PENSIVE AND GLOWING

Sometimes a one-word qualifier makes all the difference. A person whom I do not know typed out a search criterium which brought them to this blog recently, and the single addition made it magical.
No, they didn't get what they wanted, at all.
There aren't any pictures of it here.
Probably won't be for a while.
A very long while.


But I am almighty flattered that they thought that it was on this blog. Or connected to this blog, perhaps descriptive of this blog, the frequent contents of same, and the person who writes what appears here.


-----masculine naked middle aged man-----


Well howdy! I like to think of myself as masculine. I believe 'masculine' to be a defining part of my persona.
I'm glad you do to.
And while I do not often think of myself as 'naked', you are free to do so whenever you wish. I cannot stop you in any case, so go ahead.
And if you want to tell me about it, that's perfectly alright too.
The middle aged part is something I cannot claim credit for; it just happened.

I'm tickled by the word 'masculine'.
Wow.
You really think so?
Thank you!

No, I shall not even speculate about the type of person who would wish my masculine middle-aged self to be naked, nor of the circumstance that might lead to such an eventuality or train of thought.
Primarily because I myself intend to entertain some imagination about such a person. I have a fantasy of precisely what kind of woman might express an immodest fascination with manly mature Dutch-American pipe-smokers of a trim build and eccentric knowledge sets, at those times when they are en deshabile, and perhaps pensive and glowing after a bath.

-----A short feisty brunette. Fully clothed. But on the very cusp of being far less so, if time and space permit.-----

I can tell you right now that typing all that into the search bar does not yield what I would wish to find. Limiting it to "short feisty brunette" brings up pictures of big-bosomed porno monsters, and adding "fully clothed" gets me The Daily Mail, several blondes, and a handsome young man wearing bright pink tidy whities.
Plus railway police news.

The Daily Mail is something I read only sporadically, blondes do not interest me, and the man in shocking pink undies may be a very nice person, but he is absolutely not what I'm looking for.
Nor is the railway police news.


It is six thirty in the morning right now. I am wearing pajama pants and an undershirt, and drinking my first cup of coffee. My apartment mate is stumbling around the kitchen, fixing herself breakfast and lamenting that there is no man in her life. One of the stuffed animals is atop the pile of clothes on my chair, rifling through my pants pocket and stealing my wallet. It is grey outside, a typical San Francisco summer dawn-crack. That means gloom, with occasional sounds of parrots in the distance. I have no intention of eating breakfast for a while.

Underneath my pajama pants and undershirt I am naked.
And, judging by my passport, masculine.
As well as middle aged.

There is no short feisty brunette here, fully clothed, but on the very cusp of being far less so, if time and space permitted.

Which is a very great pity.
It makes me sad.

In another two hours my apartment mate will have left for the day, to head towards work, still lamenting the lack of a man in her life. That's not something I can or should do anything about, other than to consolingly say "there there" and "you'll find someone".

As well as "have a good day at the office."

Once she departs, I am going into the bathroom.
Where I shall become the nude abluting dude.
Soon I will be pensive and glowing, after a bath.


I am a future masculine naked middle aged man.



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What is going through your head right now?
And what are you wearing?




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