by Jack Fisher
“People tend to do that when they develop strong sexual appetites,” Mary said, once again speaking from experience.
“My sexual appetite wasn’t even half the problem,” Peter said. “It wasn’t enough to just have sex with these women. I had to do more. I had to be the man who satisfied every slut, bimbo and wannabe nymphomaniac in Southern California. Three-ways, parties, orgies, one-night stands… I would do whatever it took. I would put in the work, just as I had done before, and I assumed that so long as I played it safe, it wouldn’t be a problem. Then…I screwed up in a way that will haunt me for the rest of my life.”
At this point, he wasn’t talking to her or anyone in particular. The look in his eyes indicated Peter was reliving that mistake in his mind. She knew that look, because she had seen it in herself before. It could only come from someone who’d had their world utterly shattered.
Not too long ago, Mary had experienced that same feeling. It had been so jarring that it had driven her from the successful, decadent life she’d once eagerly embraced. It had taken trauma of a special kind to make someone walk away from that world. She hadn’t thought she would meet anyone who understood—until tonight.
In the eleven months since Mary had been treating her addiction, she had heard all sorts of crazy stories from other sex addicts. Too many of those stories were basic, built around similar themes like bad influences and poor impulse control. Her story had more complexity, so much so that she’d thought she was alone. Now, she was sitting across from a man who might actually share that burden.
“I’m sorry, Peter. I’m sorry you have to shoulder that pain,” Mary said in an understanding tone.
“I’m the only one who should be sorry. I did it to myself,” Peter said, dropping his head low.
“That doesn’t mean you should torture yourself endlessly. You’re already doing the right thing. You’re treating your problem rather than ignoring it.”
“It doesn’t feel like I’m succeeding,” he said.
“It takes time. And you don’t have to go it alone anymore. I know exactly where you’re coming from. I screwed up, too…every bit as badly as you did.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Humor me,” Mary said. “You don’t have to tell me what happened to you, but I’m willing to tell you what happened to me…if you’re willing to listen. Maybe we can help each other through this. Maybe this is what we need right now—someone who can listen and understand.”
As she said those words, Mary reached across the table and grasped Peter’s hand in an affectionate manner. She didn’t realize she had done it at first, but as soon she felt his tense grip, she gave it a warm squeeze to convey her sincerity.
Peter responded, squeezing back for a brief moment. They were fighting the same addiction. They also happened to be old friends. That should more than convince him that she meant what she said.
For a brief moment, he smiled back. Then, in an instant, his demeanor did a complete reversal. He pulled away from her grip and got out of the booth.
“No! Mary, I – This was a bad idea. I should never have agreed to this,” Peter said, now shaking his head as if to clear it.
“What? What are you…?” Mary was taken aback. Peter acted like she’d just slapped him across the face. She got up as well, but he just took another step back.
“I know what this is, Mary. You might not see it, but I do,” Peter said apprehensively. “You and me relating to one another—a couple of recovering sex addicts sharing their inner demons… It’s a disaster waiting to happen. Your heart is in the right place, but it’s the other parts of your body I don’t trust.”
She blinked a few times, having to digest what he’d just said. It didn’t take long for her to process the implications behind his words. Those implications weren’t just insulting. They were infuriating. Her confusion turned into outrage.
“You asshole!” shouted Mary.
“Don’t be too offended. I don’t trust parts of my body, either. One of them is already sending me some conflicting signs,” Peter said, holding his hands up defensively.
“Still very offended,” she said with folded arms. “Still not liking the assumptions you’re making.”
“That doesn’t mean they’re wrong. Don’t tell me you didn’t feel it, too. I’m just…not ready to deal with that yet. I want to overcome my addiction. I want to be better.”
“You think I don’t want the same?” she retorted.
“I don’t know. Maybe you’re looking for an excuse or something. Well, guess what? I can’t be that excuse. I won’t. You’re just…going to have to find another way to deal with your problems. Assume whatever you want, but I need to leave.”
Now avoiding eye contact completely, Peter left the restaurant as quickly as he could. He couldn’t seem to get away from her fast enough, leaving Mary outraged and confused. Their exchange had caught the attention of other customers. They all looked at her strangely, not sure what they’d just witnessed. She wasn’t entirely sure either, but it was enough to make her even angrier.
“What are you looking at?” yelled Mary.
Most of the other patrons wisely turned away. Still fuming, Mary stormed out. This once-promising evening was officially ruined. She’d thought she’d actually found someone who could help her with her problems. Instead, he’d become the latest in a long line of setbacks.
Chapter Four
#xa0;
“God damn fucking asshole of a friend! Who does he think he is, calling me an excuse? I should’ve kicked him in the balls!”
The steady stream of angry cursing came pouring out as soon as Mary left Canicci’s Pizza. She barely remembered the drive back to her apartment, but she did remember running a stop sign and honking her horn twice while waiting at a traffic light. She was so pissed off about what Peter had said to her that she felt ready to take it out on anything that annoyed her.
Miraculously, Mary made it home without hitting anybody or getting pulled over, but she kept on fuming as she walked up to her apartment. She ended up slamming the door and throwing her purse across the room, knocking over a lamp in the process. She didn’t even turn on the lights. She just paced around, venting her anger however she could.
She’d thought she’d done something important tonight. She’d thought she’d reached out and connected with someone in ways that didn’t involve getting naked. It had felt way more meaningful than anything she had done with CHAOP lately. For a brief moment, all the frustration over her utter lack of progress had faded. It could’ve been a turning point. Instead, Peter had shattered it in the most infuriating way possible.
Now, Mary found herself back at square one. She might have even taken a step backward. In a fit of frustration, she opened her refrigerator and retrieved a half-empty bottle of wine. She didn’t even get a glass. She just ripped the cork off and started chugging. She needed something to calm her down—or at least numb the pain of another failure. It wouldn’t work as well as she wanted, but it still offered the shallowest kind of comfort.
“Fuck you, Peter! Fuck you for being so…so weak!” shouted Mary. “I thought you were my friend. Then you just cut and run because you can’t stand being around beautiful women anymore? Fuck you!”
She gulped down most of the wine so fast that some of it dribbled down her face and stained her shirt. She didn’t care, though. She was beyond that.
With the bottle still in hand, Mary leaned on her kitchen counter and sighed. The alcohol couldn’t take effect fast enough, which might as well count as another fail. That seemed to be the only result she could manage lately.
Mary still wasn’t accustomed this kind of failure. She had been used to getting what she wanted. Being a beautiful woman made things so much easier. If she didn’t have the physical strength to do something, she could always rely on her outgoing personality to charm others into helping her. Even if that charm often involved reckless, meaningless sex, Mary still got her way.
Now, she genuine
ly needed something to help make her feel less broken. No matter what she did, she just couldn’t get it and it was taking a toll on her.
“Fuck you! Fuck everyone! Nobody can help me. Nobody!” she yelled.
Mary took a few deep breaths, muttering more curses to vent her frustration. Eventually, her thoughts settled. Feeling defeated and pathetic, she looked down at her shirt to see the messy wine stain she’d created.
“Great. I just bought this shirt, too,” she groaned.
Setting the bottle of wine aside for a moment, Mary pulled her shirt over her head and threw it across the room. She didn’t bother getting another one. She was content to walk around in her bra for the rest of the night. Right now, she needed to focus on something that wouldn’t piss her off.
Content to call the night a bust, she retrieved her wine bottle, just in case she still needed it. Then she stormed over to her couch and turned on her TV. At this point, she was the exact opposite of the sexy, glamorous personality who had once held South Beach in the palm of her hand. She felt like a bitter, burned-out bitch.
It seemed outrageous that an attractive woman in her twenties could be so miserable. Mary was living proof that even a woman like her could self-destruct in the least spectacular way possible.
“I swear if I see an ad featuring some sexy underwear model, I’m throwing my TV out the window,” Mary muttered.
She drank more of her wine and began flipping through the channels, not caring about what was on. She just needed something simple and bland that wouldn’t add to her frustration. Eventually, she settled on the evening news. Nothing there could possibly make her feel more pathetic.
“Recapping our top story, another rash of wildfires broke out at the Rock Hill Woodlands earlier today. Hartman County fire squads, as well as squads throughout the tri-county area, are still working to contain the spread. The ongoing heat wave is once again being cited as the primary cause. This adds to what has already been a record year for wildfires. The National Weather Service issued more warnings today that the trend may continue. We now go live to Rock Hill, where our crew has been on the scene all day.”
Heat waves and subsequent wildfires happened all the time. This year just happened to be particularly bad. It was as if nature mirrored Mary’s misery. She scoffed at such a thought and took another sip from her almost empty wine bottle.
She stopped listening to the reporter and just watched the scene unfold. A series of videos and live feeds played out, depicting the damage and scale of the fires. They didn’t look any more serious than usual. Mary contemplated changing the channel.
Then, as she stared at footage of the flames and the firefighters combatting them, an unexpected feeling came over her. Watching the fire burn and these people fight it made her feel tense again, but not in the same way as earlier.
Her heart rate jumped. The next thing she knew, her body seemed to act on its own while her thoughts became paralyzed.
“The fire…” she said in a daze.
Her eyes never diverting from the screen, Mary reached down to her pants with one hand while gripping the wine bottle harder with the other. She didn’t consciously undo the button or pull down the zipper. Her hand just seemed to do it without any input from her brain.
Mary moved with urgency, pushing her pants halfway down her thighs. As soon as they were out of the way, she put her hand into her black cotton panties and began feeling around the outer folds of her pussy.
“Mmm…” moaned Mary as a rush of sensations followed.
Her heart rate spiked, so much so she could hear it in her head. Her breathing became deep and ragged, eventually drowning out the newscast. At this point, Mary finally turned away from the TV, more clearly realizing what she was doing. However, she was long past the point of stopping herself.
This was really happening. She was masturbating to the thought of firefighters fighting a raging wildfire. Mary would need to be a licensed therapist to know the implications, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Her body needed this, even if her soul might not be able to handle it.
“Yes…the heat!” Mary found herself saying.
She turned her attention back to the TV, which kept showing footage of the fire. She moved her hand with more urgency. She used her thumb to rub her clit, which by now was fully engorged, and used her other fingers to probe her inner folds.
Intense shots of pleasure coursed through her body, causing powerful reactions along the way. Mary’s hips jerked and gyrated, as though she were trying to fuck something that wasn’t there. The sensations soon intensified, as did her desperation to feel more. She hadn’t stopped pleasuring herself since she’d become a sex addict, but she’d never done it like this.
Eventually, the news footage moved on to something else besides the wildfires, but this didn’t slow Mary in the slightest. As soon as the news broke into commercial, she closed her eyes and focused her lustful thoughts. The only sounds she heard at this point were her heavy breathing and rapid heartbeat.
In her mind, she wasn’t sitting on her couch in her living room after a miserable day. She was standing in a forest, completely naked, surrounded by fire. The heat, the danger and the excitement fueled Mary’s lustful actions and the desires that fueled them.
“Hot…so hot…need more!” she said through ragged breaths.
Her body arched more erratically. Basic sensations of pleasure morphed into overwhelming waves of bliss. A ball of the hot, pleasure formed in her core, like a fire that had just been sparked.
Mary could barely feel her hand at that point. She had gone beyond just touching herself. She was fucking herself. With her thumb pressing against her clit, she pumped her fingers in and out of her vagina, stimulating the farthest recesses of her sex. The powerful sensations added to the hot feeling in her core. In her mind, the fire grew closer, adding something unique to every sensation.
It didn’t make sense. Mary had been sexually aroused by a lot of things, but never anything like this. It had many troubling implications. However, she didn’t dare rationalize it. She was getting very close to an orgasm the likes of which she hadn’t experienced in over a year.
“Ohhh, yes!” she cried out.
By now, her body was so hot that she broke out into a light sweat. Her pants became more mussed while her bra became increasingly uncomfortable.
She released her iron grip on the wine bottle, letting it fall off the couch and onto the floor. Then she used her other hand to push up her bra, freeing her breasts. Her nipples were already fully erect and, without hesitation, she pinched them. It drew her closer to her approaching climax. Like a volcano trying desperately to erupt, she felt the pressure building.
In the burning forest of her mind, the fire had almost reached her. This fire that was the source of the blissful heat was about to consume her body. She couldn’t reach out to it herself. She had to make it come to her.
“So close. So…so close…” she panted with growing desperation.
Then, just as she neared the threshold, something strange happened. The imaginary flames began swirling around her naked body—so near, yet just out of reach. Mary watched the fiery imagery of her fantasy take the form of a male figure. Through the smoke, he approached her. There was no more fire, but she still felt the heat radiating from him, guiding her to the ecstasy she craved.
As soon as his face came into view, Mary crossed that threshold from which she could not return. Then, as the orgasmic rush consumed her, she recognized the man and instinctively said his name. “Oh, Peter!” she cried out.
The sound of his name echoed throughout her living room as Mary and her desire converged. Throbbing sensations of white-hot pleasure shot through her like a rocket. The inner muscles of her vagina contracted around her fingers, her lower back arched and she contorted under the force of the powerful feeling. Mary even felt a burst of wetness soak her pussy and her hand. It was by far the messiest, most intense orgasm she had experienced in quite a while.
The mental image remained with her until the feeling subsided. Her heart rate slowed, her breathing stabilized and her sense of being returned. Then, when Mary finally opened her eyes, the image of her and Peter faded. At that same moment, a cold reality washed over her.
“Damn,” she said distantly. “What the hell did I…?”
Mary couldn’t finish her own words. There was no getting around it. She knew what she’d just done. It completely clashed with the outrage she’d felt only moments ago, but she’d done it anyway.
The first thing she saw was her TV screen. The news was back on and again showed more footage of the wildfires. Then she looked down at herself. Her pants had fallen farther down her legs. Her breasts were exposed, her bra having been pushed aside. However, it was the sight of her hand between her thighs that struck Mary the most.
“Damn,” she repeated as more cold reality set in.
Her body finally settled, but not with the typical post-orgasmic afterglow. Mary withdrew her hand from her underwear to assess the scope of what she’d done. It appeared to have been even more intense than she’d first realized.
“Damn,” she said a third time.
Looking at her hand and her underwear, Mary realized that her body knew something her mind did not. Her hand was dripping with her juices. Those same juices soaked her underwear, ensuring she wouldn’t be able to sleep in them tonight as she had originally planned. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had an orgasm that had been so intense. As good as it’d felt, though, the source of the feeling left her conflicted.
In addition to the mess her body had made, Mary also noticed the wine bottle that now lay on her living room floor. It hadn’t been completely empty when she’d dropped it, causing the rest to spill on the carpet. It felt like fate adding insult to injury.
