I enjoy traveling,
I enjoy being with my friends,
And I even enjoy my job.
But none of those are my favorite place to be.
Where would that be?
The answer might shock you.

My favorite place, simply,
Is right here in my room
In the dark of night.
No one knows what I do
When I’m all alone.

Some would consider this a bad way to spend my time.
I should be doing something more appropriate.
I should be sleeping, really.
But I’m not.
And because of that, I can’t tell anyone the real reason
I wake up every morning sore and exhausted.
But I can tell you.

I spend my nights searching for someone,
Someone I love dearly,
But someone who doesn’t really know me.
She’s not like most people;
But that’s why I love her so.

If you saw her, if you knew who she was,
You would think I’m quite strange,
Perhaps even demented.
How could it be her, people ask.
You don’t know her, I say.
You don’t know her like I do.
My love and intentions are pure,
It’s your mind that twists it.

I search for her,
I’m always searching for her,
That beautiful mystery:
My darkest fantasy.

There she is.
All I ever wanted
In the form of something magnificent.
This warrants something big.
At least an hour of pure revelry.
It’s not like anyone’s  going to see me.
Not if I have my way.

I gaze at her,
Burning her image into my mind
And then my hands go to work,
A physical tribute
To a mental image.

I have to be careful when I do this.
No one must know.
But still I continue,
Hoping I’m never caught.

My fingers move a lot faster
Than I’d openly admit to.
Most people are hesitant to discuss such things.
Which may be why no one usually wants to hear about this.

I’ve started to get creative
In my methods.
I often look around me
Searching for something
That will make it
A little more…
Interesting.

That looks nice.
Let’s see if it works.
Now, how would it feel if I put it here…
Oh, yes. That’s nice.
Now, maybe if I took this…
Ouch!
No.
Not good.
That just hurts.
Hmm…maybe this one?
Will it fit? It doesn’t look that way…
No, wait! It works!
Yes!
It works very well!
This is much better!

I shouldn’t be doing this.
I really shouldn’t.
I shouldn’t be doing it this often, at least.
It’s gotten to be almost a nightly thing.
I think I have a problem.
Then why does it feel so good?

Someday, I’m going to get caught.
I just know it.
I’ll be sitting here, climbing rapidly toward a peak,
And either I’ll make too much noise in my excitement,
Or I’ll leave the door open,
And my mother will walk in.
She’ll yell at me,
I’ll be mortified,
And I’ll pull myself together and jump in bed,
My moment ruined.

Of course, I’ll wait ten minutes,
Make sure she’s gone,
Collect myself,
And then finish.

The next morning, she’ll ask me just what I was thinking
Being up at all hours of the night
Making so much noise.
I’ll blush slightly,
And apologize.
I was near a breakthrough, I’ll say.
Chapter six isn’t going to write itself.

...

Well, what did you think I was talking about?