On Addiction

I miss her something aweful today. It’s that closeness, that proximity, that tantalizing warmth of her body next to mine. Just being face to face lip to lip, chest to chest. It’s a warm and sensitive place that now I long for, I desire with such fierce and wild vigor. There’s a peace to find between the sheets, and a passion in love making that is addictive. I remember and long for experiences because it is these memories that are the most powerful because they are of a fully immersive, soul engrossing experience. Chemically, there are all sorts of pleasures that our bodies use to encourage this addiction. The connection to these experiences brings memories directly to the people associated with them. All of the senses are involved, the soul might be connected, leashed, latched onto these memories and imprinted forever. Imprinted and burned into our hearts and minds.

Our fingertips recall the curves and suppleness of our lovers. We learn each other in such an intimate and sensuous manner that we know them and have a deeper knowledge of their true nature. We venture into depths together, and explore the rhythms of our intricate souls. We dance entwined and swim about the universe in extasy. It is in this alone I find bliss, this alone I feel whole. I know this inner place so well, it is a familiar one. There is also a stillness that can be found here, a comfort and calm–the serenity of security. The outside world can slip and fade away and still, here I would lie, here I could perish and do so happily.

My contentment and enjoyment is rather incomprehensible to others–this need, this addiction (much like a monster), craving for flesh. This is not a selfish or self-destructive addiction like so many others. This, however, just makes the denial of the addiction that much easier. Instead, it is an addiction that seeks to share and enjoy the connections brought together by natural compulsion.

People would say to me that what I feel is normal and that everyone feels the same as I do but they just don’t show it or express it or that somehow they suppress these urges. I wonder about that a lot, about how any one else could be patient enough as I have been, to handle these passions, these desires. Perhaps it is not our capacity to love that differs, we all want to be loved, the psychologists will tell you, maybe the only difference is our willingness to express that love.

I miss the simplicity of a shower together, two nude bodies in that close and private place, touching and sliding warm, wet skin against each other, teasing and playing as we will with each other. Foreplay and laughter. I miss whispering into her ear as we lie still and close beneath the sheets. I miss another heart, beating ferociously against me, slick, clammy, sweaty skin sliding around me and burning my insides with desire. It’s at the pit of my stomach now, a knot, a hole inside me, dormant it lingers–like ashes waiting to be rekindled, now just a dull warmth and an aching hunger inside me. The monster grips the cage and shakes and rattles it steadily–he waits patiently–knowing that with time, he will have his freedom. When I discuss this addiction with others, it is only understandable by people who also possess them, other nymphomaniacs. No one ever speaks of such things in our society…something so important to our survival…well not anymore. My name is Johnnathan and I’m a nymphomaniac. How are you?