Wednesday, 10 August 2016

Sore Fingers, Bad Timing

My fingers were bleeding slightly by the time I finally put down the guitar. I hadn't played it for months, and even then, only a little in the past year - a few chords every now and again under the pretence of songwriting. I don't really have the space, never mind time, inclination or even a quiet place to practice. Since I'm not in a band any more, I don't even have anything to practice for, as much as I enjoy the music itself.

Here at my aunt and uncle's house, there's a lot more space; a lot more time, to boot - however little motivation I may have, the bit of me with some semblance of energy found time to go up the attic in SH, hunt down an acoustic guitar and haul it over here. With little else to do and having actually bothered to do the thing, I tried to remember how to play the instrument. Whether or not I succeeded may be debatable, but I didn't stop for about an hour, even though my mum kept calling to check if I was still alive.

By the time I made it to the bedroom with incredibly sore fingers, I'd managed to work myself into a frenzy. I'd been trying - and failing - to masturbate for several days; never actually achieving orgasm due to the sudden rush of panic I'd been feeling every time I got near. I'd had a manic day of doubt and fear (and, for some reason, guilt), but at least I now had the time.

India was on the bed when I lay down. She was fast asleep, and the ominous creak of the springs didn't disturb her. Maybe she was used to it. She also didn't seem to mind when I stripped off my trousers and pants, and made myself comfortable.

My hand screamed obscenities when I started. Torturing it with steel strings maybe hadn't been the best pre-masturbation activity, but I (genuinely) wasn't waiting any longer - I needed my release and, by extension, my rest. I switched on my iBrain, wheeled through various scenarios in my head, settled on one and rolled my foreskin back. A glorious twenty minutes of getting back in tune with my sexual self beckoned, and so it began to pass - comforting, familiar, warm, satisfactory. Relaxing, restful, peaceful. So, so good.

I lay on my side, bottom half still unclothed, breathing heavily, counting the beats of my heart thumping in my ears. India opened her eyes, gave me A Look, then gave a perfunctory yawn and went straight back to sleep. I closed mine in response and settled down for a post-orgasmic nap - actually straightening out or getting under the covers be damned, I'm tired and I just came and I'll take my rest, dammit! - and I started to drift off.

The doorbell rang about a millisecond after I fell asleep. I meandered towards the door before remembering I was naked on my bottom half, and while I was haphazardly pulling my trousers back on, it rang again. Twice. I cascaded down the stairs, my hair a bedheaded mess, face flushed and belt hanging loose around my waist. I heard the scraping of a key in the lock, and my heart leapt into my throat. Maybe my girlfriend was back early - maybe she'd find me here, dishevelled and sweaty and half-dressed and sexy.

I wrenched the door open with a grin spreading across my face.


No comments: