Buzz!
It’s 8am and I’m sitting in my computer chair, cycling through several open windows and tabs while drinking tea. Naked.
I’m not naked for any particular reason. I just haven’t really organised myself into the whole “getting dressed” bit yet. This is much earlier than the other times I’ve been getting out of bed, and my thoughts are slightly scrambled. Nevertheless, it’s my flat, it’s my life, and they are my blinds, and they are closed. There’s no reason I shouldn’t be naked.
Buzz!
Or, at least, there shouldn’t be. I’d slightly overlooked the fact that my wife is particularly fond of ordering things off the Internet. I’m still not entirely sure if they use all of them. Paying rent is an adventure.
I stumble to the door and buzz the caller in. I hear his footsteps in the corridor outside, silence for a while, and then the breathy sigh of someone exasperated at having to wait. I’m going to have to open the door, but I may well get done for public indecency. I can’t put it off any more, though. I open by just an iota.
“Delivery,” says a gruff voice.
“Right,” I say, extending my bare arm around, just enough to grab the parcel without giving him an eyeful. The human body is a beautiful thing, but perhaps not at 8am when you’re not expecting it. If he’s going to be into it, I apologise, but I’m not going to assume… or, in fact, ask.
It’s 10:30am and I’m horny. I still haven’t managed to get dressed, but in this situation, that’s an advantage. If I’m going to bring myself to orgasm I’ll need unfettered access to my penis and a nipple to fondle. This is, for want of a better term, exciting. I haven’t masturbated this early for a fair while. I feel like a horny teenager.
In fact, I’m incredibly horny. My cock is beating in my hand, I can feel my heartbeat thudding through my chest, my eyes are closed and I’m very near the point of no return. This is going to be an orgasm for the ages, the sort of thing that’s referenced in future history books and someone will write an feature about in McSweeney’s. I’m a sexual dynamo and nothing’s going to
Buzz!
fuck, fuck, fuck!
I stumble to the door and buzz the caller in. I hear his footsteps in the corridor outside, silence for a while, and then the heavy sigh of someone exasperated at having to wait. I’m going to have to open the door, but this time I have a huge erection to deal with. If I open up he may well mistake me for a coathanger and not hand over the parcel. I open by just an inch.
“Delivery,” says a tuneful voice.
“Right,” I say, extending my bare arm around, just enough to grab the parcel without taking his eye out. He’s ruined my orgasm… I could, of course, get back to it, but the moment has passed. I’d need to start again at the beginning, and by this time, I can’t even remember what I was wanking to.
It’s 12:37pm and I’ve just finished cleaning up from the orgasm I’ve had. I dump the tissues in the bin and I’m wondering what to do next when I realise how sleepy I am. I’ve been up since about six and I’ve just had an orgasm. To hell with the rules; I’m going to have a nap.
I consider napping on my sofa. It’s not really designed for that. The fact that I’ve fallen asleep on it before was more accidental than design. I could, I rationalise, go back to bed. I could even sleep on the other side, since my wife isn’t here, and I sleep better facing that direction. Marvelling at my own genius, I trudge sleepily to the bedroom, lie down, pull the covers over myself, close my eyes and
Buzz!
fuck, fuck, fuck!
I stumble to the door and buzz the caller in. I hear his footsteps in the corridor outside, silence for a while, and then the raspy sigh of someone exasperated at having to wait. I’m going to have to open the door, but this time I genuinely don’t want to. I’m still naked, of course, but that’s a secondary concern.
“Who is it?” I call through the door.
“Delivery,” says an African accent from the other side.
“Can you leave it outside the door?”
“No, I can’t. I need to take a picture of you holding it and send it to…”
“All of me? Will my arm do?”
“That is fine.”
There are a few agonising seconds of silence.
I open by just a sliver. He hands me the parcel. It’s big and heavy and I drop it. I genuinely have no idea what this is. It feels expensive. I hope I haven’t broken… whatever it is.
On my way back down the corridor, I trip over the pile of three packages left lying there. I manage not to fall on my face by grabbing onto the bookcase my Jar Jar Binks memorabilia collection sits atop. One Jar Jar falls off his kaadu and glares at me in an accusatory manner.
“It’s not my fault,” I tell the affronted Gungan. “If people didn’t keep buzzing the doorbell, I’d be able to sleep.”
I slip back into bed and prepare myself for what promises to be a more fitful slumber than that which I had originally promised myself. At the very least I could be fairly certain there wouldn’t be any more buzzes. Surely they couldn’t have ordered more than three things.
Buzz!
It’s just my ‘phone this time, but it doesn’t block out the loudest profanity I think I’ve ever ejaculated.
Tomorrow I’m going to make sure I’m out of the flat.
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