Daytime telly

Luke

T leaves early for work in the morning, out and gone before sunlight has clocked in at this time of year. My hours are far more sociable - unpredictable and with no real pattern, but never wanting me at my desk before noon.

I, then, have the gift of regular mornings to myself, during term time at least. The pay-off is that the drudgery of chores falls in my lap - school run to start then an unwritten agreement that I will return the house to some kind of vacuumed and polished order before T returns with the brood after a long day doing what she does. Hey, it's the 21st century, there's no room nowadays for traditional gender roles. I need to be as adept at loading the dishwasher and washing machine, mopping floors and changing sheets as any 1950s housewife or our little corner of domesticity would quickly fall into disarray.

There is, of course, downtime. As much as I appreciate the heavy workload of the stay-at-home parent, I'm also aware of the benefits of their autonomy. Self-management is the key, so you get to pick your break times, work at your own pace, meaning that if I fancy downing tools and having some, to use the popular, overused parlance, 'me-time', I can.

I, then, get to read more books, have my hair cut more regularly and catch up with correspondence more than T. And now that we're back in the swinging game, I get to spark up the computer and delve into the world of the site on my own.

Only, I don't.

I did, of course, during the first couple of days. After a night enjoying the benefits of a new toy that moves you to new, exciting sexual landscapes, the temptation to dabble a bit on my own was strong. And I hold the carte blanche negotiated through the agreement that T and I will always let each other know what we're doing - this is not knocking out a sly one to youporn and then deleting your history afterwards, this, suddenly, is part of our sex life.

So after the first couple of nights, I'd punch in our details and nose around, check messages, answer flirts. I even dropped in on the chatroom to see what was going on.

In the cold light of day, however, our portal to new sexual realms looks like your favourite late-night bar at ten in the morning. Yes, it's still the same place, but the chairs are up, the lights are on and the remnants of last night's hedonism are strewn across the floor waiting for the disenchanted cleaner to shuffle in and tidy them away. It's a 24-hour bar, of course, so there are still punters propping up the bar, but with the watery winter sunshine creeping through its dusty windows, the ambience has simply left the building.

The cam chatroom has a good three dozen souls logged into it. There's even a couple of couples in there - one of which actually has, glory of glory, a woman sitting alongside her man. He's naked, leisurely stroking his semi-hard cock, she is half dressed. They're attractive, but she looks bored when she does peer into the screen. When she gets up and leaves shot, I imagine she's probably gone to fetch a nice cup of tea rather than a frightening, jewel-encrusted sex toy. The other couple is a man in a hoody and tracksuit bottoms. His missus is nowhere to be seen, but I give him the benefit of the doubt that he does actually have one.

There are a sprinkling of single women too, but all bar one have their cameras off. She though is quite pretty, dark haired, late 20s and is peppering the chat with suggestive come-ons. But then she takes out a home-made bong and takes a long hit. The spell, for me at least, is broken.

The rest are single men, about a third of them cammed-up. They range from staring, fully dressed browsers, to naked slow-strokers, to full-on, hard as the Krays, wankers. Just what the latter section are getting off on evades me, but each to their own.

And then I realise that, because I have my cam on, right now I fall into the single men category. Yes, I'm not showing the world how I have one off the wrist, but I'm no longer that lucky bastard who gets to feel up the beautiful T, the one that everyone knows is actually going to get some tonight. I am, without her, just one of the sea of single men staring at a screen, hoping something sexy will happen. 

So I log out. That's so not where I want to be.

Suddenly, though, I realise the pull this new distraction has for T and am sure that the cold light of day would be considerably warmer if I had the power she has. If could log on, sit at a cam in just my boxers and have a dozen women, some dressed, some naked, some already furiously masturbating, stumble out one-handed messages urging me to unleash the beast, then perhaps daytime cam might be a better break than coffee, toast and marmalade.

But, no, that's not going to happen. The site's magic doesn't work for me when I'm not me and T. Anyway, I've got to hang the washing out and iron a shirt for work.