Not everything is exactly as it first appears
I had sat there for an hour, just staring at the wall. Well perhaps not an hour probably just a few minutes, but it felt like an hour. It was a very ordinary wall, it had once been white, and I know it had been white because I had painted it myself, but now it was stained yellow-brown. I can only blame myself for that discolouration too.
This was my room, my office and my sanctum. The place where I worked, wrote, drew and often relaxed. The problem was that all these activities, work, rest and play, were centred round my computer. And every time I sat in front of that screen I reached for a cigarette, then another, and another, hence the yellow-brown discolouration of the once bright white walls.
It was already late morning, yet I was still naked apart from my tatty green dressing gown that was hanging loosely from my shoulders. The dressing gown, like me, was old, tired and worn out. It should have been thrown out and replaced years ago, but it was an old friend and my favourite morning attire on those days on which I had no good reason to leave the house. I liked the freedom and the feeling of being almost nude. I rarely wore anything in bed, except when the nights grew chilly and then just a t-shirt to keep the chill from my shoulders. When I rose I would slip on that old robe, frequently not bothering to tie the cord, and go about my morning rituals: coffee, cigarette, check e-mails et cetera, et cetera.
I was not entirely comfortable about going about the house completely naked, well not downstairs where people might see in. The open robe gave me almost the same freedom and I enjoyed the feeling of the cool morning air caressing my naked skin, but I had the security of knowing that I could quickly cover up if the need should arise.
I had risen on this particular morning with a determination to start writing the story that had bubbled up in my mind during the darkest hours of the night. While the computer had plodded its way through its far too slow boot-up sequence I had made coffee and smoked my first cigarette of the day.
I sat at the keyboard, then nothing; the story had evaporated like the morning mist. All that remained was the faintest echo of the words,
"Hold onto your hat big boy, this is going to be one hell of a ride..."
Even that faded into nothingness as I tried hard to recall the words and images that had come unbidden into my mind during the night but the more I sought them the further they slipped away from my grasp. This was no good, the muse was being coy, the more I chased after her the faster she would run away. I had to be patient, I had to sit quietly then she might bring her words back to my mind. Then I could begin to write.
So I sat, tried to un-focus my mind and waited for her to come back to me. I always think of my muse as being female, and this morning she was being particularly fickle. Teasing me with little glimpses of what had been fully revealed the night before but never enough for me to get hold of. The blank word processor page was taunting me even more.
Not a single sentence had flowed from keyboard to screen. A head full of half formed ideas but not a single word could be coaxed out to begin to fill the hideous blank whiteness of that empty page. An aspiring writer's nightmare, I couldn't relax and just let the words flow as they sometimes had in the past. I had to break the cycle of frustration, stop thinking about it, and then it might come back... More coffee!
I returned to my desk fresh hot mug of coffee in hand. That blank white word processor page still stared accusingly at me. This was a contest I wasn't going to win, not this time round anyway. I shut off that program, opened my web browser, seeking distraction, and clicked the links to my favourite chat-room and image exchange sites.
The twin screen PC set up that I have made it easy to view the two web pages at once, ideal, for some of the things that I do. Perhaps what I had found on these sites the previous evening had been the seed of my inspiration, maybe a return visit would make it grow once more? If not that, it might make something else grow. Without thinking my hand moved to my lap and with the tips of my fingers I gently teased the sensitive head of my penis that was quietly nestled there.
I wasn't aroused but my generally high level of background horniness meant that arousal, if not full erection, was never far away. Sadly the pleasure of having a full proud erection often eludes me these days but as the satisfaction of my carnal desires is most likely to be a solo affair, that failing is of less importance.
Oh yes, this old and often abused flesh - I smoke too much, I drink too much, I eat all the wrong foods and don't keep fit. I can only blame myself - is still capable of arousal, and the exquisite pleasures of orgasm and ejaculation. But sadly and all too frequently, I cannot bring it to the state where it can perform the task for which it was designed, that of implanting my hot seed deep in the warm, fertile and accommodating body of a woman.
I think of sex frequently, my flesh may be tired and too often unwilling, however, in my head I still have the appetites and desires of a horny teenager. Even when my mind is fully occupied with more mundane matters, thoughts of sex are never far below the surface. The sight of a pretty face or a shapely figure will soon bring those thoughts and desires rushing back to the fore. OK, I admit it, I am a dirty old man, but I don't see that as something to be ashamed of, I think of it as something to celebrate and enjoy to the full while I still can.
It was time to let myself be immersed in my private pleasure. I split my time between the chat-room and the image exchange site. There was little chat 'in open' in the 'room,' though that was not unusual. The reason people used that site was to find stimulus to aid their masturbation and several users posting pictures were providing this.
Naturally most of the users in that room were men, occasionally there would be a female visitor to the room but they were rare, this was principally a place of male pleasures. Some guys would like to 'buddy' chatting together whilst masturbating, exchanging stories or comments on the free show of pornography. Others, mostly gay or bi-sexual, might indulge in the arcane pleasures of cyber-sex or role-play. Most users however remained mute taking in the free show and privately enjoying the pleasure given by their own hands.
The pictures being shown were mixed, both of quality and content. Male and female forms were being displayed either solo, in couples or groups. Some were clothed, more were nudes others were depictions of various sexual acts between performers of all inclinations: heterosexual, gay and lesbian. More than a few of the images depicted masturbation in one form or another.
However many of the pictures I found un-alluring and un-arousing. This was not because I am prudish in any way, far from it. I consider my self to be very open mined in that respect. I can see beauty in both the male and female form. Images of aroused, handsome men are almost as attractive to me as pictures of pretty, naked or almost naked young women. We had all come to this virtual place for the purpose of self-pleasuring so images of that activity I did not find at all inappropriate. Depictions of the sexual act in all its 'normal' forms - I am not excited by the extremes of fetishism and other such perversions - I find highly arousing, provided that it is presented in a naturalistic and what I would consider to be a tasteful way. Presentation or production were major the reasons for my turn-off, not the content as such.
