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
deserved. 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 thinking of the least simulating subjects to distract me from
the sinful wanting of the night. Yet my futile effort faded in the pale layers of
passion-stricken bed sheets. The more I resisted the fever, the more burning
the temptation became.

The long struggle yielded no comfort so I lifted my aching torso from the
bed, staggered to my computer and in a haze of illicit thoughts and
forbidden wishes I began striking the keys desperately hoping for a swift
relief from this everlasting ache. The most 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
dreams.  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 sinful 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 realm of uninhabited bliss until I reached the climax in my text. I
sighed in relief and clicked the print icon and spilled the product of my
self-gratification on the paper.

My dazed glance was fixated on the flood of document rushing out of the
printer stained with another capricious indulgence 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. I craved
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.