Picture if you will…
A long, hard day of work finally over. You’re tired. You’re sore. You’re just done with the day, done with being aggravated, done with the public, happy to be home. You greet your household, especially your non-human family, get your unconditional lovin’s in, and have a quick feed. After a satisfying meal, a few shows on the tube, and a Facebook update, you decide that a nice, hot shower could be just what what you need…
In the bathroom, you turn on the lights, look in the mirror and study the reflection carefully, examining for new lines or gray hairs you may have missed – maybe give yourself a wink because those eyes of yours are still sexy, that’s right, baby! Then, looking closer, you ask yourself, “Is that a nosehair?” or “Am I growing a zit?” Then, you kinda pick at it a bit, then stick out your tongue and go “aaaahh!”
Taking one last vanity glance, you pull open the shower curtain or door, and get that water flowing nice, giving it time to warm up while you strip.
While you’re getting yourself naked, you notice a strange, stray hair standing at full attention on your nipple. Making a face and an exclamation, you look for the tweezers in the medicine cabinet, but it’s not there. You check the drawers, behind the commode, but then remember the water’s running, so you try to grab it yourself to pluck it out, but your fingers keep sliding off.
You try to say, “Screw it,” and just get in the shower, but it’s just too annoying!
Taking a peek out into the hall to see if anyone or anything is looking, you bolt to the bedroom, stark naked, rummaging to find the damn tweezers then you remember – you used them to get a piece of toast out of your computer keyboard this morning.
Bolt back into the bathroom, shut the door quick because you’re shivering.
Aaaaaahhh, finally, into the shower! You lean back and let that hot, soothing water run down your hair, your face, warming up your body, refreshing your soul – until you try plucking at your nipple again.
Suddenly, that old 80’s song that you wouldn’t be caught dead listening to in front of another human being pops into your head. Be-bopping to the sound of your “incredible” voice within these perfect acoustics, lathering your scalp to the rhythm – oh, who’s in the audience of your mind? Oh yeah…that sexy thing you fantasize about every chance you get! Oooh, those eyes, that smile —
Who is decidedly NOT looking at your nipples, as you give that damn hair another failing yank.
You’re feeling that “urge.” Or is it the need to pee? Yeah, well, no point in getting the floor wet running to the toilet, right…?
Relieved and serene, you close your eyes and there’s that sexy object of your fantasy seeping back into your mind again, tingling your senses, filling your loins with burning desire and lustful cravings. As you soap up your blissful body, your hand lingers between your legs and —
You realize there’s a psychic somewhere in the world who can see every single thing that you’re doing.
See? THAT is why when you ask me, “Tell me what they’re doing right now,” I say, “No.”
It’s not your business.
It’s not my business.
So, don’t ask!