The Futile Resistance Of The Scorching Itch

My sexual name is Big Don. His alias is Hank Moody. I am currently on the verge of burning with passion for the female essence in all its attractive glory. The carnal tension doesn’t give a beeswax who it belongs to, so long as it gets executed.

I crave boobs and bums and lips.

Plus more.

All day long and then into and onto the dark silence of the night.

Only it won’t be quiet, it will be alive with steamy mantras from a horny plump mouth.

It’s embarrassing, I know, describing your limp weaknesses. I don’t know where to turn. This fleshy mania threatens to undo my contempo sizable growth in the spiritual realm.

I’m a man, a simple man, a simple plain red-blooded man who likes women. Only thing is, the women don’t like me. They treat me like vermin, like filth, like flotsam and jetsam.

Just the way I like it.

My dealer contacted me earlier.

He knows.

He’s somehow aware that narcotic stimulants enhance the animalistic aphrodisia. It’s not quantum mechanics after all, is it? But, more cannily, he has knowledge that I can afford it. Just.

With the last of my cash pound notes.

I’m not saying that I’m using tonight. I’m not stating that it’s all over for me.

But the Dark Half is alive and well.

In fact, it’s after everything honourable and noble in my existence.

Why do things wither, in the Face Of Pleasure? Why does the finely spun cotton become ashen?

I should have learned by now.

Maybe one day I will.

Hopefully soon.

Swift enough to hinder myself from replying to my dealer's message.

Sharpish enough to prevent myself from snorting white powdery gunk up my nostril passages.

I’ve got loads to live for. I’m holding up against my addiction, and holding up reasonably well. Maybe one day it will piss off. Until then, I’ll keep acknowledging it, rather than retain it sedated in a cupboard where it can hibernate and grow. I can glorify it if I feel the need to, I can brag about it and embellish it and sing about it from the rooftops. I can buy a tighty-arsed white T-Shirt that reads I AM AN ADDICT and where it to an important engagement.

But I must not do it.

Have you got a vice? How are you doing with it? Maybe you are conked out right now on the hot seat of remorse and looking for a guiding hand online somewhere. I wish I could be that dude who scuds to the rescue.

I wish you could be that gal who scoots to mine.

Reach out to anything, however, instead of suffering alone. I believe that someone or something out there understands what we are going through.