Chapter Text
In his melancholic moments, standing barefoot in front of the panoramic window with a drink in hand, looking down at the city, this many-headed beast, half asleep and half humming with life, and afraid to go to sleep himself, scared of facing the demons that might lurk in the dark he eventually feels like undressing completely, partly because his relentless narcissism finds relieve in touching himself, partly because removing his formal office dress seems like a nice substitute for getting rid of life’s burden, but mostly because this action being so utterly out of place in a law firm perfectly matches his taste for odd and slightly deranged demeanour.
So he loosens his tie and slips it over his head, then he slowly unbuttons his shirt. Once it bulges half open he slips in a hand to touch his own warm skin and caress the silk on his chest. After a while he pulls the shirt out of his pants and unbuttons it completely. He gazes down on himself to see his belly protruding. He looks up in a small despair, but still he likes to touch the soft flesh and gently sink a fingertip into the dent of his belly button getting deeper each year.
After a while he slips out his arms and throws the shirt on a chair. His upper body now naked he feels like sucking in his belly as if awaiting someone to enter any moment. Already now it would be difficult to explain his state to most of the probable visitors. There would be no problem with Denny though, any eccentricity is fine with him, and if he would have to say anything at all a mention of the overheating, however unbelievable, might suffice. But what to say to Shirley? He still could not rely on his seductive appeal to her. Let alone Paul. His outrage and puzzlement would be almost impossible to sooth.
He wonders now, if despite his deep fatigue and sadness that makes his heavy eye lids almost drop over his eyes he might allow himself to slowly get aroused on the mere possibility of someone entering that late who might find herself suddenly confronted with an unexpected display of pale skin speckled with light auburn hair here and there.
He runs his hands down his belly reminiscing about the sculpted firm muscles of his former years that maybe still dwell underneath this miserable side-effect of good living. While his hands travel on and brush over the trace of hair leading down they almost unconsciously open the buckle of his belt and slowly pull down the zip. Then he hesitates.
He moves his hips a little to let the pants fall down by their own weight. To stop at the boxers is no option, so he grabs the rim and pulls them down quickly. After stepping out of his underwear he stands and tries a little twist of the hip as if to flatter his mirror image. And indeed he can see a faint outline of his nude body in the window, a strange mix of the still recognizable, chiselled definition of his youth, the even, open shoulders, the proud and firm chest muscles, the slender hips that he liked to sway slightly in an almost feminine manner, and the ageing, sagging flesh about to bury this exceptional beauty under the banal consequences of affluence. Was it a comfort that he found his cock half erect?
It was not huge, but well-shaped and well-trained; it displayed the nervous energy and elastic tension betraying a skilful and busy lover.
He closes his eyes and wonders if he should masturbate now, his hand hovering till his palm just so brushes his shaft. This could lead to the expert technique of a very soft, self-indulgent method of long term masturbation he had developed over the years; it consists not just of the usual hard rubbing but of a series of idle brushings and small slaps that keep hard and tingle without leading to a quick eruption.
But he suddenly feels bored by this perspective, sits down in a chair putting his bare feet on the couch table, just sipping his drink.