It boiled in my veins. An urge. My blood pumped darker with each passing day as the feeling was left to nurture itself, hollowing out a hole to hide itself somewhere within myself. Unable to reach it I can only allow it to progress, thrumming a new sense of life into me with each passing second. A new feeling where curiosity got the better of me. Doesn't it everybody?
Whispers that were never there tell me how to move my hands, my fingers, position myself for optimum pleasure. They tell me the darkest secrets that nobody could imagine. An echoing laugh follows me as I try to bury the feeling. Of course, I always fail. It's too powerful to succumb to me so easily.
It taunts me, mocking me.
Looking around I wonder how many other people have the same temptations that I do. Although everyone has their own devil; be it gambling, drugs, alcohol, drag racing or even just taking that last brownie from the packet. Many are alike, some the same, but very rarely I meet someone with the same thoughts as I.
All just puppets on strings, following the words of their masters. Sheep following the Shepherd. Unable to think for ourselves, having to conform to how society wants us to be. That's us. That's them. And that's not exactly me.
The old lady across the street, who keeps her blinds shut at night as a pathetic barrier against the kids that come out to play at night. Her devil's the lottery. Ten pounds a week, fifteen if she's feeling lucky. Old Tommy Hitchcock, my next door neighbour. Friendly to everybody around him with his pleasant smiles and cheery round face. Underneath it all he has the dark side for perverted magazines, exploiting women's bodies for filthy, sweaty and needy men to see, kept locked up in a safe box in the far corners of his attic. I know. He told me once, thinking I was interested.
Of course I wasn't, and I'm still not. I don't think I'd ever be interested in that kind of stuff. My interests certainly become spiked by the human anatomy, but nothing like that. I'm not one of those men who leer at unsuspecting women, hoping for a better sight when she bends down. Neither do I position myself just so that the angle is perfect for the view.
Well, not that angle anyway.
Human bodies are so fragile. That's what interests me the most. The fact that a thin layer of skin, that could so easily be sliced and torn, is what keeps our innards inside us. It's what keeps the thin line between life and death, still in place. A line, that I like to test every now and again.