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.
I find much commercial porn unattractive, the abnormally large penises of the men, the excessive make-up and surgically enhanced over inflated breasts of the women, the almost plastic coated look that seems to prevail in some of these pictures does very little for me indeed. And on top of all that, the bizarre and contorted facial expressions frequently adopted by professional porn performers that are supposed to portray arousal and pleasure I find less than attractive, even repulsive. No, for me carefully crafted, un-retouched depictions of natural beauty in all its glory are what does it best for me.
My current obsession is for the delightful exotic beauty of the young ladies of Japan, with their ivory coloured skin, offset by their dark hair, dark soft alluring eyes and sweet very kissable mouths. I love their breasts, slightly fuller than their sisters on the mainland of South-East Asia, and their dark pert nipples that stand proudly upon those soft mounds of lighter coloured flesh, and just for that extra touch of exotic spice, the patch of black pubic hair, which most of these girls leave in place, almost but not quite obscuring the view of their most private flesh. 'Girls' I call them, but to me almost any attractive woman under the age of about thirty I think of as a girl.
I used to be turned on by the images and thoughts of waxed smooth pudenda with all those intimate female folds clearly on display. Recently I have changed my mind and have grown to appreciate the true beauty of neatly groomed female pubic hair. It was for this reason that I had the image exchange site open as well as the chat-room, so that I could add my own choice of pictures to those already being shown.
I have no idea of how long I had spent indulging in my pastime, sometimes chatting with other known regular users, other times searching out and posting pictures that I and some others found pleasing. Often my hand would move to my penis caressing and stroking that sensitive flesh. Sometimes I would indulge in a short bout of full masturbation, but never to completion. There was no urgency to reach orgasm. That could be dealt with later if I felt the need. I just wanted to enjoy the unique pleasure of prolonged arousal and self-denial of the ultimate release. I felt very tired, my eyes were straining to keep focus on the screen and my head was nodding, threatening to bang down onto the keyboard in front of me. With an effort I pulled myself upright then leaned back in my chair that tipped back on its springs under my weight. My head went back, I fell asleep and began to dream.
Normally when I dream, of course I can only report on those that I can remember. I inhabit some strange and disjointed reality. Things happen to me that don't make sense, visions of people in places and situations that don't belong together. Frequently I feel insecure or threatened. These are the sorts of dreams from which I wake with a start, feeling disorientated and in a state of mild panic. Most of all I don't know that I am dreaming until I wake up.
This dream state was different, possibly unique. Firstly I knew that I was dreaming and that I had some degree of control over what was happening. This was a very odd version of reality in which I found myself, a kind of duality existed in what I was experiencing. It was almost like playing one of those car racing or flight simulation video games where the main window shows the driver's point of view but there is another smaller window that gives an overview of the game.
The 'me' on the outside, the player if you like, knew that I could exert control of the other me, the one that was inside the dream. And the one on the inside also had a self-awareness that I could feel. I looked at myself from the outside, I knew it was me but I didn't wholly recognise the man I was looking at; a younger, leaner, fitter idealised version of me. This version had only very little in common with the over weight, worn down older man who was currently sleeping, probably snoring and drooling a little, in his office chair...
Where was I?
I looked around and surmised that this place must be pretty close to paradise from what I had taken in from a brief glance. Before I could make a more detailed assessment my attention was drawn elsewhere, namely to my crotch. The weight of my penis and his two almost spherical associates usually goes unnoticed, except at those times when the blood flow is increased and he puts on extra weight, it is a load that is normal and can be discounted. But the weight that I felt now was not only much greater but insistent I could feel it trying to take control of me, tugging me forward towards some undisclosed destination. I did not need to make any kind of inspection to know what was currently hanging between my legs was a penis of unfeasibly huge proportions, more suited to a stallion or a prize bull than a human male.
"Stop being silly." I thought or might even have said out loud. "You are being unrealistic and stupid. Stop that at once!"
On that command the huge appendage shrunk to something more modest. It was still noticeably larger than the original equipment to which I had become accustomed but felt much more within the range that I would consider being normal. Like many men I had long felt that I would have liked to have had a bit more 'meat' in the trouser department, but unlike most I had just been given the opportunity to try on something a bit larger for size. I wasn't going to complain about that, and this was more than a mere penis; this was very definitely a Cock.
Now that the equipment challenge had been dealt with I could better take in my soundings. I was in a city square, but there was nothing here that I could latch on to, to give a definite location. The cityscape appeared to be completely populated with buildings of uniform blandness. The kind of buildings that I thought architects of the latter part of the twentieth century might have kept in boxes under their desks, so that they could be immediately dropped in place to transform to total bland anonymity any city around the world.
It was warm and sunny, a little too warm and rather humid. However I was dressed appropriately in chinos and a loose cotton shirt. The chinos were comfortable, very comfortable, differently so. I put my hand to my stomach and found that instead of the usual bulge pushing down on my waistband this stomach was flat, taught and firm. Aha! Not only had I been blessed with an improved passion pole, but also, it appeared that I had the proper engine to drive it with suitable vigour.
So why did I have the impression that I was in my own personal version of paradise?
Not the architecture certainly. The enhancements to my own physique were a bit of a clue. No, not entirely that either. It was the people I saw around me. They were exclusively female, not a man in sight. Not only were they female they were petite, ivory skinned, black haired, cute, very cute and achingly attractive. Every single one of them, and they were many, were to my eyes, a different and unique amazing beauty.
Japan then or at least my fantasy version of that land.
The location now firmly fixed, I began to notice changes in my surroundings. Signs appeared on the buildings written in characters that I recognised but couldn't decipher. Trees now bounded the previously barren concrete of the plaza; cherry trees of course, all in full bloom and their pink and white petals drifting lightly off the soft cooling breeze that now caressed me. Fading in to view in front of me was a small, very formal, garden of raked gravel, a couple of artistically placed rocks and a pond. A serpentine pond bisected by an arched bridge!
I looked sky-wards and made what I can only describe as a very Jewish gesture of total disbelief. I was greeted by the vision of my self, my old, normal self, leaning out of a window, which was unaccountably floating in the sky, grinning like the Cheshire cat and chuckling. On the very edge of my hearing I heard, a voice, my own voice, calling out.
"OK Bert I want some Japan city atmos. Establish and fade in ten, then let it run under the narration. Got that? Good!"
Where before there had been silence, I was now treated to the full cityscape Foley package in crystal clear Dolby Surround Sound 7.1 The sound of every voice, every footstep, the buzz of traffic, even the low and indistinct rumble of a subway train passing under my feet was there. It came in loud, a bit too loud, then faded to the barely audible, just enough to add 'thickness' and 'authenticity' to the scene. And what was that? Did I just hear a snatch of someone playing a samisen?
"Oh Please!" I addressed the heavens, "that was just Too clichéd!"
My appeal was answered only by the distant sound of my own distant laughter.
"Come on" I declared, "Enough of the silliness, let's just get on with this dream."
I felt a tugging at the level of my crotch; there was no person near by so I assumed that it was my new Cock wanting to take control of me again. This time I didn't resist and allowed myself to be led in the direction 'He' wanted to go.
I found myself at a pavement café. No, a teahouse would be a more suitable appellation under the circumstances. The terrace was shaded by an awning, surrounded by a low fence and populated by a number of small round tables each with four chairs. There were no signs of life at this establishment except for the hostess, who bowed to me and indicated with a gesture that I should choose any table that I wished. Indeed I was spoilt for choice. I acknowledged her with a nod of my head and walked to a table that just seemed to be the right one.
I had hardly settled at my chosen table when a waitress approached me, naturally like all the other women I had seen she was a vision of divine beauty. She was neatly and un-provocatively dressed in a short black skirt, formal court shoes and a tailored white silken blouse. The blouse was open at the neck, just far enough to allow me a subtle glimpse of the swell of her full round breasts. I instinctively knew that she was not wearing a bra, nor had she any need of one as her breasts sat firmly and proudly her chest. Those ideal womanly orbs moved softly beneath their covering. I could clearly make out the shape of her erect nipples pushing out through her silky fabric of her blouse as she walked towards me.
In brief moments she was at my table bowing deeply and formally to me. As she had began to bend at the waist her blouse had simply evaporated before my eyes leaving only a ghostly outline of where it had been. I had a full and unimpeded view of her upper body. I wanted to pull her to me, clamp my lips upon her long, thick dark nipples and suckle upon them.
I felt hot, uncomfortably yet deliciously hot. I was aware of movement in my chinos as my new and improved manhood became engorged, swelling and hardening in preparation for what might soon follow. Yet, bizarrely, I sat transfixed unable to move a muscle voluntarily.
She spoke, the sound of her voice was like music to my ears yet the words she was saying were totally alien to me. No problem, so it seemed as a full understanding of her speech materialised in my mind. Her words were formal; in the highest Japanese tradition she addressed me as lowly servant might address a great lord.
"Oh great and most honourable sir" she addressed me, still bowing low and averting her eyes, "you bring to this humble and unworthy teahouse the highest esteem by favouring us with your visit, how may I have the inestimable honour of serving you oh great master?"
To my great bafflement and surprise I responded in flawless and equally formal Japanese by ordering a beer. A Beer! How come the thing in the forefront of my mind, the one thing it seemed that I now wanted most in the world was a long cold beer?
Confused? Well, for me that is my normal state.
Her clothing was restored and she withdrew. Within seconds a long bedewed glass of my chosen lightly foaming beverage was being presented to me. I was honoured with another deep formal bow and titillated by the repeated miracle of my waitress' blouse evaporating, which afforded me another viewing of her gorgeous breasts. This time however I felt no urge to reach out and grab her, I simply wanted to take in the view. Unconsciously my hand went to my lap to adjust the lie of my swollen member. The briefest of smiles flashed across the young lady's lips and her hand flew to her mouth as she tried to stifle the sweetest giggle I have ever heard.