You know what would really piss me off?
It would really piss me off if a large, strong stranger snatched me from my pleasures, carried me into the bathroom, laid me on a table, pulled off my pants and removed my underwear.
It would really piss me off if she robbed me of that familiar warm pungency that had been, from time to time at least, a part of me since before I can remember.
I would rage and rail at her, let me tell you. I would kick my legs and arch my back against her efforts, and it would only piss me off more to realize that fighting back was futile, she was going to do this to me solely by virtue of her greater strength. I would scream so that my voice pieced through doors and cinderblock walls, all the way to where the others were still playing while I suffered this outrage.
And even after she forced me back into my pants and stood me back on the floor, I would continue to bleat my complaint with every fiber of my being, showing hot red cheeks to the world. I would rage until my blue eyes showed red as well, swimming behind a volume of tears that would run down my face and drip freely to the ground. I would take my complaint outdoors, back to where I was first accosted, venting my righteous fury to the heavens.
I wouldn't stop when Teacher Tom beat his drum, boom-boom, boom-boom-boom, boom-boom-boom-boom, but my body would at least respond to its by now familiar message, even while I protested my recent indignity.
I wouldn't be myself again until we were seated on the blue rug, singing familiar songs.
Man, that would really piss me off.