3 comments/ 9634 views/ 2 favorites Addicted to Love By: rachlou Thanks to all those men who gave me such great research material... * * * About a month ago I bought a book called How To Break Your Addiction to a Person, written by Howard M. Halpern, PH.D. I am not a great lover of self-help books; the one or two I have purchased over the years have been hit and miss to say the least. (The only truly useful one was Hot Sex by Tracey Cox. Go figure, ha ha.) But this latest book was a revelation. After the best part of five years in a relationship that was for the most part described by my friends as "poisonous", I was finally able to make sense of what I had been doing to myself. And more importantly, I could see a way out. Loving relationships are meant to be joyful. Being with your other half should make you feel happy, secure, warm and fuzzy inside. When you spend your entire life on an emotional rollercoaster of intense ups and downs, feeling chronically insecure and unable to count on the one person who ought to be there for you, you'd think that it would be sensible to bale out and find somebody better. Wouldn't you? But it isn't that easy when you're in the grip of what can only be called an obsession. Even when you know you're being treated badly and used for somebody else's selfish gratification, you still go back for more. Over time it destroys your self respect, but you still find it impossible to break the deadly ties. The thought of being without that person is terrifying and you lie awake at night, sleepless, tortured by thoughts of never seeing them again. Even though I knew this person was bad for me, I still made excuses for him and held on to my belief that he would commit to me in the end. It didn't matter how much the evidence pointed to the contrary, I wanted my happy ever after too much to throw in the towel and accept that I was never going to change him into the man I wanted him to be. Reading the book really brought it home to me what I was doing to myself. It forced me to see through all the self delusory things I had told myself over the years. "We truly love each other -- it's all the other stuff that stops him being with me." "We're meant to be together." "I'll never meet anyone else who makes me feel the way he does." "He's my soul mate." As I skimmed through the psycho babble, I read about people like me, intelligent, rational people, who had found themselves trapped in terrible relationships, unable to break the bond and leave. It was truly scary. Being addicted to a person is no different to any other kind of addiction: nicotine, alcohol, drugs. Severing your link with the person sends you into a period of intense withdrawal and agony. It's no wonder that we weaken and fall back into the same trap again...and again...and again. I tried to break it off several times. In my heart of hearts I knew he was bad for me and we had no future. I would talk myself into ending it, then write an email outlining why I couldn't see him anymore, hit send, and immediately descend into a pit of black hell on earth. Invariably he would reply at some point and agree that it was the right thing to do, whilst telling me how much he would miss me. Naturally that made me feel even worse and for the next few days or weeks, I'd be dying slowly and painfully whilst missing him like a severed limb. All the times where he had ignored me, or treated me with zero respect, would be banished into the darkest depths of my memory. The only things that remained were all the wonderful moments, the fun times and endless re-runs of the amazing sex we shared. Of course my traitorous heart would persuade me that I couldn't go on living without seeing him again and in a weak moment, I would get in touch. He would reply and before I could think it through, we would be back together and I would be back exactly where I started: pissed off and deeply unhappy. But why have I allowed him to do this to me? If I believe the book, it's all because of my relationship with my parents. Very Freudian. My mother was emotionally distant and not terribly maternal, and my father was absent most of the time. Now, as an adult, I'm drawn to men who are unavailable or flawed in some other way. I'm apparently trying to make them love me as a way of re-enacting my relationship with my parents. I don't honestly know if that is a correct analysis, but I do know that there has been a definite pattern to my relationships. My first love was older than me, but immature in many ways. He was a weak man with a weakness for alcohol. I soon realised he was bad for me, but I was madly in love with him and let him treat me horrendously for many months before we split. My husband was also a weak man and before long I found myself in the role of taking care of him. He too had an alcohol problem that became worse over the years. Another man I became involved with after my divorce was an emotional desert. He would let me get close and then the walls went up, leaving me out in the cold, insecure and desperate for affection. That was incredibly hard to deal with and even though I was intensely unhappy with him, I still clung on for dear life for far longer than I should have done. Are we spotting a pattern here? You'd be forgiven for thinking that maybe I should just forget about relationships and stick with my cat for company. I have to admit, there have been plenty of times when I thought much the same thing. But I'm determined not to make the same mistakes any more. Now I can see the pattern, I should be able to pick my next partner a little more wisely. At the first whiff of personality flaws and emotional issues, I'll run away faster than a Kenyan. Or at least that's the theory. Wish me luck! Addicted to Love There are certain sounds, certain smells associated with hospitals. The steady, comforting beep of the monitors. The chemical tang of antiseptic. The faint, barely detectible scent of human bodies as they go through the spasms of illness and injury. The soft, imperceptible trickle of the IV tube. This wasn't a hospital, but those same things were present nonetheless. The man on the bed was restrained with heavy leather straps. These straps were padded on the interior, and carefully applied so that every effort could be made to avoid injuring him; this did not mean that they were any less effective in keeping him confined to the bed, though. They were merely applied with love. There was also a gag over his mouth. He had an IV drip in his arm, but it didn't contain a sedative. It was just a saline drip. They didn't want him drugged. It might contaminate the finished product. There was a machine--a large machine--that sat on top of the bed, at approximately the level of his crotch. It extended beyond the bed, into the wall, and beyond the scope of the man on the bed. It whirred and hummed. An observer might have wondered what it was for, but there were no observers. Leo DeLuca was alone in the room. "So, what's that for?" Mikal asked, as he removed the gag. Leo opened his eyes and looked up. One got the feeling that he wasn't often called upon to exercise the muscles in his neck. When he spoke, one also got the feeling that he wasn't often called upon to do that either. "You. Bastard." Mikal waited for a follow-up, but there was none. He smiled winningly. "Leo, you're a hard man to get a hold of, you know. I've been trying to get through to you for a follow-up call for days, and nothing doing. Your secretary kept saying you were retired, wouldn't see anyone; she wouldn't even tell me where you'd gone. I had to really work to find this private rest home." He sighed. "Threw my schedule to Gehenna and back." Then the smile returned. "So I'm here for a follow-up call, checking up on your wishes. I take it they went as planned?" Leo looked at him, his expression something of a cross between shock, surprise, and inarticulate fury. He stammered for a moment or two, licking dry lips. "Planned?" he finally got out. "You thought this was my plan? Youuungh..." The machine hummed louder for a moment, and his eyes rolled back in his head as he gasped for breath. After a moment or two, he looked back at Mikal. "Are you fucking nuts?" Mikal frowned in concern. "Alright, I can see we've got some issues here, Leo. Why don't you take this from where I stepped out of the picture?" Leo grimaced. "You wanna know? Fine. It's all your damn fault anyway." ***** I thought I was on top of the fucking world when you vanished. 'Lucky' Leo DeLuca, pulling off another of my big scores...and this time, I figured 'big score' pretty much summed it up. I mean, hey--how could you go wrong with wishes like mine, right? So my first step was to get Gina into the room. She'd been doing a little extra work on the side for a few months now, taking extra dick-tation, if ya know what I mean...I figured she'd be a nice test of the whole new package. "You wanted something, Leo honey?" she asked. She was looking around as she talked--probably wondering where you went. I gotta admit, when I rubbed that ring, I expected you to pop up in a puff of smoke, not make an appointment...but since you didn't walk out, it fucked with her head a little. "Yeah, baby," I said, dropping my pants. "I wanted something." She got this funny look in her eyes when she saw my dick; I mean, she was always ready to go, but this time, it was like she'd taken a hit of coke or something. She even drooled a little while she was heading my way. She went right to work, and baby, those lips felt... *whirrrrrrr* gnnnuh! Lot better than that damn thing, anyway... lemme tell ya, getting a blowjob from a machine takes all the fun out of it. That, and bring stuck in this damned room...anyway, she popped me off. When she did, man, she shook all over like she was being fucked by a fuckin' porno star or something. That was when I could tell it worked just like I'd wished-- cum that was just like fuckin' heroin, man. Thought it was the best idea I'd ever had... but that was before I knew what I know now. Anyway, she licked my dick all over, and then started sucking on it again. I let her, 'cause I wanted to test that 'multiple orgasm' thing I'd wished for. Sure enough, man, she got me popped again after just a few minutes...same reaction, too. I had to pull her head offa me to keep her from trying for a third. "That's good, baby, that's real good," I said. "But you wanna do it again, you're gonna have to earn it." Gina was whimpering, and she kept making these little sexy kissing faces, but she was listening real close. "Now, you go out there and you get on the phone, and get me a face-to-face meeting with..." I kinda had to think for a second about who I wanted to do first. I mean, this is Los Angeles, right? Every single gorgeous movie star, every supermodel, every hot singer, and all I had to do was wave my dick in front of their faces and they'd be begging to do whatever I wanted. "...Catherine Zeta-Jones." Now, before you say anything, I wanna say that this was before she got married. I wouldn't do nothing to break up a marriage, Mister Genie. That's a sacred bond. I got ethics, y'know? Gina pouted a little-- I could tell she wanted another taste of the magic juice-- but she went out and made the calls. I got Cathy, and Cindy, and Britney... and for a couple of weeks, man, I was on top of the world. Then-- *whirrrrrrr* gnnnuh! It all turned to shit. It was a pretty good night... I'd just gotten done eating at this nice Italian restaurant, I was in a limo with this executive for Paramount and she was talented...I mean, she had lips that wouldn't quit. I'd figured I'd just pick her up to get myself an "in" in the industry, but this gal turned out to be a real favorite, y'know? Anyway, the driver turns off of Sunset, and I don't know where he's going, but I don't even notice, because this gal's really getting into her job, if ya get my drift... and before I know it, we're pulled off into this weird little house in the middle of nowhere, and when I start yelling at the driver, he cold-cocks me. Son of a bitch. I pay him sixty grand a year to do nothing but be my goddamn driver, and the guy helps 'em tie me up, all because he's got a thing for my fuckin' secretary and she's got him wrapped around her little finger. Yeah, it was Gina. My own fuckin' secretary. How fucked up is that? She was there when I came to, all strapped down to this fuckin' bed like some kind of a fuckin' invalid, with this fuckin' blowjob machine strapped to my fuckin' dick. Turns out she liked the taste of my dick, but she thought she was too goddamned good to be my fuckin' secretary for the rest of her life. So she talked with all them movie stars I was screwing-- turned out none of them liked having to wait until I felt like calling 'em up to get a taste of me-- and they got together, and they bought this little place outside of town for me, and then they got someone to build this little machine. So I'm stuck here for the rest of my goddamn life, getting blowjobs from a fuckin' IBM-- *whirrrrr* gnnnuh! ...every few minutes and not even a fuckin' TV to watch. And all because of your fuckin' wishes. So yeah, I got some big fuckin' issues, Mister Genie. So what are you gonna do about it? ***** Mikal had stood perfectly still while Leo told his story, not even blinking. (In actual fact, his heart wasn't beating either, but Leo didn't notice that.) He'd interrupted with a few questions, but it wasn't until Leo asked his question that he became animated again. "Well, it's obvious that this didn't work out as planned, Leo. However, I really don't see how it's my fault." "Whaddya fucking mean, you don't see how this was your fucking fault? These were your fucking wishes!" "No, Leo. They were your, um, 'fucking wishes'. Both figuratively and literally. You wished for addictive semen, the capacity for unlimited male orgasms, and a box of Cuban cigars that was never empty." He paused. "How did that one work out for you, by the way?" "I don't fucking know!" Leo shouted. "I never get to smoke 'em any-fucking-more because I'm stuck in this fucking room twenty-fucking-four hours a fucking day!" Mikal held up his hands. "Now, Leo. Anger doesn't help, here. And I don't actually think 'any-fucking-more' is gramatically correct. I just wanted to point out that you specified that the semen be addictive, and it performed exactly as specified. I'm not responsible if you didn't think about what addicts could be like when they got desperate." "So you're not gonna do anything?" Leo's voice was suddenly pleading. "You're just gonna leave me here?" "Oh, I can do something. I can rescind the wishes... that's what a follow-up call is for, Leo. To make sure that you're not stuck with unwanted wishes. I just wanted to make it clear before I did so that no replacement wishes would be granted." "You can do that? You can just undo it all?" Mikal smiled faintly. "Of course. What kind of a djinn would I be if I couldn't? All you have to do is say the word..." "Yeah. Yeah, OK, I say the fucking word, man. Just take it all back." "With pleasure." Mikal snapped his fingers and vanished... and nothing else happened. There was still the bed, still Leo strapped down, and still the machine. Leo shouted, "Hey! Hey, come back! It didn't work! It-- *whirrrrrr* gnnnnuh!" He looked down at the machine with the expression of someone who has just realized something horrible. "Oh, fuck me..." he said, realizing even as the words escaped his lips that it was a prophecy... *whirrrr* gnnnuh! *whirrrr* aaaungh! *whirrrrrr* aaaaaa! *whirrr* *whirrr* *whirr* *whir* THE END