12:24

   I cannot shut down my mind. Like an old black & white reel, jagged fragments of my day spool in an endless loop. Images crackle and jump accompanied by snippets of conversations and random thoughts.

It is as quiet as death and dark as a womb. The silence so complete that the only sound is the soft rush of air from the furnace through the floor vent. The drapes billow outward, the fabric quivering ghost-like along the warm draft. It reminds me of the days as a little boy, playing hide and seek. Secured by the innocence of a child, I believed that I had blended into the curtains, despite the fact that my feet were still visible. I would stand as still as I could, trying to control my panting, with the damp heat of my breath washing back onto my face. My chest would hurt. The hurried anticipation would slither down to my crotch and I would almost cry with the insane urge to pee. Sometimes the soft touch of the curtains across my face would give me an erection, my small cock pushing urgently against my shorts. Embarrassment, stirred with passion would flush over me as I hear my sisters footsteps approach.

Then the fridge starts up again, it grumbles and rattles to life in a violent penetration of the senses. The sound annoys me. It has interrupted a rather interesting segment of the movie in my head. I am straddled across the chest of The First. Her breasts cushion my buttocks like a velvet cushion on a throne. Her eyes are closed, her mouth thrown open. Stroking myself against her shimmering tongue and lips. The drone of the toy undulates between loud to soft adding a harsh soundtrack to the performance being acted out in the dimmed light of this bedroom. I start to get an hard again, this time bigger and harder than that of the little boy in the curtains so many years ago.

I reach between my shorts. The bed is cold. As frigid and lifeless as a morgue. The sheets are stiff and unwieldy as if they were brought inside from the crisp winter night outside. My erection softens almost immediately, hastened by the emptiness and indifference of the empty bed. Loneliness is enveloping. Solitude a quiet companion until she returns. It never used to be this way. Once upon a time, solitude would comfort me like the arms of a friend. But her constant presence has been a familiar practice. Like wriggling your toes. Her laugh, her voice, her scent. She is a habit I am unwilling to break. A customary routine that is part and parcel of my day.