Addict

Ch 3 - Bonnie's Chapter "THE ACHE"

R-M Very Mature themes and content

Sorry this took a minute. I had a busy weekend, and this is my Bonnie POV chapter for those of you who wanted a little background, on her, and to know what she thinks, feels, and deals with as it pertains to Damon and her also her struggles with this addiction, from those first two chapters. Keep in mind this chapter was just written and added to the story since the last chapter was posted. I hope you enjoy it.

Today is a difficult day for me. I leave the confines and comfort of the town I grew up in. I could be disappointed, but I'm actually nervously looking forward to it. It'll keep me from running towards bad habits. I look at the scenery as I pull into the driveway of this romantic beachfront getaway. The perfect place to build a romance. The perfect place to see the bigger picture, of the caliber of life I should be living. One that brings me peace and serenity.

I have a couple of months off of work. I'm a dancer. And in my time performing, I've come in contact with a lot of womanizers in this line of work. Male dancers, producers, directors, choreographers, stage techs, composers, musicians. I've had my fair share of scandalous love affairs. Not a lot of men, on my resume. But the amount of sex in my resume, is on the high end of experienced. I've not been with limitless amounts of men, because, I'm a relationship girl. And when I'm in a relationship, I love hard. Mentally, emotionally, and sexually.

But every man lacks what I need... spiritually.

Which is why, I'm such a laid-back individual. Because my love life, is a wreck. I practice yoga, and I meditate, and I am a private dance instructor, when I'm not working on traveling gigs. I love my career, and I love my life. But, I have an addiction, which causes me to not love myself the way I should.

You wanna know that addiction?

Sex.

Sex, can make me forget myself in a heartbeat, and lose my mind to the feeling of freedom, acceptance, and desire.

But, sex is beautiful, and it's real. It's the truest form of connection between two people. When you can give someone your body, and trust them to handle it, with every intention of selflessly gifting it with pleasure, it's a true connection of not just the body, but the mind. And in all fairness, I feel the freest, when I'm sexually connected to a person.

But, now, I'm on a spiritual journey. I'm hoping to figure out how to love myself, and teach the new people that I allow into my life to love me too.

I've had painful experiences with men. I've been trapped in relationships, by sex. Feeling like I had to be the image of their sexual desires in order to feel loved. I felt, loved when I was giving my body away. Because, for me sex equaled love. And it wasn't until recently, I realized, my vision was blurry. Sure, sex, is a form of love. But so is spirituality, and connection. Sex, is a gift.

But, with the wrong person, it can be toxic dependency. With a person, who loves mental warfare, it can be the addiction, that drives you to desperate measures. Infidelity, prostitution, loss of self, loss of control, loss of worth.

A good example, is my ex. He is a musician that I met on tour, a few years ago. His band was hired for our production. Our attraction wasn't instant. In fact, I hated him. He looked like a womanizer. But, boy did he play the hell out of a guitar. That's how we became close. He played the guitar for my solo. It was a Spanish themed ballet piece. I performed a mixture of ballet and folklórico, and he and I had to work together one on one... a lot.

One thing lead to the other, and the first time we hung out, outside of work, we had sex. It was wild, and crazy, and every pain I felt on the dance floor, I lost during our sexual bouts, every night. I needed that release. He knew it, and he was more than happy to oblige. I needed that loss of control, since dance forces me to be in such control. And I've been dancing since I was three. The amount of precision and control I was forced to have for all of those years growing up, was enough to make me go crazy when I finally went on my first ballet tour without my mom.

I lost my virginity to my ballet instructor. He was twenty years older than me, and we had a relationship ship for two years.

I believed everything he told me.

I wanted to be his perfect image of both a dancer and a lover.

It was toxic, abusive, and depressing. He took out all his frustrations on me, and I accepted it because I was young and naive. But those patterns, continued for ten years with all my relationships. Until a year ago, when I decided to talk to someone. My therapist, who I now have seen for a year. I was eventually diagnosed with hypersexuality, aka, compulsive sexual-dependency, aka what many call, nymphomania.

I tried my hardest to fight my addiction. For months, I focused on other ways of bonding, with my ex-boyfriend. I asked him to do simple things, like go to the movies, cook dinner with me, take wine and painting classes. But the idea of a date to him was a bar, drinks, maybe some dancing, and then back to his or my place. We were boring, except during the time we had sex. I worked hard to get this man to be more hopeless romantic, and less maniacal sex fiend.

But, it didn't work. He threatened our relationship. He called me selfish. Then he cheated on me. For seven months while I tried to be celibate, we went through this song and dance. And I would break my celibacy for him, because I was so weak to it. Until five months ago, I realized we needed a break. And for five months, I have been sexless.

I could say sex-free. But the truth is I'm tortured. I'm haunted by the loneliness. The nights I'm in bed alone, I sometimes stare at the four walls of my room in the dark, as the moonlight cascades off of them, and wish an incubus would come rescue me from mental purgatory.

Imagine someone, calling lack of sex mental purgatory. Only the lowly and shameful can use such a word, with such confident allegation. My therapist calls my use of wording, dramatic yet anti-climactic. The theatrics never follow through, and he says, I'm lost in the mentality of dependency. He says I've not gotten over my lack of closure in my relationships, and that companionship should aid in my lowliness.

He suggested I adopt a pet, with one of my exe's name. This way, when I was ready to confront my issues, I could say it to my pet. And I could help by giving a lonely pet a home, thus, fulfilling my need to nurture and love a being that won't be unrequited. In other words, Kill two birds with one stone. I straight up believe, that is animal abuse. So, instead, I have a dog, and my dog is named after my ex, but I shortened it, when I realized he didn't deserve that insult.

But... when he decides to act like a butthole, I call him "Enzo." And the everyday name is "Zozo." Zozo is the beautiful little being that cuddles me, so I forget about being rescued by an incubus. So, he fulfills my capacity of being loved. Now, for the classic release of endorphins, associated with sex addiction, I discovered a coping mechanism that frightens and excites me all at once. Skinny dipping. Two months ago, I started swimming naked at night, to imitate the feeling of sex. Apparentl, the release of endorphins, is what helps my brain and my body to cope with the freedom, that I've chosen to let go of. And another beautiful thing about Zozo, is the fact that, I feel that love, I lacked. That acceptance.

But, I won't lie, when I say, I look at the advice I took from my therapist, and I felt like a complete whack job. My dog, is spoiled by me, and half the time, I can't even bother finding companionship, because he wants all of my attention.

Oh well, as I pull into my beach front, dream home, all that goes out the window. The peace of the oceans waves crashing at night, and the visual of the moonlight cascading off the water, is enough to accept this journey of loneliness. For five months, I've only spoken to my parents, my dog, my grams, my therapist and my agent. That's five people and a dog.

I've formed no formal, or informal connections to newer people. I can barely say hi to strangers. But, I vow, that being here, I'm going to step out of my head, and back into the world. I'm going to open myself up, and allow genuine connections to open me up, for the possibility of actual love.

...

This property is just as I remember it, from childhood. I love the lost romantic look of a classic nineties beachfront. The wood is scratched, the stairs are a little rickety, but the trees surrounding it, make for a private living. The only open windows, not covered by trees, and bushes, are the ones that face the neighbor. And that happens to be a wide open visual to the inside of my house.

Curtains will do. I tell myself, that. But I'm honestly not focused on it.

I can do this. It's new, but I can do this.

I work hard with the guys in the moving truck behind me, to get my things in my house in a timely manner. The quicker they leave, the better for me. I bust my ass, sweating and what not. After about two hours, I'm sick of re-pinning my messy hair, so I put it in a bun. Then, I take a breather on my porch steps, and sit down, while the sweat on my body drips to the dead, and weathered wood, beneath my feet. These stupid strands of hair keep falling in my eyes, and the way these movers are looking at me, is making me wanna go masturbate.

"Ma'am, there's only a couple more boxes. Would you like for us to put anything together for you? Your bed, tv stand, tables?"

"No, thank you. I can handle it." I tell them. I don't need them coming in and then hoping for some sort of personal payment. Hell no. I may have an addiction, but god forbid, any man does it for me. It's simply not true. I tend to lean towards the bad boys, who stare longer than they should, have a significant trademark sex appeal, and have a dark, lonely, artistic side. Poets, painters, musicians, dancers, etcetera etcetera.

Even if, those types are bad for me.

But, when it all boils down to it, I just want someone who understands me, and my recklessness. And someone who doesn't believe my addiction is challenged as neediness. And most importantly, someone who needs to be lost as much as myself. I'm not a serial dater. I'm a hopeless romantic. The last thing I need, is another serial dater, trying to claim they care about me, when all they want is my lady bits. I'm too honest a person for that. Which is why I kind of cut myself off from people lately. The fear of opening up to people who aren't who they appear to be, is a vulnerability of mine.

"Okay, sweetheart. We just finished. We'll be headin out." He taller one says.

"Thanks for everything. Uhh, there's some water bottles and sandwiches in the fridge, help yourself."

"Gee thanks." The two men gladly go inside and take what they can, and as they do, I turn and notice, a beautiful raven-haired man on the other side of the front bushes. He's with a camera in hand, and he's looking at the sky. When I see him raise his camera to take a shot, I sigh. How the hell can he point that lens at this grey sky and take a shot. It's hideous out here. There's nothing but a grey sky. Then I look up and notice a large black cloud, he focuses on it, takes a few shots, and runs back in hiding. What happened to the blue sky from this morning? I'm supposing this means it's going to rain. Still, he notices me, and goes back inside.

"Peculiar." And I think to myself, good, the less I have to see an attractive artist-type, the better for me. I walk back inside, and wait for the movers to leave, because momma needs a cold shower, and a good book.

..oOo..

I sit at my house a few days understanding it. The energy is busy. I try hard to cleanse it. Too many wild renters my dad let use this place. I look inside of my house for a reason to leave today, but I simply cannot. I love being here. It's a little bare, but it's to be expected until I cleanse it.

The last few nights I've gone swimming, it was a little scary. My first time in the ocean. I used to jump in pools. But there is something far more accepting and fearful to the ocean. The possibility of disappearing, the possibility of being seen, it's just such a danger zone. That ups my endorphins release, and therefore helps me forget about sex.

I love this.

...oOo...

I hate this.

Today I went online to check for an audition I'd heard about. I prayed for the date of this audition to post, because I'd wanted to audition for this show for months now. It made sense for me. Something new and amazing, for my new change in life. Then I look for the composers and bands hired to do music. And then, I look for the choreographers. And there it is, big as day. His name.

Elijah Mikaelson. The man I lost my virginity too. The man, who, for two years, made me into the best dancer I could possibly be, yet tarnished every ounce of self-esteem I could possibly have about myself back then. It took a lot for me to regain my confidence.

He and I agreed, he'd stay away from my future auditions, since he could get gigs, literally anywhere. But the truth is, he looks forward to these gigs, and all of the dancers that come along with it. He thinks all dancers are groupies. I hate him.

He won't let me find peace, and all I see, is him cornering me. He'll gladly strut around me, with other women. So, it's clear.. I won't audition for this show.

Phone rings.

"Hello?... Oh, hi, Hayley... No... I actually won't be auditioning... I know, it's a dream role, but... I just got a new place, and I think I should focus on getting it together... but, if you went for the role, I wouldn't be angry. I think you should go for it... I support you... Of course... No, no... don't feel bad. This is an opportunity of a lifetime. You've got a couple months to prepare, so, go for it... Yeah... You're welcome. Break a leg."

The moment I hung up the phone, I tried to hold in all the emotions. But it was hard. I walk outside and let the crashing waves filter my eardrums from all of the awful thoughts buzzing in my head. The way my dream was crashing before my eyes. The way this man, promised he'd not do this gig, so that I could audition. And his name is at the top of the choreography roster. I sit in the sand, and try to stay positive, but honestly, tears fall from my eyes in broad daylight. And although, I know it's healthy to cry, I'm just going to pray no one can see me. "Fuck you Elijah. Fuck you!"

I should call him, and tell him how I feel. I should call him, and let him know he's wrong. For all intent and purposes, I stop the thoughts, regardless of my therapist's advice. I don't give it a voice, because, I'm too good for the anger. He doesn't deserve my tears. And somehow, he gets them, still.

I say it to the wind instead, and the wind carries it out to the water, and I pray it drifts away.

..oOo..

I got away with playing fetch for a few days, reading books, and diving into the black sea every night. I felt the cold water on my body, and sometimes the water stroked my pussy like a cock. I swam, and relaxed, and swam, and often focused so much on the waters force, that I'd almost have an orgasm. It was phenomenal what the water could do to a hot and bothered body. I was lonely and the water was my man. I was the heat and the water was my cold. And I can't help but to wonder who else in the world, gambles on mind psychosis, the way I do to battle sex addiction.

As I head out of the water I see my neighbor's tv go off. Luckily, it's too dark to see me. Because I need these late-night dives, to clear my head. He'd probably call the cops, if he knew what I was doing.

...

For the first time in my life... I realized, I live next door to my worst nightmare. I met my neighbor today. He's always hiding in that house of his. But, today he was outside and I introduce myself. Even if he doesn't seem to want to meet me.

He was kind of an asshole. That's my luck, attracting assholes, but this guy, seemed really off-put my me. "I'm Bonnie by the way."

"I'm Damon." I still smiled, even though he just kept staring at my forehead. He is a beautiful man, that's for sure. And I'm not intimidated by it. Rather, he reminds me of the kind of man you meet at a hotel for casual yet, forbidden sex. The kind of man that breaks hearts. I just fought every urge to bite my lip, and it wasn't hard, because not before long during our conversation did a psychotic woman pull up, and make a huge scene.

I realize he's trouble, and we know, I don't need trouble. I walk way, and decided I need to take my dog out on the beach and play fetch. "Forget you saw the blue-eyed man." I tell myself. I concentrate of Zozo. He loves the attention. We play fetch for a little bit.

Then suddenly a loud thud breaks my concentration. A woman's body slammed into the glass of my neighbor's house. He's having sex in broad daylight. What in the...? I wanna turn away but I can, I'm mesmerized. Watching his hands planted firmly on the glass, and her, riding his cock like a bicycle. All I imagine, is how that position, instantly stimulates the g-spot. Not to mention, he must understand that, the angry face he's making, only makes the stimulation that much more unbearable, because that is the face of a man who knows his dick size, and ain't ashamed of it. My pussy tingles just watching, and I stare for at least two minutes before I realize I must look like a pervert. My chest tightened, and I felt a shock hit me in the nether regions again. He rams himself into her once, and I see her scream, and I can't take it. They're crazy, fucking in the window like that. Reminds me of Enzo, in the beginning, and I can't watch this. I grab Zozo and run further down the beach, before either of them notice me.

This goes on three more times, before I eventually confront him. I see him fuck this woman in his window, with no remorse for the neighbors. And every night, I have to go for a swim, even longer than the night before to keep from being triggered. It's not the two of them that gets me. It's him. He's angry. He angry fucks, and although I remember how toxic that can be, I remember how angry sex felt in my core. Rough cock, is guaranteed effort, and I loved to be fucked hard. But this, is another level of sex. This is Voyeurism.

One night, I'm out for a swim, and I think he did it on purpose. He fucked her and waited for me to swim. And somehow, that turned me on. It was wrong I know. His girlfriend, doesn't deserve this. Even if she's a bitch, she can't possibly know where his mind is. But, she kind of comes over here, and becomes reckless, and leaves. It's unhealthy. But I can't help that he haunts me every day now. Those blue eyes, and pink lips, linger in my brain. His torso, and his rough style, hit me in the gut, needing it. The worst part is, just looking at him, and remembering his voice, has given me wet dreams. I wake up, wet, and all I see is his fuck faces. The angry faces. The demanding faces. The sweaty forehead, and menacing glances.

The night he watches me while he fucks her, made me dripping wet. He thrusted, hard, and wild, and all the while he never took his eyes off of me, and mine never left him. I almost feel like he's wishing, he were fucking me, and maybe, I'm wrong. Maybe he's just a pervert. But, there was some strange connection, where I felt him inside of my head. And for the first time in five months, I'm feeling like I'm gonna relapse. A wicked grin hits my face, and he takes it as a challenge, before losing his breath in this woman. This woman I envy, wishing I was her. I Jen, cover my body, and head inside for a cold shower.

My reality may be harsh, but my imagination, when it comes to him, is me, letting him fuck me like crazy. And all this build up, fucked me in the head so much, I let it take over. I went in my house and touched myself. I used my fingers to touch my pussy and I remembered how much I had overcome. No. I can't do this. I stop myself.

He's just a person. A person, I hardly know. He's no one. My sanity, is more important than that narcissistic, voyeurist, and his psychotic girlfriend. If I can wake up tomorrow, and pretend this didn't happen, I will.

...

Everything in my world is tainted. I imagine all of the worst things about Blue-eyes last night. Then today, I saw him on the beach. Calm as a clam, taking pictures of sand crabs. He struggled for a while, and I watched his ass. His literal butt. It's kind of cute. I don't think he could help that his shorts were so low on his hips, I could see the top of his crack.

It was kind of sexy, watching the muscles of his ass as he tried to wiggle around and get a good shot. But instead of feeling like a pervert, I approach him. I try to help, and he, was reluctant to take it. As we talk to each other, he keeps looking at my forehead. He won't look me in the eyes, and it's making me nervous. So, I babble like an idiot. I'm doing that "lack of filter" thing my therapist says I do. I become very blunt and honest. But, to the point it makes people uncomfortable. I sat next to him, and as he rises to be at my eye level, I almost felt my soul reach outta my body. And grab him, with my hands on his face.

"Damon look at me."

I hold him close to me and look. God, he's... he's really enigmatic. And, to keep myself from kissing him, I just bite my fucking lip. My chest takes in deep breaths, and he's so close, to me, but so far. I feel him inside of his head, reaching for me, and he's talking with his eyes.

His icy blue eyes are penetrating my soul, and everything about him, brings this sudden calm over me. Never, has touching another man, made me feel calm. Men, keep me on edge, but this one, keeps me on my toes. And the more I feel his skin on mine, the more I want to lay naked with him. The smell of his freshly showered body, and the way he watched me last night, while he fucked her.

By the way, I found out isn't his girlfriend, just a woman he'd had hooked up with. No wonder there's no clear energy between them. They're all sex, and no emotions. But, he's so dry, I'm not sure he's capable of emotional vulnerability.

He wants to kiss me. I can feel it. I think I'm going to do it. I'm going to kiss him. I'm just going to be reckless and lay it on him. Until he says, "Why are you doing this?"

And now, it's awkward. I did something wrong, and now, I need to go back home and take a cold shower. "I don't know. So, I'm going to go back to the house now. Just came to say, hi."

"Where's Enzo?"

"The house. He didn't feel like fetch."

I keep my cool, and go inside and hit up a cold shower. I needed it. It calmed me, and gave me a moment of clarity. I should quit invading his privacy. Everything was better before I got here. I assume my loneliness, is what's making me act out of the ordinary. Maybe if I call someone familiar, I can get through this. Damon, is triggering me, and as much as I'm fighting it, I fear that one more episode of "fuck me harder" in his window, or even a visual of his naked body can set me over the edge.

I'm sure, I'll wake up tomorrow, and life will go back to being positive, and spiritual, and more about my strength, than my weakness.

He can't be at crass and cocky, to fuck in his window again, can he?

...oOo...

"She's sucking his dick!" I yell out to myself, as I walk inside. I laugh hysterically. I speed walk into my room, and instead of invading his life, again, and watching his beautiful body fuck someone, who's not me, I put on a dress and walk to my front yard. I have to laugh about this. I just, I don't get it. "Who does he think he is? He's like... he's totally reckless. I mean, he said, she's not his girlfriend, and even gave her the whole crazy spiel. And like an idiot, I believed him."

Yes, I am aware I'm talking to myself. And I don't care, he's too busy fucking her, to notice. And honestly, God, is punishing me, by allowing me to feel these things about a stranger, and then violently exposing me to my insecurities and weakness every time I see him fucking in his window. "No fucking remorse! No pun intended." I laugh again. This is funny. It has to be funny, because, the life of an addict, is never a dull one. I walk to my porch, I sit on the worn and weathered, old wood. I pray I don't get a splinter, and I remove my bikini top, and toss it on the porch somewhere, because my breasts were asking to breath. Either that, or just the sight of his cock in her mouth, has me hot and bothered.

I pick up my cell phone, and dial the one number I said I wouldn't dial. At least not til I was ready. But, I couldn't help it. I hear it ring.

Please don't pick up. Please don't pick up. Please don't pick up.

"Why hello, love."

FUCK! He picked up.

"Lorenzo?"

"Yes. You called my phone, didn't you?"

"I'm sorry. This was a mistake."

"No, darling, I assure you I'm happy to hear from you. Please don't hang up. You've not called for months, and it kills me... the way things ended."

"Lorenzo, I-uh... I just thought I'd say hi. And see how you're doing?"

"I'll be good once I see your face. I miss you like crazy. Please come home."

"No, I like my new place, and I'm happy here. It's just-"

"You miss me? Because, I miss you. Where are you? Let me see you."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea. I just wanted to check on you."

"No, love, something's wrong, I can hear it in your voice. Please, let me come see you. Whatever it is, let me be there for you."

"I don't need-"

"That's your problem, you're too stubborn. And I can tell you need a friend. I hug, and shoulder. Tell me where you are, and I'll come to talk. Just talk, okay. I promise, everything will be alright. I've changed, I swear it."

I sat and thought for a bit. He gave me silence, and I thought about it. What's celibacy anyways? No. No. No sex. If he can talk, then so can I. "Okay. I'll-umm, text you my address."

"Perfect love. Hurry. Don't leave me waiting."

Just like that, I gave in and texted him. Five months of not having spoken to him, and just like that I was a puddle of wound up nerves. I text him, hit send, and then that girlfriend of Damon's comes at me raging like a lunatic. "It's your fault. You FUCKING whore. What does he see in you? You're so mediocre, compared to me. I don't fucking get it."

No, this bitch di'ent! I turn and look at my house, to see if someone was behind me, then I look at her, and back behind me, to see if I was losing my GD mind.

"Who are you talking to?"

"You. He watches you, closely. You're always there, outside of his window, giving him a reason to drift off and daydream. What is it about you? And why can't you stay in your got damn house. This is all your fault." She looks like she wants to hit me, and if so that would be a mistake on her part.

"I have no idea what you're talking about?" She walks up my drive way, and I tell her, "One more step on my property and I'll make you regret, ever looking at me sideways." She thought twice, then hurried back to her car, and sped off. A lotta nerve she has blaming me, for the man she fucks, forcing me into relapsing. I'm sick of this. I storm over there, and let him know, how his actions have consequences.

I started off really calm, because he has rights to privacy. But, the general lack of emotion from him, frustrated me, and eventually it started to show through my dialogue, when I fumbled over words, letting his aura tackle me. But the worst part was my betraying eyes that wouldn't stop ogling his torso. The way he stood half naked and unbothered, and how his pants weren't even all the way buckled up, and I could see more of his happy trail, then I wanted to. I saw every vein in his body, protrude, and those hands of his were strong.

I remember telling him he fucks a lot, and he fucks her like an animal. I'm not sure why I chose those words. I was just being honest. "Watching you fuck her, was most certainly my trigger."

"I'm sorry." He said, along with some other choice words, but I was too distracted by his body to remember.

He's addictive. I have to walk away, because everything about him, forces this weakness inside of me.

On the verge of tears, I turn to leave and he grabs my arm. Again, I felt this surge of energy pull at my insides, when he touched me. Still, no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn't touch him, or I'd never forgive myself, for it. But, I'm not sure I'd be opposed to him manhandling me, right here in this very house he commits the rest of his fraudulent love affairs.

But I realize it's more than sex with him. For me, it's his emotional unattachment. He seems to have remorse, and in his icy blue eyes, I felt a little warmth. When he stood behind me, holding me, his other arm trailed up my back and around my waist. I don't know if he realizes he did it, but he gripped my hip with his other hand. Then reached all the way around, and let his hand caress the lowest area of my stomach just above my pussy. He sniffed my hair, and my neck, and tightened his grip on my arm, almost aggressively. He's fucking strong, letting his hands be so bold. The free hand, dug a little deeper into my frontal zone. He wanted to cup my heat, with his fingers, I think... and just before I let him, I loosened his grip and forced myself to walk away.

He and I are too explosive. One of us had to walk away. And there was no victor here. We both lost this battle. But now, my panties are wet, and Lorenzo is coming, and I can't fuck Lorenzo tonight. Maybe, he can eat my pussy... if I get weak enough. No! No. That's my weakness, and he knows it. I'm forced to deal with this.

This blue-eyed man is the devil in disguise.

But, one things for sure, I can't get him out of my mind, and now I'm throbbing beyond control. Every inch of my womanhood, pulses so achingly deep, I could scream. It's what I call "the ache." It's not going away until I relieve it in some way.

God, I was doing so got damn well, until this man interrupted my world with his libido, and sexual prowess. And to make matters worse, he's just a reclusive photographer, imprisoned by the beauty of the destructive nature in which we reside. He's a tortured artist. And we all know, what tortured artists types do to me.

I'm really fucked.

oOo

Lorenzo has been here for an hour. And I can't get Damon out of my mind. But, I think he's gone for the night, because his lights are off. And that's better for me, because when he's here, I imagine myself going over to his place, and attacking him. I know, it's far off, and I'd never do it. But the fantasy is there, and as long as it exists... I'm not healing the way I should be. I stand across the room from Lorenzo, nervously. He came here wearing the cologne I love, and he's got a smooth-shaven face.

He knows a smooth face for me, and him, means he wants to eat my pussy. He does things purposely to rile up my insides. A stay at least fifteen feet away at all times, to keep from smelling his aftershave. He beats me with his dark, almost black eyes...

"Yes, it's been a while, but you seem to be doing well for yourself."

"I am, actually. It's been nice out here, away from the city."

"Yeah, I see. The city has a lot of temptation." He smirks.

"Yeah, but... I'm so far past that." I try to convince him, so he doesn't try and touch me. "Seriously. I'm past it."

"Yeah, yeah." A sinful grin flashes just as quickly as it disappears on his face. "I'm sure you are. You look... fucking amazing. You have that audition, in a couple of months, don't you love? The one you've been waiting for."

"Oh, no... I-uh... decided to let Hayley go for it. I thought about it, and I'm just trying new ventures in my life."

"Is that so?" He's not convinced.

"Yes. My private instructions are going well, and I'm even being endorsed to possibly work for the performing arts high school... as a principal choreographer. So, yeah..." I raise my brows and drop them in relegation and concede to the floor with my glances.

"You're a natural born performer. It makes no sense. I know you're not... this isn't about..." he put his hand on his chin. "Is this about that dance prick Elijah Mikaelson? Tell me, you're not that weak, Bonnie... love? He's mere... muscle wrapped in loin cloth. You want a real man, then wait for the guy in leather. Not the sissy with the tights." He laughed.

"Wow, you're such a jack ass. He's not a sissy."

"Well, maybe not a sissy, but, he's definitely... not a man."

"Why are you such a jerk?"

"I'm kidding, love." I role my eyes, and don't talk for five minutes. I always hated when he said hateful things about people I worked with or once cared for. But he breaks the ice... "You still remember that time we were rehearsing, and had sex in Elijah's office?"

Now that was funny, I thought. "Yeah. Oh my God, we did, didn't we?" I started to laugh. "And, we broke his swivel chair, and he never figured it out. He thought he was, getting quote on quote fat, because you told him, his age was catching g up with him." God, Lorenzo did have my back with Elijah. I loved those times, that he made Elijah feel insecure. And I laugh, because those are the memories I loved to have with Lorenzo.

"It's crazy, he thought his scale was broken, because he weighed the same, but when he bought another chair, we broke that one too." And the beat goes on, the memories, I'd almost forgotten about, when he started cheating on me, after I decided to become celibate. Why couldn't it stay this way, when I decided to do better? I think it's because aside from sex, and him proving to be better than Elijah, Lorenzo never really got to know me. And it was kind of shallow. Which, made me so lonely. In turn, I wanted to become celibate to find myself, and to see if he could really love more than my body. Because with him:

Everything was about sex.

We never made love. Ever.

He never looked me in the eyes.

Or caressed my skin.

He never took his time, and made sure I was just as into it, as he was.

And he never learned my body with his cock, only his tongue.

It's lazy, in my opinion. I mean, any man can use his tongue and fingers and focus on the g-spot, or the clit, but a real man, learns how to make his dick do what it should do. Maybe... how about, don't cum in five minutes? And, what if you took your time, and let me feel every inch of you caress every inch of me, and focused on the feeling of us connecting? The feel of the hardness of your muscle, pushing through the softness of my lips, and somewhere in there, us connecting in the heat of the colliding forces. I just, wanted to feel him, while he felt me, and for us to be fully present in what was happening, sexually. And he was very selfish sexually. But, when it came to oral pleasure, he didn't miss a beat. He strummed me the way he strummed his guitar.

And suddenly I'm so deep in my thoughts it takes me back to that place. And I blurt out "Why? Why couldn't I be enough? Why couldn't we be soft instead of hard? Why couldn't we be high instead of low? Warm, instead of cold? Free, instead of prisoners?"

His face went from smiling to grim and he looked at me, and my dog has been barking for minutes now, and he yells, "Fucking mutt."

"He's not a mutt, and he needs to pee. So, let me take him out." I yelled back. Just like that we went from laughter to pain. The same song and dance.

"Hurry up and come back inside."

"Stop. I'm walking him. It takes him a while." Why did I call him? He's such an asshole.

"Hey, I came, because you called me. I haven't seen you in months. You won't talk to me. I miss you. Now I'm waiting because of the bloody dog. Give me a break." He's so cocky. Everything has to always be about him. And we start arguing. I'm over it, I can't handle him needing to be validated all the time, when I'm the one, who didn't have validation in our relationship. I gave him everything, and he was so selfish.

Eventually it's the same song and dance, he calls my addiction a pathetic excuse for attention, and makes me feel like I'm crazy for believing it to be a problem. I want to slap him, and now my dog has disappeared, because he hates Lorenzo. Mind you, this is only his second time seeing him.

I leave Lorenzo in his own self-pity and disappear into the night. Before I realize it, Damon sneaks up on me. And on one hand I'm angry, I don't wanna see him, after he pulled that window stunt earlier. But on the other hand, the feeling I get when I'm near him, is overcompensating for the anger it brings me, when I remember how he keeps fucking that psycho in his window.

I go back and forth with Lorenzo for a while, before all sound fades. And the only noise is the breaths both Damon and I are taking, and the words we let slip through our lips, as we mumble our way into each other's personal space. And then, for once, I am validated.

He grabs my face, and did to me, what I did to him. He just looks. And he's not staring at my forehead for once. He's looking in my eyes, and now, I'm the one who's afraid of what is happening between us. He wipes my tears and I'm not sure why I let him. But I did.

He needs me, I feel it. He's reaching out for me, and he wants to say something more, or do something more, then he puts his lips to mine and instead of kissing me he just speaks. "God, I want you. I really want you. Which is really weird. Because we're practically strangers, and you deserve better than a guy like me." What does that even mean?

"That's too bad." I really didn't care what he was saying. I wanted him too. And the feeling right now, between us was powerful.

("Bonnie!") Lorenzo keeps calling me.

"I should go."

"Who is he?" He demanded.

"The ex."

"The one you had no closure from?"

"Yes." He's still holding my face and won't let me go.

"You guys back together?" I didn't answer. How do I answer that? I'm so lost. "Do you love him?" I remained quiet. "Is he, the reason, you're crying?"

"I cry, every day. It's good for me."

"And today... why are you crying?"

"I'm crying, because, I have no will power."

("BONNIE!") He called again, and I got up, forcing him to let my face go.

"Go away Lorenzo!" He slammed her door closed again, because he knows I hate it. And I can't tell Damon, I'm a sex addict, that is triggered by the mere thought of him, fucking someone, wishing it was me. I can't explain that I'm hypersexual, and I want to sit on his cock and lose my soul in his, while giving him all of the beautiful imagines I think up, in a night of pure pleasure.

Nope. I can't do any of it. And, the next moments were a blur as they happened. He helped me find my dog, and I just wanted to thank him, with a hug. "Thanks for helping me find Zozo." I reached to hug him, and I'm a real hugger. Not a faux hugger. When I grab his body, and pull him to me, his rock hard, cock, pokes me in the stomach. And all I could think, was fuck my life for being so short. I wanted to feel him pressed between my legs. And somehow, he was embarrassed. And I don't know why, because I want him inside of me now.

"I'm sorry. It wasn't- fuck this is embarrassing." She boldly looked down at my erect pants, and back up at me. "Bonnie, I'm so FUCKING sorry, it's not what you think-" I looked at him for a half a second, and then rushed him with my lips. I couldn't handle the separation any longer. I needed to feel everything that was hard, of him, against everything that was soft of me. His over-powering kiss, was so dominant, I had to fight back with my own tactics. And in doing this, I almost suffocated him with my pressure, and desire to connect to him. I'm not even sure I'm kissing that great right now, because I just want to show his body, that my body thanks him. I pull up to see if I'm overstepping my boundaries, and he was dazed, and lost, like he needed my lips back on his, and I smiled, and attacked him again. I feel his hard chest against my soft chest, and my nipples were so happy to have him against me. Then, eventually I calmed down my kiss and made love to his mouth with my own. As if to let my kiss prove the type of lover I can go from either end of the spectrum, whatever to suit his needs. If we fucked against this tree I wouldn't even be mad, just let me feel his cock once against my... ohhhhh myyyy gooddd, he lifted me, and now, he's pressed in the right place at the right time, fuck the clothes we are wearing for keeping us from fully connecting. Just, once, I think a man, can give me what I desire sexually. And it's a glorious feeling, him wanting what I want, and I want to feel, what it feels like to accept him, inch for inch, inside of me. Five months, it's been. Five months! I need him inside of me, regardless if Lorenzo is somewhere around here. I hope he took a hint and went home.

My pussy aches, it throbs. "The ache" has returned. And my mind is pleading... fuck me Damon. Fuck me, in every way possible, and let me see, what it means to connect fully. He's hungry for me, because I feel his abs tightening, while he holds his breath.

Now, the more I felt his dick, the more I whimpered in anticipation. I felt weak to his touch "Please..." I whisper. "Touch me..." We were tuned into this moment, while the world was tuned out. I felt him wanting to fuck me, like rules didn't apply to us, as strangers.

I loved it the sound of his zipper coming down, after he unfastened his pants, like a junkie, needing a fix. He held my body close, while I anticipated the arrival of his body inside of mine. He practically rips my bikini bottoms off, and the moment, I felt the softest skin of his hardest muscle touch my clit... I bit my fucking lip, to keep from moaning out loud. And, it's been so long since I've had sex, that I'm almost positive it's going to hurt at first, I don't care. I'm throbbing with an insatiable ache. And I'm not sure I can ever forgive this moment if it doesn't happen. "Fuck." I whisper into the air as he begins to penetrate me.

He's about to destroy me. I can feel it. Good gawd! He sure is blessed, and healthy, and strong, and hard. He's barely touching me and I'm about to lose my mind. Five months is all I can think in my head, while he forces me to drip before he's even inside of me.

The universe is aligned and everything makes sense right now. Holding him, felt like holding my peace of mind, my sanity, and a beginning of something beautiful. He was everything, that I wasn't, and everything that I was, and I want him more than I want oxygen.

("BONNIE!") Lorenzo called again, disrupting us. And everything my therapist said to me about my addiction was hitting my brain, but one thing the therapist didn't realize, was somewhere in this world, not every man wants to wreck me, hurt me, or abandon me. And I have to be willing to take a chance, or I'll be stuck in my head forever, always wondering, if a man in this world, could lose himself in me the way I wanted to lose myself in him. I was ready to lose myself, because, I'd been so tightly wound my entire life, Damon, felt like... the moment I could take a chance.

But, his conscience hit him, when again, Lorenzo, couldn't take a hint. ("BONNIE!") he yelled, out again.

Suddenly, Damon stopped.

"You should go. He's waiting." He actually said that to me. I paused in shock, but I didn't care, and I wanted him to not care for a moment too.

"I don't care. I don't fucking care. Just… Fuck me." I put it all out there, and laid it on the line.

Then I heard the worst thing, he could've said in a moment like this. "I'm not in a good place. And I'm not ready for this kind of commitment, Bonnie-" then, every part of my softness, felt rejected, by every part of his hardness. Wow.

"I see."

"That's not what I meant-"

"It's fine." And just like that, I turned off every emotion to him. He rejected me, in the worse way, any man could reject me. Then, he tried to speak again, and I cut him off. "I'll see you later." And not only did I cut him off in the moment, but I cut him off.

All the way.

I put myself out there, and I made a fool of myself.

("Bonnie!") and I remember, Lorenzo is there, and I'm aching deep in the depths of my being, in more ways than one. Damon's stands there, and I don't look back, ever. I walk in my house, and Lorenzo, is there with a glass of wine for me.

"Come on, I'm sorry. Let me make it up to you." He speaks out softly, with that deep, raspy, musicians voice of his.

"Lorenzo, I just want to have a momentary lapse in judgement. Nothing crazy."

"Say no more."

He shut my door, pulls me to him and strips me of every ounce of clothing. Then he carries my naked body into the bedroom, and gives me my wine.

I know I shouldn't. I know it's wrong. But, I'm only human. I'm not perfect. I'm like anyone else, who wants to feel loved, or wanted. He lays me out, and first he turns me on my stomach, spreading me cheeks, and puts his face to my ass. "Fuck." I can't think straight. He puts his tongue in places I didn't know they could go, and he takes his time for some reason.

Then he flips me over, and places his mouth where Damon's dick last touched. And I should feel bad, but I don't. Men are assholes. I let him touch my pussy with his fingers and mouth... for I don't even remember how long. And he takes care of me, so I'm not laying there tonight, crying from the ache that occurs, when I'm worked up and let down.

Yes, women get "the ache" too. And it's painful, and it hurts our whole being when our pussy aches. Body, heart, and soul. Damon did that to me.

You think I'm crazy, huh? So, you never felt that? Okay... welcome to the life of a nymphomaniac. Uncontrollable aches, and pains, related to the pressure built up, and never released. The thoughts of insignificance, and rejection. It hurts to feel like I'm a sick freak, for knowing what I like. Why should I be condemned because I like to be touched? If your pussy, cried, the way mine does, for touch, you'd understand. But, I'm here, having not been touched in months. The ache, makes me cry myself to sleep at night. It makes me take cold showers, and sit with my legs squeezed together. It's disruptive, and I was strong for five months. After a few weeks, the ache slowly faded, to a pain. It's downgraded to sharp pain every few hours. Lorenzo, used to build me up, when he wanted to torture me. And he'd make me go hours sometimes. It was a control mechanism, he taunted me with.

But tonight... Damon did this to me. And I'll never forget this.

For the next few weeks I don't swim naked. Lorenzo scratches my itch with his mouth. I won't let him fuck me. But he can eat my pussy, and in turn I'll give him a few hand jobs. I'm not sure what it means for us, but... maybe we will eventually connect the way Damon and I, just naturally do. I don't know. For now, if I don't see Damon again, I won't be angry.

He's got issues to sort through, and so do I.

We should stay far away from one another.

Yeah, I'm about more than just sex. I'm about acceptance. And when I accepted him, he classically, rejected me.

Lesson learned.

A/N- Next chapter back to Damon's POV, but how did you feel about Bonnie? Her thoughts in comparison to Damon? I hope I did his justice. Thanks for reading!