What is it about sex, especially good sex? When I get a little, I want a lot (I know, I know...I'm not alone). Give me just a taste of it and I'm done for the next two days. I become unproductive in all other aspects of my life while I scheme about how I can get some more. I think about it, and picture it. Like an old camera reel, the old film projector casts grainy frantic moments in the movie theater that is my mind. I think about the sounds we made, the feel of his skin, the feel of his skin on mine. I think about the slickness of our bodies from the sweat, the salty sweetness of that sweat. The kisses on the velvety nape of my neck that make me shiver from the inside out until it's visible on my skin as goosebumps. Those other intimate kisses that forces my back to arch deep into the bed and my words to get caught in my throat.

And then the moments afterwards; the panting, the frenetic beating of my heart pounding in my ears and my chest, pushing against my skin to get out. The weakness of my limbs, as we lay in crumpled heaps of arms, torsos, and legs. My wild hair, tangled in damp waves and knots against the pillow, my shoulder and his. The comforter flung far from the bed, sheets ripped from the mattress--we lay there spent...and even then I grin thinking about the next time I'm going to get more.

I'm going to drive myself crazy. Or has that already happened?