Hypersexuality Dipped in Love Addiction

As some of you may know, hypersexuality is a symptom in bipolar disorder. These past several days, my body has been on fire. It’s like I can feel every drop of blood rushing through my veins. My clitoris feels like it’s on tilt and won’t stop throbbing. The dirty thoughts running through my mind won’t stop either. I was prepared to handle the situation by myself (aka excessive masturbation) but a text came in—a text that changed everything.

“Am I sexy?” Soothed texted.

“Of course,” I replied. “Why do you ask?”

“Just need a self-esteem boost. Feeling some doubt—like I don’t measure up.”

Aww. Poor fellow! It pulled at my heart strings. He was vulnerable. I’m always in a state of vulnerability. It was nice to have company for this misery of mine. He proceeded to tell me that he was feeling sad, lonely and horny. I stroked his ego with words of flattery and told him that I wanted to make him feel better.

He said that snuggling with me would make him feel better. “His body would make me feel better,” I thought to myself.

Of course I knew snuggling probably was a code word for something else but I didn’t care. I was on fire and needed to be extinguished. I needed to be touched. I needed to feel his kisses. I needed to feel him surrounding me. I went downstairs to his apartment. We crawled into his bed, talked and held each other for a couple of hours.

He began to kiss and caress me. It has been a while since anyone has been so close to my body—105 days to be exact. He touched me as if I was the last woman alive. He then summoned the love addict in me. He kept telling me how sexy and lovely I was and how happy my presence made him. A part of me wanted him to tell me that he loved me too and I nearly asked. One thing led to another and we were doing all the kinky things that we used to do. It was exhilarating. It’s been so long since I felt that way.

I collapsed in his arms and throughout the night, he continued to feed me compliments whenever I tossed and turned. I had insomnia and tried my best to feign sleep because I knew he had to work in a few hours. In the morning, I went upstairs and crashed for several hours.

It has been 6 days and I’m still feeling hypersexual. Touching myself hasn’t been enough. I want to knock on his door but I’m trying to stay away. Regret has made itself home in the corner of my mind. Giving into him was every variation of stupid especially after he told me I couldn’t be a potential mate because of my race but my feelings were uncontrollable that night. In my twisted little mind I felt like we needed each other.

I went to see my psychiatrist later that day. He wrote refills for the prescriptions I’m not taking. I go to my appointments to keep the insurance company and government off my back. Maybe I should take them. Maybe being a zombie is better than being up and down and impulsive. One of the nurses wanted to know why I ditched that therapy last month. I couldn’t come up with a feasible excuse that didn’t make me sound crazier and told her that I would attend a session soon. She said that it would make me feel better. I wasn’t aware that she could see my sad eyes. I try my best to camouflage everything and unload it in this blog. There’s a session being held tomorrow morning. Maybe I should go. Maybe I should make time for a SLAA meeting too. Maybe my “maybes” should be a “will be.”

Under His Covers Blues (Part II)

I wanted to finish the 2nd part to the Under His Covers Blues post but was too embarrassed to write it. It was also too painful. To make a long story short, Soothed wanted to continue our sexual relationship but did not want to pursue anything romantic with me. When I asked him why he chose his ex instead of me—yeah, bad move—he told me something that twisted the knife further inside my heart.

He told me ever so delicately that he always had a particular image of a mate and that I did not fit into it. In other words, his vision didn’t contain a Black woman. He didn’t say that but I knew that’s what he meant. I was good enough to roll around naked with but not good enough for a relationship. He could put his hands all over my body but would never hold my hand it public. He also told me that he loved me, I was a great person—his efforts to pacify me I suppose—and that some people are just meant to be friends. I then told him that we shouldn’t hang out anymore.

After the times we shared, sexual and non-sexual, it all boiled down to the color of my skin. The feelings of rejection and yes, even inferiority set in. The situation reminded me of the fallout between me and The Lawyer. If you recall, he was a Black man that I was spending time with who told me that he didn’t want to be in a relationship with Black women and that they were only good for sex. Hearing that from a Black man was horrible but to hear them from a White man added different layers of emotions for me. I felt like I’ve been sleeping with the enemy all this time. How could I be so blind to his prejudice?

After that conversation, I avoided Soothed like the plague. I suppose he did the same. He began to date again and brought over the type of women he “had a particular image of” back to his place. Living a few feet away from him grew more awkward and frustrating. Things were so uncomfortable that I wanted to move but couldn’t afford to. When we did see each other, he would initiate small talk but I was usually curt and distant in my responses. Things weren’t the same anymore and I didn’t feel like pretending.

That was 3 months ago.

Lately, he has been texting me more than usual. He even texted me after his overnight guest left. The texts went from seeing how I was doing to he was thinking about me. Something was definitely up. Why contact me now? Isn’t he supposed to be dating the women of his dreams? They sauntered by my window almost every weekend. What was his deal?

As time progressed, he began to say more. He told me that he has been dating other women but they couldn’t fulfill him sexually like I did. He said that they were too sexually repressed, didn’t reciprocate and acted as if his penis was “icky”. I couldn’t help but to laugh. Karma is such a b-word.

I won’t lie. It was definitely an ego boost. This chocolate got him all shook up! Ha! Too bad he won’t be sampling it anymore. What did he expect me to do? Drop my panties and bust my crevices wide open? I don’t think so. The cycle is just going to repeat itself. We’re going to have all this amazing sex until he finds the next non-Black woman of his dreams and kicks me to the curb. In the wise words of Sweet Brown, “Ain’t nobody got time for that!”

 

I concur Sweet Brown. I concur.