And I’ve made peace with it.
I’ve accepted that I will probably always want this. That there will always be nights where I choose to get on my knees instead of staying home. That I will always feel that specific, shameful thrill when a man finishes in my mouth.
I’ve stopped waiting for Jesus to save me from it.
Because I’m no longer sure I want to be saved from it.
Final Truth:
Jesus hasn’t delivered me from my cum addiction.
And at this point, I’m grateful.
Because if He had taken it away, I would’ve lost something that—for better or worse—has become part of how I understand myself. I would’ve lost the raw, unfiltered version of my desires.
I would’ve lost the part of me that knows exactly what she wants… even when she’s not supposed to want it.
So I’ve stopped praying for deliverance.
Now I just pray that I never have to pretend I don’t love it.