Hello, My name is Maya and I'm a sexaholic. Seriously. I need an intervention. There has to be some kind of 12-step program for people like me.

Today, I had sex in public...at a rock concert...with one of my lovers, Max, while the other looked on from the stage. Foster is the lead singer and lead guitarist for The Infidels, a local indie band on the verge of breaking out. They're really hot right now - the music and the band.

All five of them are alpha rockstar material. Including that smug bastard, Pace, who pushed me up against a tile bathroom wall, and kissed the brains from my skull, without so much as a by your leave. Prick.

As if a monogamous ménage romance weren't enough to deal with, now I have a proposition - more like an ultimatum - from Pace, to consider. What in the hell did I ever do to deserve such a complicated sex life?

To add to the chaos, I have an all-access ticket to the band's dressing room, and the more time I spend in the company of Foster's charismatic bandmates, whose sexcapades are practically legendary, the more my lady bits seem to be doing all of my thinking for me.

It's so wrong, but I can't help it. I have an addiction. I don't know how much longer I'll be able to hold out.

With all of this temptation around, it feels like I’m in the middle of my own bad boy rockstar reverse harem fantasy, and I’m not sure how I’ll ever survive my backstage pass.