It's interesting how we can often act as though sex is not something we all have in common. It's one of our strongest drives, and not getting enough of this satisfaction can be a frustrating problem for many of us.

Once you're in the position to be intimate with someone, the quality of the interaction depends on who you pick and the connection between you. Screening for the right person is important.

If this is done correctly, sex can be great. It can leave us feeling positive, validated and free. We can feel connected to someone we value, and we are flattered knowing they value us too. The beauty of that chemistry can remind us why we're alive, like an anti-depressant drug; there's an addictive quality to the buildup of tension that begs to be explored. Although traditionally done in the privacy of someone's room, it can still feel like an adventure, a roller coaster of pleasure and positivity wrapped in the stressful urgency of the chemistry.

The traces of sex are tantalizing.

The hours or days following an encounter with an admirable, stimulating person often involve finding small traces of them all over your body. Each clue is a reminder of those moments of sweet validation, a heroin needle of pleasure and heat.

Somehow, the next morning, the taste of them remains in your mouth, subtle but perceptible. You wonder if their mouth tastes like yours, too. Traces of them are clued all over you. Like a detective, you'll find ever more undeniable evidence of your recency. Your fingers smell strong, like pungent roses and writhing-pleasure, and just one hint of that aroma and suddenly you're taken back to being wrapped around them, your warm bodies filling the room with scents of fire and edge.

You try to refocus and continue what you were doing, but the memory lingers in the back of your head.

Staying as busy as possible, doing work and making conversation, can keep the sex thoughts from pervading your every ounce of productivity. But in a moment of placing something on the shelf, you catch a whiff of yourself.

That's odd. You know I put deodorant on this morning, but you reek of sweet musk.

At the end of this long day, you settle into your bathroom for a hot shower. You slip off your pants and the smell of sex wafts up and hits you in the face, mentally dragging you into a flashback of wet flesh. You consider holding your breath.

Looking up at the mirror, you see the small bruises on your chest, tiny red signatures of marked territory, and suddenly you're there again, spinning in their room, with them sucking on your skin.

Such strong, vivid memories will have you missing someone you've only known for a few days.

You take a few moments with your eyes closed, basking in the memory of blissful duality until reluctantly, you step in the shower and begin the tedious process of washing them off your body.