Losing Control aka Giving Up Da Cookies

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I cannot see him. Seeing him would make me lose control. I want to see him. I want to smell his skin. I want to taste his flesh. I want to feel him pressed ever so gently and progressively rough against me. What is wrong with me?

I became celibate mainly because I was sick of the “wham bam thank you ma’am but now it’s time to go home to the chick who I really love” deal. I missed the romance, intensity, and the raw passion of sex that I no longer received.

I’ve been relatively ok until this point. He wants to see me. See me. Does that somehow equate to he wants to fuck me? Does it equate to, “Let’s have lunch?” Does it equate to, “Just wanted to see a friendly face”? If I ask, I’ll sound silly. If I don’t, I have no idea what to expect.

I’m afraid I may lose all of my inhibitions.

He’s the type of man who gets me wet at the sight of him. His presence is intoxicating. His intelligence sends me in an uproar. I swear his pheromones are laced with voodoo. I can’t put my finger on it but I want to put my fingers on him.

I guess the solution is to meet him in a neutral place. Not my bedroom. Not the hotel, motel, hostel, alley, back seat of a car, bathroom, elevator, on the stirrup at the hospital, in a dark corner, under a table, on top of a table, washing machine, behind a house and/or church, etc.

I can do this. I can be strong and resist temptation. I’ve remained celibate for a year and 4 days. That should count for something.

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