High on Him: The Addiction Named JR
By Roselyn St. Clare
Everyone calls him Junior.
But to me, he’s JR—the secret I crave in silence, the ache I don’t want cured.
I can chant affirmations, meditate, pray—hell, even try to exorcise these wild thoughts he stirs in me—but it’s useless. I’d turn blue in the face before I ever find relief. Because this man... this JR... is an obsession. An addiction. And I’m not ready to let him go.
We leave each other’s arms and slip back into our separate realities. For days, we stay away. On purpose? Maybe. Maybe not. We become something else to someone else. Playing other roles, carrying other lives. Still, we check in—just enough to keep the flame alive, but never enough to satisfy the craving.
Sometimes, when I’m with my significant other, my mind is screaming his name.
My body remembers how he touches me—craves the taste of him, misses the way he sees me like I’m the only truth left in his world.
And the crazy part?
These moments with him—they’re stolen. Borrowed.
His touches aren’t just physical—they awaken something wild, soft, and dangerously alive inside me.
I always leave his arms wanting more. Not wanting to leave at all.
He’s more experienced than I am. He likes to remind me.
But age has nothing to do with this—whatever this is.
It’s the sensuality of his presence. His voice alone makes me shudder.
It’s like every time we’re together, he’s spent the days apart plotting how to break me open in the most delicious ways.
JR has entered the pores of my soul.
He’s seduced my spirit.
He’s imprinted himself on my body, my mind, my energy—and I can’t seem to untie him.
He’s a drug, and I’m not ashamed to take it.
The supply only lasts about twenty-four hours—but oh, what a high it gives me.
I think we both understand how intense this connection is. Maybe that’s why we only indulge in doses. We take what we need—when we can—and then go back to pretending we can function without it. Until the craving returns. And when it does, if our schedules align—we lose ourselves in each other without apology.
Because this isn’t just sex.
It’s intellectual.
It’s emotional.
It’s spiritual.
When we’re together, we strip away everything. Every mask. Every inhibition.
Our conversations are erotic in their depth—laced with innuendo, tension, and unspoken promises. Every word drips with intention.
I tell myself I can control it. That this thing between us is manageable.
But every time he calls, I lose the argument with my better self.
When I drink him in, I always crave more.
This addiction to JR—it’s dangerous.
And I don’t know if I’ll ever get over it.
I don’t even know if I want to.
Why would I?
He brings me joy. He makes me laugh.
With him, I’m calm. I’m alive.
I’m... me.
Who walks away from something that feeds your body, your heart, your soul?
Not me.
Not yet.
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