I am old. Having observed in my youth the dire, demeaning and ridiculous consequence to those who persist in old age in pursuing the pleasures of the flesh, I have, like the poet Horace, renounced having sex since I was 50 years old (now a quarter century ago); giving thanks for my deliverance from a cruel and capricious master (Eros)....

Still, though of course it's nobody else's business, I do try to ejaculate once a day, since I have heard and read in several reliable sources that this is necessary, or at least advisable, for good health in men of all ages--and I thank the gods that the proliferation and refinement of visual and written pornography over the last twenty years has enabled me easily, and with very little effort, to sustain my healthful regimen. And so, as men do when their basic needs and wants are well provided for, I have (after thoughtful and grateful genuflections to Filesmonster.com, and to Asstr.org) got on with my life, and pretty much forgot about it (sex, I mean).

Lately, however, as I have been adjusting and regulating my intake of Adderrol (delicious amphetamines to which I've been addicted now for some dozen years), basically by not taking my daily time-released capsules over the weekend, and sleeping straight through from Friday night to this morning, rising only to defecate, urinate and drink tea--for the first time in, I think, decades--dreams of delightful homo-sex have come to me unprompted and impromptu (like nothing I've seen or read about), and totally unlike one another, yesterday and today, sometime between four and five O 'Clock in the morning.  Yesterday's dream is already a little dim and fuzzy; but it seems to me it involved a high school baseball team.  Today's dream, still vivid in my memory, was of a man, still much my junior at forty-five or fifty years of age, with a sparkling wit, and a virile member the size of my forearm, which I successfully and repeatedly fellated.  It was like pornography, only better.