Wednesday, 1 April 2015

Presumed Guilty

My dog used to sleep on the top step, just outside my bedroom door. I used to go to the toilet, naked, every evening just before I went to bed (I sleep naked; it's not just a 'taking a risk' thing); I would invariably lock eyes with her at that point and, every evening, I would wonder how much she knew. I won't be so presumptuous as to assume that she could identify the signs of someone who, nine times out of ten, had just been wanking in a corner of their room, and was just going to the bathroom to clean themselves up before attempting to go to sleep (or get back to wanking or downloading something else to wank to)... and yet, she always had that accusing look in her eye - not the pleading look a dog has when you are eating anything at all, but a cold, hard, pitiless stare.

I know what you have been doing, human, and I am NOT BEST PLEASED.

My cat, on the other hand, doesn't really care. In my old house, Willow would be sleeping on my bed ninety-nine per cent of the time, whether or not it was an appropriate time for a cat to be anywhere else. Due to the large window and airy nature of the room, she got plenty of light when it was sunny, and plenty of insulation when it was cold; she also had a willing human-angel hybrid sitting in his computer chair for the major part of the day, upon whom she could call for food, attention, or just to acknowledge her presence before returning to what he was doing. In the twilight hours when I would de-stress after the vigours of a day doing nothing, I would often masturbate while Willow was on the bed, without even knowing she was there - and, to her credit, she either didn't know or didn't mind what I was doing, as long as she had somewhere warm and soft to sleep.

I'm a cat, says Willow.

She has continued this practice ever since, even after our moving to SH, even if there are days when no wanking takes place, she sleeps there - on my bed - because she can. And if I do care to touch myself at any point, she won't move, or stir, or even blink... because it doesn't concern her; she's a cat, and she can do as she pleases.

I'm currently sitting in a room with a guinea pig named Biscuit.

Biscuit doesn't belong to me, nor does he trust me. He belongs to my 18-year-old girl cousin, and he adores her. He doesn't really want to come near me; he gives my finger an affectionate nibble every now and again, but Heaven forfend if he's going to let me actually pick him up. Every time I walk into this small office - the one my uncle usually dwells in which I have temporarily requisitioned for the week - he perks up, gives me a look which clearly says why aren't you her? you're supposed to be her!, and then looks hurt when I give him any food or water. He also makes noises when I haven't paid him any attention for a while, making me feel rather skittish, as if I'm doing someone awful to my little cousin's rodent companion by not paying attention to him twenty-four hours a day.

He also appears to be eating the newspaper which lines his cage.

I don't mind sharing a room with Biscuit - or, at least, I wouldn't, were it not for the fact that he watches me intently when I'm masturbating, or even when I'm erect at all. I have my theories - either he knows what I'm doing, he doesn't like the motion or the scent, he thinks I'm holding an UNUSUALLY LARGE CARROT and by rights he should be eating it instead, or maybe it's just dumb luck. To be fair, it doesn't matter why he does so. If I'm wanking, there's a rodent watching me.

It probably shouldn't be as disconcerting as it actually is...

...but then again, maybe I'm conditioned. Maybe there needs to be a sleeping cat near me in order for me to fully enjoy masturbation in private.

Or maybe my girlfriend. You know, that's fine too.

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