It was not long after I’d fallen into a blissful slumber that I woke. It was about 10:30pm. My right leg was beginning to display the familiar symptoms of an attack of the itches. I presumed that this was a result of sandfly bites received at the previous evening’s campsite. I’d noticed them on my feet and ankles at the time, and in reasonably large numbers, but without immediate irritation I mostly ignored them. Does anyone know why they itch on following days and at certain times of the day?
The itch grew uncontrollably and with it the desire to scratch at the point of irritation. I knew that it was not good to scratch and certainly did not want to create the unsightly sores around my calves and ankles that would be subject to so much time in the water over the coming days and weeks. I know that too much water can make small sores grow into far bigger ones.
I applied some so-called ‘anti-histamine’ cream that I had bought from a convenience store on an earlier stop, although its bright pink tube and rainbow coloured branding suggested anything other than medicinal. This perception was reinforced when it did not have the immediate effect that I was looking for… no, needed.
I had until this point in time been rubbing my leg vigorously with the palms of my hands to appease the urge to dig in with my nails. This rubbing was in fact removing hair, lots of it, as I noted the following morning when conducting my routine cleaning and airing of the tent. At the time it was satisfyingly soothing and distracting.
It was about the time that my left leg began to imitate the symptoms of the right that I let go. This was an allergic reaction, the like of which I had not previously experienced. All semblance of self control departed and my unkempt nails dug deep into the screaming flesh.
The satisfaction delivered a delirious shudder that racked through my body in repeated waves, begging deeper and even more vigorous aggression. I was beyond control now, even whilst conscious that I was drawing blood. I knew those nails were gouging flesh and that layers of skin were accumulating there-under. Like an addict knowing the wrongness but unable to defy the urge, I was actually moaning audibly with ecstatic delight as I attacked my own living tissue.
I am unsure as to how long this episode lasted, although the urge that overtook me and the delirium that my nails took in answering that urge, remain clear in my mind. Today my ankles clearly exhibit the evidence of the passion that overtook me during those torturous moments.
The itch grew uncontrollably and with it the desire to scratch at the point of irritation. I knew that it was not good to scratch and certainly did not want to create the unsightly sores around my calves and ankles that would be subject to so much time in the water over the coming days and weeks. I know that too much water can make small sores grow into far bigger ones.
I applied some so-called ‘anti-histamine’ cream that I had bought from a convenience store on an earlier stop, although its bright pink tube and rainbow coloured branding suggested anything other than medicinal. This perception was reinforced when it did not have the immediate effect that I was looking for… no, needed.
I had until this point in time been rubbing my leg vigorously with the palms of my hands to appease the urge to dig in with my nails. This rubbing was in fact removing hair, lots of it, as I noted the following morning when conducting my routine cleaning and airing of the tent. At the time it was satisfyingly soothing and distracting.
It was about the time that my left leg began to imitate the symptoms of the right that I let go. This was an allergic reaction, the like of which I had not previously experienced. All semblance of self control departed and my unkempt nails dug deep into the screaming flesh.
The satisfaction delivered a delirious shudder that racked through my body in repeated waves, begging deeper and even more vigorous aggression. I was beyond control now, even whilst conscious that I was drawing blood. I knew those nails were gouging flesh and that layers of skin were accumulating there-under. Like an addict knowing the wrongness but unable to defy the urge, I was actually moaning audibly with ecstatic delight as I attacked my own living tissue.
I am unsure as to how long this episode lasted, although the urge that overtook me and the delirium that my nails took in answering that urge, remain clear in my mind. Today my ankles clearly exhibit the evidence of the passion that overtook me during those torturous moments.
I have sworn to be more diligent when it comes to keeping at bay those foul sandflies even if their bites do not immediately arouse concern. I know now that although delayed, they deliver a venomous and evil bite that when dispensed in doses, can leave the body writhing.
