As a teenager, I had a hard time reconciling the ferocity of my sex drive to the reality of marriage. I asked God, "Why did you give me a desire for every female if I can only have one?"
Religion said my sex drive was given to me by God so that I would pursue marriage. But my riot of stamping, screaming, Tasmanian devil desires for everything female seemed like the stupidest instrument for achieving monogamy, like giving someone a jackhammer to crack an egg.
Porn, fantasy, and promiscuity made so much more sense - by far more promising outlets for the tsunami of sexual energy inside me. Female after female, in life, on screen, and in fantasy, to relieve an overpowering, near-constant demand inside.
I don't know if it matters very much whether one's addiction is lust or love... the problem seems to be the impossibility of any one person to fill one's demand for lust or love, leading to a need to flirt and seek a succession of persons, real or imaginary.
That's how it appears to me anyway. Lust is love going in the wrong direction: inward. I very rarely achieve it, but when the movement in me is giving to others, I feel satisfied.