Drunk

Throughout my days, I have moments of being intoxicated. Ordinary days, ordinary moments.

Moments that are fleeting and hyper-intense. They incapacitate my very core. There’s no exclusive trigger, nothing specific that is a catalyst for this intoxication.

It could be a memory; a memory of a kiss, a perfectly described concept or an alarming sound.

It could be a sensation; a dull ache between my thighs, pulling my hair out of a tight ponytail or standing still in a room full of moving people.

It’s a jolt of haze that overpowers my abilities, a moment of surrender to a wave of something beyond me.

The reaction is always the same. Diaphanous.

I’ve been told, I even appear drunk. Just for that split moment. My eyes glaze over, lips part and body relaxes. Overcome with something ethereal.

In the span of a moment the entire process runs its course.

First, it’s the buzz. My entire body feels warm and cozy – like I’m one giant vibrating ball of energy.

Sounds sound better, people around me appear more attractive, the air smells cleaner.

Then the numbness hits, like I’ve been pumped with a morphine concentrate, creating a moment of complete euphoria. My body goes into a state of hyper sensitivity, it feels like I can recite and describe every molecule of my organism.

I spin, my head gets dizzy then I’m slowly adjusted back into reality.

These moments have become the highlights of my day, my nirvana. I don’t know what they are, or why they happen – but I’m glad they do.

He patted the floor.

I knelt down in front of him.

He uncoiled his rope, and my eyes nearly rolled back into my head with pleasure.

He hadn’t touched me, he wasn’t even looking at me.

But it happened.

I was drunk. Drinking bliss.

Drunk on him. His energy. Drunk on anticipation. Intoxicated by movement. Incapacitated by surrender and trust.

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