It’s one thing to be a sex addict. I’ve been a sex addict for quite some time but, in recognizing this, I have been able to be more responsible and not give in to urges unless it’s with someone that I feel at least some sort of connection with (despite my recent frustration of a dry spell).
It’s one thing to be a love addict. I know for a fact that I’ve suffered from this for as long as I can remember. I’ve spent far too long in my head fantasizing about “the one” and that elusive love feeling that just wraps you up and cradles you in a cocoon of warmth.
Intimacy addiction, however, is like this strange little middle ground between the two, the middle ground where I’m currently stuck. I miss intimacy with another person. Do I want to get laid? Oh, absolutely! But if an orgasm is all I’m after, I have a finger that can take care of that just fine. Do I want to be in love? You betcha! But I’m not going to go out seeking it or convince myself that initial feelies for anyone is actually love itself. That will happen on its own. What I do miss is the intimacy that you share with a partner. I miss kissing. Oh my GOODNESS how I miss kissing. I miss holding hands while sitting on the couch. I miss hugs from behind and little tickles when you least expect it. I miss neck nuzzles and temple pecks. I miss random dances in the kitchen and hearing the words “thanks baby.”
I miss having a connection and all that crap that comes with it. I detest random hookups but I’m craving simple touch. I wonder what kind of reaction I’d get if I just set up a kissing booth in the park across the street. “Don’t fret, folks! I just want to taste you for a moment! Now give me a hug, lemme squeeze that booty and you can be on your way.”