When I detox from cigarettes, I get horny.
I want a hot tongue on my clit.
A silky cock in my slime.
Hands like octopuses gripping and slapping.
Dirty mouth, dirty words.
Eyes searching for something wet, something delicious to feast on.
It’s a way to pass the time between wanting a cigarette and wanting another.
I’m lucky in that I have a husband, and my cravings for both cigarettes and his mouth can be figured out if need be.
He can convince me that a cigarette will kill me between muffled moans assuring me that this pussy of mine is amazing.
That’s the ideal.
Sex isn’t the answer.
It’s just where my mind goes.
The rest of the day awaits.
And the great silence descends upon us both.
“I’m dying.” he says
I believe him.
Meanwhile, I picture us having sex, while smoking a cigarette.
Ash on our chests, smoke rings caught with our tongues.
Addictions weren’t made overnight.
Patience, be my friend.
I need you.
