Sometimes, I crave connection: a voice, an e-mail, a text, some manifestation of a human relationship.
Sometimes, I crave a certain form of interaction: compliance, tending, caring. Or maybe something negative: rejection, abandonment, humiliation, negation, judgment, scorn. These negative cravings rarely are conscious, but they are powerful, and I can see evidence of them in the form my other cravings take.
Sometimes I crave touch. This might be simple, non-sexual. A hand to hold, a gentle touch on my flesh. Or it might be more sexual: a hand on my cock, a mouth on my cock. My mouth on a pussy, my cock in a cunt.
All of these cravings manifest in forms specific and non-specific. It might be you I crave – your hands, your mouth, your pussy. Or it might be almost generic: a craving for a mouth, for someone’s hands, for pussy generally.
When the cravings are non-specific, they’re dangerous, they’re warnings to me. I’m not looking for connection, generally, or even the sensations I might (think I) want. Rather, I’m almost certainly reaching for one of those negative emotions. For sex without connection of any sort is, for me, a surefire path to suffering, to recrimination, to shame.