[Again, not fictional.] It's a familiar feeling. Sometimes when it's really late at night and I'm busy pounding away on an assignment or catching up on some reading gone neglected, it's a slight twinge. My eyes dart back and forth on the screen, but for some reason, the words begun to blur. My eyes dart faster around and I can't focus. I'll get up and pace about, grab a glass of water or a snack. I'll walk from my room to the living room, look around, then head to the bath. Haul it out for a piss... and casually, I happen to notice that the flaccid size is a bit more plump than usual. When I return back to my room to pick up on the assignment, my hand absentmindedly trails down my abs, scratching the coarse hairs around my belly button and on my trail. Before I know it, I'm gently stroking that skin -- one of my favorite places -- and heading southward still, rubbing the bulge. It stiffens a little, expanding down one side in my pants. I catch myself and halt, shaking my head and trying to focus more on the words -- but my hand keeps going southward still... Horniness is like a redirected sense of self-awareness, channeled mostly through your dick. On auto-pilot, I surf through free porn sites and catch what I can find on the Web. Words take on a whole new meaning. You look for innuendoes in nearly anything, and if a conversation seems a little too hot to handle, by all means, I relish in it. My eyes widen as I come across a vid or two, hooking my fingers into my pants and sliding them downward. Uncomfortably trapped by my boxers, I let my cock go free out of the fly; it springs up hard and quick, smacking against my stomach. Rubbing my head, prejizz slowly leaks from my knob and I slick my fingers, letting them trail down the shaft to the base, coaxing more and more. But the truth is, after all that touchy foreplay -- you know, the grazing and handling and gentle strokes -- the sexual throttle begins to accelerate. I rise from my chair and lean in forward a bit, locked on the video, internalizing each and every moan. I'll mutter under my breath, hoping that she'll get pounded harder and harder, putting myself in the guy's shoes. In this frame of mind, I can only focus on my dick... directed forwarded and lunging in deep, grip tightening as I growl "fuck her, fuck her" louder and louder. In the zone, senses magnify. Vision and imagination on maximum setting. Eyes taking in as much of the pixels flashing on the screen. As I flail my dick madly, even the powerful and strong musk of my meat rises to my nostrils and I tense up, drink it in. I'm tumbling deeper and deeper into a state of pure erotic bliss as I feel that familiar tingling from my legs and traveling up my spine. My muscles tighten as my breathing gets deeper, louder, as I rear back and spank it at full speed. My seed jettisons straight out in front of me, and my mouth opens slightly as it pelts something at full throttle. Time slows and my eyes lock on the load fired. It splashes into my bookshelf and hits a couple of texts. Successive shots rain down over my chair, making thick and smooth clear puddles pitter-pattering on the green vinyl. I bend in and hunker downward, milking the last of my seed, surveying the damages. God damn, I have to break out a towel for this. As I waddle toward the bathroom, my pants still draped around my knees, my dick softens slightly and hangs heavy and low over my now expended nuts. The familiar sensitivity creeps into my balls and I give my meat another loving squeeze or two, slicking the remaining ooze into my hand and onto the towel. I let off another soft newly-invigorated growl, the equivalent of a civilian's Ooh-rah! at a job well done.