The Itch is BackPosted: November 10, 2014
It’s back. My junkie itch. My clawing need. The beast stirring and growling in my middle. It’s been so long, I’d forgotten what it felt like.
This is not sexual desire. I am no more horny than an alcoholic is actually thirsty. The act itself is incidental to the need I feel. A drunk doesn’t actually care about drinking, and right now I don’t actually care about fucking.
I fuck. I get off. Sex is so not the point.
The point is giving in. Letting go. Taking risks. Having my mind wiped. The point is danger. Empty space filled with noise and sensation. No emotions, I have plenty of emotion. No consideration, no commitment, no responsibility.
I need a total stranger. Someone for whom I am nothing. I need a body–physical heat, not security and warmth. I want no strings. No expectation that I will ever see them again. No talk about anything of consequence–maybe no talk at all. I need to explode. Evaporate. Disappear. Become a sweaty, writhing animal who scampers home before the sun comes up. Like a werewolf, a vampire, I need to turn, then turn back. Forget.