Sample: Addictive Desires

The Fix

Ethan

I usually start jonesing on Thursdays. This week, it starts Wednesday. Three long days before I can see her.

As usual, once the adrenaline rush starts, work becomes a blur. My pulse throbs. My skin crackles. The testosterone soaks into my soul. I don’t give a damn about PowerPoint, not that I ever did. I mark time, desperate for the weekend, desperate for the relief.

It doesn’t help that Wednesday is the staff meeting from Hell. Two hours of listening to my boss and his favorite flunky extol the virtues of their most recent shuffling of org structure boxes and the new software tools they’ve bought to quote ‘streamline our efficiency’ endquote. I tune out. I can already hear the music in my mind. Fortunately, before it’s my turn for ‘around the table’ reporting, my cubicle mate pokes me. My boss frowns when I explain the most recent code snafu that will delay me finishing the beautiful graphs for his European conference. I promise I’ll have them Friday close of business, which seems to mollify him a bit. Just a bit.

Wednesday afternoon does not improve. The data scrolling across my screen doesn’t make sense. I do another line walkthrough of the code. I don’t see anything wrong. I try some hand calculations. They don’t match my screen. When the janitor fires up the vacuum cleaner, I give up and head out. Once again, I have nothing to show for my day.
At home, I pop a Boston Market Frozen Meatloaf Dinner in the microwave and turn on Entertainment Tonight. It’s mindless, but it’s better than the news, which is better than the silence if I turn the TV off. The distraction helps a little. After I’ve eaten and washed my fork and glass, my mind drifts back to her. I sit back on the couch, open my pants, and masturbate to my first orgasm of the evening.

It’s okay. I mean, it’s an orgasm, so how bad can it be? Other than the mess, of course. I throw my shirt in the laundry and look for a book to read. Preferably one that I haven’t reread so recently that I can remember it all. I take my time and settle on a dog-eared worn favorite. It fills my evening until it’s time for bed.

I can’t sleep, though. Every time I clear my mind, thoughts of her slink back in and my blood heats. I give up and throw back the covers and stroke myself to another orgasm. It’s not enough, so I go for a third. Finally, sheer exhaustion overwhelms me and I drift into dreamland.

Thursday begins promisingly. I find the code bug. A misplaced comma. Test runs go well. I start a batch run and head down to the break room. My third cup of coffee has gone cold and I want some Reese’s Cups out of the vending machine.

I sag into a chair near the microwave and my mind drifts where it always does. I recall her smile during my last visit. She’d been pleased to see me, pleased to sit with me. We’d talked over drinks for a long time, before we began. The memories of her pushing her hair back and laughing at one of my jokes are more vivid than those of her bare breasts coming into view moments later. While I will never forget the vision of her nipples, be they stiff or soft, I’ve seen them so often that individual times just blur together.

Not the first time she let me touch them, though. She laughed at how delicately I fingered them, as if they might break. She told me to pinch them lightly, and when I did, she teased that she’d said pinch, not caress. I remember the quirk of her mouth and the way her nipple stiffened under my hands. Mostly I remember the shine of amusement in her eyes.

My boss kicks my chair and both my daydream and my coffee slosh to the floor. He wants to know why I’m loafing. He wants to know why I don’t have results yet. My protests are drowned out by his angry escalating tirade. He says I’m lucky to have a job before he storms out.

I slink back to my desk. My boss is right. I’m lucky to have a job, in today’s economy. That doesn’t mean I have to like it.

When I was little, I dreamed of Mars. I dreamed of space and consumed all the science fiction I could find. I dreamed of being an astronaut. I dreamed of amazing things.

I never dreamed of PowerPoint and a ten by ten foot shared cubicle with restricted internet access. I never dreamed of the tedium of numbers on a screen, mostly meaningless. I never dreamed of days where my only view of the stars was on the drive back to my tiny empty apartment.

Thursday afternoon goes worse. IT pushes a security patch through and only gives a five minute warning. I’m three quarters through a five hour batch job. The forced reboot keeps me after hours long enough that dinner is McDonald’s once again.

When I do arrive home, I’m peeved and irritated and pissed off. Yet the throb in my blood continues. I think of her, but my mind is too clouded with anger to let me enjoy it. Instead, I fire up my computer and go websurfing. I find some extreme porn out of Europe and get myself off a couple of times before I’m calm enough to crawl into bed. As I fall asleep, I remind myself that there’s only one more day until Saturday. Just one more day. One more day.

Cover for the book Friends and Benefits

 Want more of Addictive Desires?

There’s a richness of experience where desire and addiction collide, rarely explored in literary erotica. The twelve stories in this collection portray individuals dealing with addictive desires in both blatant and subtle ways.

If you enjoy literary erotica, designed to provoke your mind more than your hormones, you’ll enjoy Addictive Desires.