Yes, I have an addiction.

But I can't just go get help for it. I can't just go to an anonymous group, tell them my name, and fix myself. There are no groups for people like me - if there even are other people like me.

Because my addiction isn't the usual. It's not drugs, sex, or alcohol. It's not prescription medicine, online chat rooms, or gambling.

My addiction is a drug addict.

His name is James. James Smith. With a name like James Smith, most people would imagine an average guy, working class, middle age, average attractiveness. No one could conjure up the image of a James Smith like mine.

James has beautiful golden hair. He keeps it just long enough that he needs to flick it out of his eyes every so often, just short enough that he doesn't look like a moody teenager. His eyes are emerald, the kind that you could just stare into for hours and not even notice the time passing. At just over six feet, he's just tall enough for me to kiss if I stand on my tiptoes.

And oh, his lips.

There are not enough words in the English language to adequately describe James' lips. Even when they're pulled into a dark frown, they're still the most kissable things I have ever seen - pale red, slightly parted, pouty and full. And when he smiles, there's just no resisting them.

The first time I ever saw him, he was high as a kite. Eyes bloodshot, lips quirked into a cocky smile.

He was irresistible.

Unless you've met him you wouldn't know. You wouldn't understand how he makes you feel when he looks at you, when he sidles up next to you and you can smell the latent odor of the pot he smoked and the cologne he sprayed to cover it up. You wouldn't have ever felt like I did when he first laid his eyes on me and my heart rate tripled.

When he asked me my name, it took all I had not to stutter. When he grabbed my hand, riding the wave of confidence of the drugs, it took all I had to remember to breathe. And when his lips touched mine for the very first time, it took everything in me to stay conscious.

Since that moment, that very first taste of James, the need for him has driven down into the centre of my body, spread through my veins until all I can feel is the aching for another hit of his touch, another brush of his lips against mine.

And so began my addiction.