Guilty Pleasure

Goddamnit.

I can't do this. I can't do this with all these people around. I need some privacy. I seriously need some major privacy here. These people here, in my apartment, in my bedroom, walking around, talking loudly, laughing like nuts, watching the TV late at night, entering and exiting, the phone ringing endlessly -- how can I get myself up to mood? I can't get myself up to mood with these people around me. I have been stuck here at this pose all this while, my sweaty palms fall flat and disgusted, staring at my unfinished whatnot, my heartbeat racing and stopping, like some goddamn idiot. Damn. What the hell.

They've been here since yesterday morning, for fuck's sake, like this is some goddamn hotel, when I am desperately in need to get myself over with what I want to do here. I have been planning this in my head ever since before the finals' week started, and now that the finals are long gone, and my roommate is going away on his vacation for quite some time, only God knows how much I am looking forward to get this deed done with. I need some time alone to do this, and I need them badly, and I need to do this right now, immediately, as soon as possible, but these people, why are they still here?

The moment is almost perfect right now -- I don't have any finals, or any pre-planned obligation to anyone, may it be helping someone, or promising to go to some place with someone, and I am in this exploding celebratory mood, and my roommate is gone, and I have the room all to myself, and it is winter and the night is longer and quieter, and I can get all the relaxing sleep that my body needs after I am done with this, and the internet bandwidth is freed up so that I could spend more time on the internet to get this done best.

But I don't have the privacy, dammit.

I have all the required materials right here in front of me to get this done quick and sweet, and I have all the luxurious time in the world to do this as perfect as I had imagined it to be, and I have all the post-exam vigor and pre-holiday energy to do this as a weekend-long marathon or as long a period of time as I can get myself up to doing it, and I have all this crazy wacky bizarre ideas of how to do about with accomplishing it inside my head, whether it will be the various derivation of the usual style that I do each time, or the one with the slightly rapid approach at the climax, or the one with the slow kill and the gentle teaser alternating with each other near the end -- I have all this and ready and I am eager to do it.

But, damn these people, they won't leave me.

How am I suppose to do this?

In the toilet? On the crapper? Hide myself in the closet? Do a little bit of it at a time? Start it, stop it, act like nothing, then start again, stop, make sure no one is watching, continue, stop, try doing it quietly and without arousing suspicion, stop again, start again -- like this?

I can't do it like that! Where is the pleasure in that! No!

That's it.

I must do it now, and I must ask these assholes to leave, because I can't hold it back any longer. My palms are getting wetter, more sweaty, and my breathing is faster and heavier just thinking about it, and my earlobes and my neck and my armpits and my face are all red and hot and invigorated, and my lips are becoming drier, and my fingers shaking madly. My head feels like it is going to explode like a volcanic burst from all this pulling and pushing of my desires inside. I must have it done.

"Hey, you guys, sorry but you gotta go. Leave."
"Why? What are you going to do all alone?"
"It's none of your goddamn business what I do on my own!"
"Relax, we're leaving, you jerk."
"Fuck you. Goodbye."

Slam!

Okay. Now that they are gone, and I am all alone, I can update my blogspot.