I know understand the true addiction of a drug addict, it’s not because I tried drugs and became addicted. It was the addiction to an orgasm.
I was once told that a heroin high was like having an orgasm times hundred. I had always daydreamed how one of my orgasms could be hundred times greater and in thinking about it, no wonder a heroin addict would never want to come down.
I feel like a junkie sometimes. Laying there panting and relishing the moment, licking my lips and quivering. That feeling is out of body, slowly you come back into yourself and that few seconds of ecstasy is over. That’s when you ache for another one and you want it as good as the last one, if not better. When I try too hard it doesn’t happen. I have to learn patience to let my body prepare for another round of intensity, especially when I am masturbating. When I am with someone else I am “on and the orgasms flow like a faucet, sometimes there is no beginning and end, they meld together like running ink.
Tonight I laid in the dark, watched one candle burn as it danced against the walls. I had been watching porn and let the need build up in my panties. I shoved my favorite vibrator down and nestled it against my wet clit. I closed my eyes and about the last time I was fucked; how I milked his cum and he fucked me from behind. The vivid thoughts of a hand wrapping around my throat, cutting off the air flow and causing the pressure to swell between my legs. My body tensed up and my left hand gripped the headboard and my throat interrupted the silence of the room. The heat and wet between my legs was intense, fingertips traced my lips and moved the wetness up the vibrator. It only lasts for a few seconds and the aftershock subside. The buzzing of the vibrator comes back into focus and I turn it down due to the sensitivity of my clit. As each orgasm would hit sometimes I yelped, sometimes grunted and sometimes I cried out.
Laying there reveling in my post-orgasmic euphoria made me realize my addiction. I am an addict and it’s not because I am emotionally empty seeking some kind of minuscule sense of fulfillment. I am not covering up some painful memory or existence; I can honestly say I am happy. I am addicted to that high and feeling of intensity. I feel a rainbow of emotions everyday but coming is the highest form of happiness and what is wrong with wanting to feel that?