More Obsessions of an Unrequited Sex Addict

Continued from a few days ago:

People don’t need to be involved in making me burn. Objects or places with no sexual association can do it. I’ll look at my alarm clock and imagine seeing in its face the refection of a couple fucking in some cozier, more loving bedroom. I’ll look at a television in a waiting room and imagine a couple in a dark den watching their homemade porn together. Landmarks make me picture sexual escapades taking place in or on or near them. I’ll see people fucking in graveyards. I’ll see a blowjob happening in the shade of a grove of trees. Little league baseball fields host late night hook ups in the dugouts. Children’s playgrounds become as dirty as cheap hotel rooms.

I really can’t look anywhere or at anything without thinking about sex. Seeing animals gets me thinking about their mating habits. I’ll imagine the somewhat violent, stinky sex lives of many mammals, and I’ll project this onto humanity. I’ll think about a female in heat. I’ll think about her presenting in lordosis. Then I’ll think about a male aggressively fucking her without much concern for her age or genuine consent. He’ll fuck her and she’ll deal it because she can’t get away. Neither of them will really know why it’s happening. The scenario turns me on regardless of the species. I sigh as I realize I don’t get to do what most animals do. Every day I wrestle with what this does to me.

In my most vulnerable state, I get started and can’t stop. If I see a crowd of people, I wonder how many people in the crowd had sex the night before or will have sex later that day. I’ll move on to thinking about how frequently people have sex on a global scale. Soon, I’ll contemplate how many people are having sex worldwide at that moment. I’ll think about how each person in the crowd and each person everywhere is a product of sex. Buildings, roads, and anything else human-made will get me thinking about how these things wouldn’t exist without sex. Contemporary living with all its convenience and comfort makes me think about how people still need to have sex for it all to continue. But then I think about recreational sex. Just like we now can eat for the pure enjoyment of eating, we now can fuck for the sake of doing so. Finally, I think about how sex for survival means something specific to lonely people. Thinking about this is as troubling as it seems.

I could try to shutter myself from everything, but it wouldn’t save me. My memory would continue work. On top of that, thinking about what I’m trying to avoid would have nearly the same effect as seeing it. I can’t hide from the desires inside.


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