Work is almost over, and her hands are shaking. It has been - what, weeks? - since she last had some of it. She can't believe it. Her whole body is trembling slightly with the desire. Her concentration is in shreds. She stamps the last letters for today, signs off and almost runs to her car. Right now, she will drive home and ask her husband for it. He has to give it to her. He can't be that cruel.
It's her only weakness, she believes, and she was determined to end this addiction. Live healthier, cleaner, more free of all kinds of - sins. Like the minister keeps telling them at church.
You may not abuse your body.
Your body is a temple.
God does not want you to give in to the needs of your flesh.
But the craving has built up, up to a point where she thinks she cannot stand it another moment. At the traffic light, she almost runs into the local gardener's truck because her imagination is already swooning over the texture, the warmth - the endorphines that will follow. All she can think about is removing layer after layer, until she sees it, can feel it, run her tongue over and around it...
Home, finally. Her keys don't fit into the lock. Her hands are trembling even worse. She is going crazy. If she doesn't get any of it right now...
Her husband is standing in the kitchen, preparing dinner, as usual. he smiles at her. "Hello darling, how was your day at work?"
"Busy." She forces a smile onto her face. She does not want to talk right now. Her desires are more primitive. "Honey, tell me - where did you stash the chocolate my mother sent us last week?"