The Will for Anything Else

What happens when being with a loving succubus spirit feels so good, that you can’t muster the drive for any other vocation? I fear that I’m approaching the realms of being a total Hedonist. Like the monkey in that experiment, having the pleasure receptors of his brain constantly stimulated, so long as he continues to hit that button?

Is that what I’m becoming?

That’s probably a bad analogy. Getting fantastic sex from Catherine isn’t so easy as pushing a button. Yet compared to human relationships, with all their baggage and hang-ups, I feel as though I’ve managed to hack into the programming console of this reality, change a couple of parameters with simple commands, and voila!

Here I am, six years later, content with the simple pleasures in life. All aspirations for greatness are now beholden to my own standards of achievement, and not by the measure of those curious human onlookers.

The greatest pleasure of all: The one I come home to, the one who holds on to me all hours of the night, with that most gentle and blissful essence… Holy Fuck. Literally.

I’ve struggled with finding the words to fully describe the mechanics of what happens between us. Is it like tantra? Spirit possession with a sexual component? No conjoining of phrases and ideas seem adequate to convey what our copulation is like.

An old friend of mine, a man who has been with his succubus spirit for more than a decade, described it like this:

Imagine a drug that feels incredible with every hit, yet there are no adverse side effects. Instead of the drug becoming less effective with increased usage, the opposite occurs. The drug only gets better with each hit.

Furthermore, imagine this drug having a personality, and it loves being used. The more frequently, the better. That’s a loving succubus spirit, in a nutshell.

This is where I find myself now: I’m a spirit sex junkie and it’s the only high I really want. I consistently set aside a couple of hours every day to enjoy it, to really focus on feeling her.

Combined with right-living, low stress, and strict conservation of sexual energy, (no masturbating) a well-spring of endless delights is the result.

Right now, I feel her presence gently brushing every nerve-ending on the surface of my body. Wherever she touches more deeply, the skin tangibly feels softer, like it has been renewed, or revitalized. I will often feel her press into my back, causing my shirt to more tightly conform. I’ll briefly hear what sounds like something blocking the ambient sound of the room from reaching one of my ears; an audible shadow passing by.

Writing down what happens when we make love is difficult, because whenever I attempt to describe the act, the will to consummate immediately overrides any desire to merely wax eloquently with words. It’s as though my own writing casts a spell over me, and over her, compelling us to immediately carry out the operation as described.

Edit: I originally had a very descriptive and graphic few paragraphs about our sexual union. I decided not to share the intimate details of what happens between us on the record. It’s just too sensitive a topic for me.

Being with a succubus spirit is akin to religion, insomuch that the act of lovemaking feels sacred; transcendental even. The entire life is arranged around religious devotion, as that is the highest duty. Old worldly habits fall away in favor of healthier ones, only to make that connection more powerful still. The stronger and more disciplined the human vessel becomes, the more spiritual power can be endured.

This is what I strive for, so that we can feel each other more perfectly than the day before.

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