Fixated

There's only one thing you need to know about
me: I'm an addict and Scarlett Cavil is my drug.

I'm not sure when the addiction started or
how it came to life. Perhaps it was the friendship, or those nights
when she cradled my head between her breasts and comforted me as
cancer tore through my body. Or when she critiqued and listened
patiently to every design idea I had.

Perchance a different vibe started the
addiction. Such as the first time I kissed her and felt
butterflies, fucking butterflies! Or the first time I lifted her
ass into my mouth and smelled her sweet pussy before I tasted her
with my tongue and spilled all over my pants. It could also be the
time when I buried my ten-inch cock so far up her belly I knew I’d
put a child in there. It sounds crazy but I felt it, the particular
moment my semen found her egg. The universe moved inside me. I
forgot where I ended and she began because our souls joined into
one that night.

Like most addicts, I can't tell you when
exactly the addiction started.

What I can tell you is that Scarlet Cavil is
the most meaningful and powerful experience in this world to me.
She was, is, and will always be my god. I worship her.

When she left me, I ran mad. I searched every
corner of this earth to find her. But Scarlett has always been a
cunning woman, and unfortunately so, the only one who could read my
mind.

I suppose that was why I felt so hopeless. I
knew if Scarlett wanted to hide from me, she was perhaps the only
person in the world who could pull it off.

Her family was rich; not that money would be
a problem. Scarlett was fucking gorgeous with huge tits and a juicy
round ass that would make even a pastor do a double take.

Men would gladly do anything for Scarlett,
included helping her escape from me.

Also, she knew where I would go looking for
her. All she had to do was avoid ever showing up there.

So I waited. For three years, I waited for
her to come back. To return my fucking heart back to my chest. I
didn't believe in God but I prayed to him to bring Scarlett
back.

She never showed.

For three years, the woman who was my best
friend for most of my adult life didn't send me a word, not even a
note to let me know she was alive! How dare she? What had I done to
deserve that? I hated her. I wanted her to die, but only if I could
die with her. Then we can finally be together.

She became my obsession. My angel. My
demon.

One part of my heart ached for her every
passing minute. The other part despised her; wished her nothing but
unhappiness and suffering.

I lashed out, desperately seeking for
anything to stop the endless pain of Scarlett.

Nicole happened.

Her sister.

I knew it was an absolute mistake from the
beginning. I tried to stop it, but I was a weak, disgusting man. A
vile one too. Because I knew young, gullible Nicole had always been
infatuated with me, and I took advantage of it.

The only thing I could credit myself for was
that I was always honest with Nicole. I made sure to convey a
necessary fact to her: I can’t love another woman apart from her
sister. She said if I gave her a chance, she could make me love
her. Ah, sweet Nicole. I always respected her persistence, but what
I found the most alluring about her were her hands, the slender
slightly crooked fingers in them that reminded me of
Scarlett’s.

Scarlett again. I was cursed the moment I
laid eyes on her. I was certain of this.

Nicole knew this too, but she still wanted to
marry me. Her mother insisted, begged even. Anything to overshadow
the disgrace she believed Scarlett brought on the family was gospel
to her. Shallow woman. Sure, Scarlett disgraced them. But me?
Scarlett shot me in the fucking heart. She ripped my balls off.

And that was when it occurred to me. I should
marry Nicole. I should marry Nicole for Scarlett. Of course, the
sensible angel on my right shoulder warned and rallied against it
from the beginning. But the hurt and bitter devil on my left
shoulder won; his reasoning made sense. Scarlett knew how important
she was to me, how much my mental daily functioning depended on
her, and yet she just left me. No explanation, hints, or dear
fucking john letter. Without a doubt, she knew the effect her
abrupt disappearance would have on me. If she ever loved me, or
even cared for me as a friend, would she put me in such a terrible
situation? No. It was clear to our family and friends that there
was a certain vindictive string to her departure, and it was aimed
at me.

Then, it was only right that I play the
offense and prepare myself. Because for all I knew, Scarlett was
now married with kids, a minivan, and would appear soon. Only to
laugh at me and flaunt her kids and her fucking husband in my
face.

So yes, I would marry Nicole. I would fuck
her, and every time I do, I would think of Scarlett. I would
imagine what it felt like to have my dick swimming inside her sweet
dripping pussy. I would come hard. Then I would tell Scarlett to
fuck off and die for doing this to me.

After all, there wasn't a night I didn't go
to bed wondering who Scarlett was giving my pussy too. Yes, what
was between her legs was mine. My pussy. I owned it. I was the only
man with the right to suck her pussy. To stick as many fingers as I
wanted into her tight hole. To fuck and touch ever corner of her
pussy with my tongue and dick for as long as I wanted.

If Scarlett was giving my pussy to another
man, I hoped that if there was a God up there, he punished her.

Because I was being punished. Every. Fucking.
Day. The sexual hold Scarlett had over me was soul crushing. It
paralyzed my senses, stripping all control out of me. Scarlet's
pussy was my cocaine. I needed it to function properly. I shivered
just from remembering the euphoric rush that went through me the
first time my dick felt the insides of her wall, the heat and
friction between our moist, strained muscles. She’d moaned and
squeezed, and I’d felt as if I was dying, a sweet delicious
death.

The ecstatic high I got from being inside her
pussy was unlike anything else in the world. It went straight to
the top of my brain, sending waves of rapturous pleasure through my
body as it made its way to my feet. It was spiritual. It always
brought me to my equilibrium. When I was having problems with the
businesses I was starting up at the time, all I had to do was find
my Scarlett and fuck her, and tada! Absolute mind clarity. Fucking
serious. Whenever I felt ill, all I had to do was bury my dick in
Scarlett, and I would be fine.

I was fully dependent on her, and that
increased the disastrous impact of her sudden departure. I went
from having my fix of cocaine three to six times a day, sometimes
even a dozen times, to having nothing. Yes we fucked that much.
Scarlett withdrawal shattered me. There was a reason the medical
profession had a cocaine withdrawal treatment. Sudden cessation of
any altered chemical to the brain could lead to serious irreparable
body damage, even death.

Scarlett, you hear that? You want to kill me,
don’t you? Bitch.

I lost my mind. My heart burned for her. My
cock yearned for her, my balls red and heavy, all wanting to return
to their beloved home between her legs.

Why did she leave me? Why?

I woke up from nightmares screaming her name,
shedding tears as I masturbated furiously. I slept with her dirty
underwear on my pillow, a lock of her hair around the chain on my
neck, and her name tattooed on the right side of my chest. She
haunted me. Her memories. The most mundane memories were the ones
that hurt the most: Her sipping beer and burping while lying on the
beach in a bikini. Her jumping in jubilation when her favorite
soccer team won. The confusion on her face those first few moments
after her eyelids open from slumber.

So uncouth, yet so fucking sexy to me.
Everything about her was mind blowing sexy to me. All it took was
for an image of her tits to flash in my head and I would start
masturbating. It was never enough. Scarlett in a bikini … ah, there
you go. I was masturbating again. A memory of Scarlett licking ice
cream would remind me of the way she licked pre cum off the shaft
of my cock, and I was jagging off. Memories of me fucking her mouth
so brutally and ejaculating so forcefully that my semen spilled
from the corners of her mouth and dripped down to her breast always
had me reaching for my cock.

The worst part was that these memories were
no respecters of person. They could occur when I was at a
Billion-dollar merger, at a friend's daughter’s naming ceremony, at
a church, or even at a fucking funeral. The urge they spurred in me
was so strong that it felt as if I would die if I didn't give in.
Maybe that was my mind's sick way of connecting to Scarlett and
dealing with her absence. I missed her so much that the pain became
physical. However, during the times I masturbated, I was always
able to feel the bond I shared with her. I was able to be with
Scarlett again. Her hands were on me, her sweet wet mouth on mine,
and her soft warm body on top of my own. And of course, my cock was
buried deep inside her sweet warm pussy.

It didn't take long, perhaps a year, for me
to realize how detrimental those masturbation sessions were.

For in doing them, I was feeding my
connection to Scarlett. A connection that desperately needed to be
broken.

It was obvious that she had moved on and
didn't want me to find her. I needed to move on too. But I
couldn't. Despite my pride, I knew I could only move on if I found
another Scarlett. The plan was simple then, since the real Scarlett
didn't want me, all I had to do was find a substitution.

If I couldn’t have a brownie, then I would
have a fucking chocolate cookie.

So the search began. This wasn't The Voice,
America. This was The Pussy. I, Drake Edgar, was here to search for
pussy. Any pussy that could make me feel as great as Scarlett's
did.

And I searched, well fucked. The more women I
fucked, the more I realized that I would never find my
Scarlett.

And let me tell you, it scared the fuck out
of me. To reach the point where I admitted to myself that there was
only one person in the world who could make me happy. One person
who could make this life worth living. Scarlett.

I imagined there were people out there who
found solace in the knowledge that there was only one person out
there for them. But most of those people were paired up with good,
kind, considerate human beings. However, for those of us who had
evil-hearted partners that had no trouble leaving us or cutting off
ties, it was fucking scary.

The fear that time would not heal my broken
heart, and Scarlett would always have a hold on me, drove me to the
edge. I overindulged. I fucked every woman that reminded me of
Scarlett, some nights there were even up to five women at once.

The emptiness remained.

Reality was as clear as a bitch. I would
never find another Scarlett.

Soon my cock stopped working. No kidding, the
bastard simply wouldn't get up to play no matter what girls did to
it. I never knew the desperate lengths girls would go to get your
cock hard until that period of my life. But the big guy down there
wasn't listening. My cock was appalled. It needed the fucking
brownie or nothing.

It took a while for me to stop fighting and
accept my fate: I would never be over Scarlett. The bitch would
always have my heart.

I was angry. I cursed her, wished her evil.
She had trapped me and she knew it. Here I was, a man, and she had
reduced me to nothing but a shaky, needy little boy.

With time, the fear changed into awe.
Scarlett was the only thing in the world that could control me
mentally, emotionally, spiritually. Scarlett was my god because she
alone had the power to reach into my soul. But like most believers
that start hating their god when things aren't going their way, I
began to hate her too.

It was the helplessness I felt knowing that
the one person who held the key to my happiness and purpose in this
world was completely out of my control. She was on her own. She
could abandon me, step all over me, spit on me, hit me, and even
make me her slave. I would have no choice but to endure whatever
she made me suffer. Because she was my god. There was no me without
her.