Sinful Urge

Sinful Urge

             Neither the soothing sound of breeze, nor the tweeting birds or the melody of rain played on the stereo system in my bedroom gave me the comfort I was pining for. My mind was inescapably trapped by a grueling urge throwing my entire body into painful disarray.  Once again I was captivated by an insatiable craving in the middle of the night. By hardly lifting my eyelids, I was persuaded by the heavy burden of their weight it was too early to be tomorrow, the torment was bound to linger on.  I made a desperate effort to ignore my desire by turning from shoulder to shoulder for a while or lying on my back and pondering of the least stimulating images to distract me from the wanting of the night; yet my futile effort faded in the pale layers of passion-stricken sheets on my bed. The more I resisted the fever, the more burning the desire grew.

             As long struggle yielded no relief I lifted my aching torso from the bed, staggered to my computer and in a haze of illicit thoughts and forbidden whishes I began striking the keys desperately hoping for a swift liberation from this everlasting ache. The provocative images suddenly overwhelmed my mind and I descended into an eerie trance in which I could personify my wildest dreams and passionately portrait my perverse desires. I fearlessly ripped the veil of shame, audaciously crossed every moral boundary and took sanctuary in an uninhabited realm and discerned my feral reveries.

             With every stroke, I feverishly explored every obscure corner of my manic imagination and transcribed its unspoken discoveries. Throughout the dark hours of solitude, I embarked upon a journey into the depth of indulgence, flirted with fire, touched the untouchables and desecrated the very symbol of reverence. Audaciously I travelled through the magical spheres of ecstasy and explored the exotic milieu of bliss until I reached the climax in my text. And I sighed in relief and clicked the print icon on the screen and spilled the product of my self-gratification onto the paper.

             My dazed glance was fixated on the flood of document rushing out of the printer stained with another capricious fling of a scoundrel mind. Hardly I managed to release my numbed fingers off the enticing letters on the keyboard and dropped my exhausted hands clumsily in my lap craving for a cigarette before I was thrown into a catatonic state until the sharp point of the first ray of the morning sun put a period on the last sentence of my latest nightly debauchery.