A Lad in a Jam

Claustrophobia, I hate being enclosed, jammed in, squeezed, shelved, shut into insufficient space; at intervals since youth. I don't count the seconds, which seem like hours, days, eternity. My imprisonment is punishment, but why? I forget. Praying for release from my metal cage, I can barely breathe, and have this infernal itch I cannot reach to scratch.

Then, such sweet stimuli.

Ahh! Relief! I explode with blessed release. And a brief buff, a rub, all it took.