“Fuck me,” she whimpered, her voice echoing against the walls in the small bathroom.

“What the fuck do you think I’m doing?” I ask.  God, this one has some brains.  I sure know how to pick ‘em.

It doesn’t matter, though.  I don’t really give a shit whether she is a rocket scientist, or if she's the stripper I just slid $100 in one dollar bills to.  As long as she gives me my fix, that’s all I really need from her.  And that’s all I really care to have.

I can feel my cock slide into her heat, the wetness from her pussy sending all the sensations to my brain that I need.  My fingertips grip the fleshy part of her hips just a little tighter, pulling her hips faster against mine as I fuck her doggy style in the dingy bathroom in the back of the strip club. I'm desperately chasing the itch I feel in the pit of my stomach.

I can’t explain to you how this feels, this utter need for release.  The mixture of sweat, screams, and subtle movements are intoxicating by themselves, but it’s the pure physical ecstasy that drives me back to this situation almost every night.  The feeling of getting the anger, the rage, and the hurt out, of being able to pound my hips at a feverish place, and not give a shit if I’m hurting the recipient.  

It’s kind of like a game.  A sick, hedonistic game. 

But it’s one that I'm addicted to, nonetheless.

I’m chasing that feeling as it starts to build in my lower abs--chasing the feeling of complete and utter contentment.  It’s almost like feeling in love, but better, because it can’t disappoint you.  It can’t rip your heart from its chest cavity, stomp it on the ground, and force you to eat the bitter juice that was just created.

No, it’s a rush.  A complete, and total mindblowing feeling that rips through every single muscle fiber in your body.  And as I grip onto her hair, yank her head backwards, and pull her closer to me, I can feel my body cry out with need. I'm so close to feeling that release.

“Harder!  Harder, Jesus, oh.....fuck,” she hissed, my hips moving faster into her, obliging her loud, obnoxious cries.  I’m sure someone can hear us outside, and it’s only a matter of time before someone comes into break it up.  I wish I could be quicker, but if it's one thing I've learned from my experiences, it's that you can’t rush pleasure. It only makes you crave more.

Unsatisfied with my ability to get what I need in our current position, I pull out of her, my cock throbbing from the absence. The cool air now swirling around my hard-on makes it ache even more.  I grab her shoulder, the pads of my digits sinking into her skin as I pull her up and spin her so she’s facing me.  I never do this, because I usually can’t stand to see their faces, but it’s been so long since I’ve fucked a girl from the front, that I desperately need the change of pace.

I move my hands and grip her soft, fleshy ass cheeks to pick her up in one solid motion, resting her body on the sink.  I move my gaze from her face, not caring to see what she looks like.  Instead, my eyes shift back down to my cock, which is now purple from not having its release.  

I allow my hand to stroke it a few times before positioning it at her entrance.  My head slides back in ecstasy at the feeling of her heat at my tip, and I can’t even control the urge to thrust.  And as soon as my dick is at her entrance, it’s thrust deep inside of her.  I can feel the depths of her encase around me, and it makes my breathing quicken.  

Ah, yes.

My hands move to either side of her head, and I keep my head tilted back, deathly afraid that I’ll either catch my face in the mirror she’s in front of, or that I'll catch her eyes.  I start rocking my hips again, and it doesn’t take long before I’m thrusting into her so fast and so hard that we’re almost rocking the sink from the wall.

I hear her cries getting louder, and I don’t want to hear her anymore.  My hand moves to her face, covering it languidly with my palm, the other hand going to her hips and I start fucking her harder and faster than anything I had fucked in a long time.  The friction was so fast that I could barely feel it, this numb sensation beginning to wash over my body.

And then it hits.  It starts in my toes, slowly creeping up my calves and thighs, causing them to shake slightly.  I bite my bottom lip in expectation, and can feel my balls starting to tighten.  This feeling, right here, is what I live for.  In one fell swoop, I feel every inch of my long, thick cock starting to pulse and throb, the hot, sticky liquid making its migration from my balls into the condom.

My entire body is shaking, and I grab at her hips in attempt to get her as close to me as possible.  I can barely breathe as I slowly come down from my high, and in a weak moment, I rest my forehead on her shoulder out of pure exhaustion.

“Mmm... that was good, Justin,” she cooed.

I hate it when they do that.  Actually, I’m not sure if it’s the cooing that I hate more, or the fact that this dumb blonde actually thought I cared.

“Mmmhmm,” I respond non-commitally.  All the girls think that because I solicit them for sex, that I somehow actually wanted to have sex with them because I like them or find them attractive.  But the truth is, most of the time, they just happen to be there when I get the urge.  I know that’s not saying much about me as a person, but what can you do?  If you’ve got an itch, you’ve got to scratch it, right?

I pull away and quickly discard the condom, not wanting to have anything more to do with anything that had been in contact with this woman’s body, which is the only part of these situations that I still battle with.  

You see, I’ve been doing this casual, non-committed sex thing for a while.  At first, it was just for fun, part of the lavish lifestyle that I led.  Then, it quickly became a status thing, almost a rite of passage in my teen years, puffing up my ego with "the boys" every time I etched another number on my belt.  And then it became an addiction, something that I had to have, or I would go crazy.  Now, it’s blossomed into this obsessive nightly requirement, complete with numbness and disconnectedness.

I’ve been doing this so long now, in such an unhealthy way, that I can honestly say that I’m numb, utterly and completely.  I no longer keep a record, and have no idea how many women I’ve slept with.  No, no it’s just a need.  A need to get off by the first thing that will get me there.

And when I'm done with them, I want nothing to do with them. I don't want to touch them, I don't want their fluids on me, and I certainly don't want them to come over to my house or vice versa. 

“You know, you should come over later...” she whispered, the sultriness slipping from her candy coated lips.

I roll my eyes.  “No, thanks.”  I don’t even give her a reason.  She doesn’t deserve one.

“C’mon, you always do this,” she sighed.

“And you always do this, whore.”  I spat in return.  I bent down, grabbed the pants from around my ankles, and pulled them up.  “See you ‘round.”

I step out of the bathroom, and as I’m buckling my belt, I see Trace and JC still at the bar watching the game.  I walk up to them, pat them both on the back and nod to the bartender.

“Three shots of Patron, please.”

JC turned to look at me, and I could see him shake his head in disapproval.  They both knew my antics at this stage, and had tried everything under the sun to get me to change my ways.  Of course, I was cool about it at first--but now, their preaching is starting to get old.

“When are you going to stop pulling this shit, man?  If you keep going like this, you’re either going to end up with a disease, or you’re going to end up alone,” Trace finished, as if reading JC’s thoughts.

I roll my eyes, deciding to ignore them and do my shot.

“You fuckers can either come with, or you can stay here.  We’ve got to pack and rest up for our trip tomorrow.  Now let’s go,” I finish, making it obvious that I was ending this conversation.

I always get the last word, and they know it.  I smile triumphantly as we close out our tabs and make our way out the door before the dumb bimbo can come find me.  

Another successful evening, if I do say so myself.