Oxytoxin = Oxymoron

Oxytoxin is evil stuff. It's an evil hormone that a woman's body produces when she has sex and the more orgasms she has the more of the freaking stuff courses through her traitorous body. I say it's traitorous because it makes me all mushy and fall deeply and madly in love. Which would be GREAT, It's what I want most for this meager existence of mine, but it's the worst thing that can happen when my man isn't exactly virtuous and doesn’t have the best intentions for me.

Damnit, damnit, damnit, I’ve gotten myself into this mess. I’m the one that called HIM after our last breakup. My addiction riddled body was in agony! I agreed to see him “as friends” *cringing* as I was thinking I could wean myself off of him. Only to fall back into the lust and not knowing how there could be this much animal attraction and easy going friendship and NOT develop into a lasting committed relationship.

How he played my body. How he knew just how to read every breath, every moan, moving with my body and touching me right where I wanted to be touched, murmering those nasty things he was doing to my body into my ear, withholding just enough to drive me crazy and then going in for the kill. Waking my body with the inner implosions that sucked in the whole universe while at the same time softly killing me as my life squirted out and left me in puddle of my former existence. Over and over again, I never did find out if there was an end to how many times my body could produce this reaction. Maybe I would be left as dried up as a raisin. If he could do this causing my ten orgasms to his one, does that mean that I end up loving him ten times more than he loved me?

I’d never experienced this before in my whole entire life. I still don’t understand how something so sensual that connects with my body as the most spiritual encounter I’ve ever had, can at the same time be the cause the most harmful and irrational thing to happen to my brain and my life.

He is smarter than me. His body not so traitorous, he must sense a fast approaching tipping point where he is going to feel obligated to make a decision that he doesn’t want to make, therefore he withdrawals. Slowly. Calculating. Never letting on. He’s depressed. He’s tired. He’s stressed at work. He doesn’t call as much anymore. He doesn’t call when he says he will. He doesn’t hear me when I speak. He is closed to me. There is no more time for me. No chance for me utter the words of how I’m feeling, what I want, what I need, those things he’s not prepared to part with, maybe for no woman ever again.

This time I think I’ll make it. This time I’m not cut off cold turkey. This time it’s been coming on slowly. I’d like to think I’m smarter. I’d like to think I’m stronger. I’d like to think a lot of things.