The Room by Hubert Selby Jr.

eyes. When he adjusted his eyes to the light he became aware of a stinging cold in his body. The steel slab felt like ice. He sat up trying to convince himself it was just a dream, but the truth was undeniable. He was sitting on that slab and there were bars on the door. It was all as real as the light coming through the window. He sat.
    Then a jailer came around with a small cheese sandwich and a tin cup half-filled with black coffee. He took them, set them on the slab and stared at them for many minutes. The bread was hard as was the cheese. He put his hands around the cup to warm them and wondered if he should drink the coffee. He had never had coffee before except for a few drops in his milk as a special treat. He warmed his hands then rubbed his body with them. Then warmed them again. He didnt know why, but he forced down the sandwich. Not through hunger, but some sort of habit. He sipped the coffee. It was worse than medicine. He took a few sips then left it, just using the cup to warm his hands.
    He looked up at the window and could see a small portion of the legs of the people who walked past. For awhile he simply stared then he started noticing the small portion of leg and wondered what the people looked like. He wasnt really interested, but it was something to do. It helped pass the time. Twenty years. How could he pass twenty years? How could he live twenty years? It was beyond comprehension. Too far beyond. It was unreal. But what would his mother say. He had to play a game. What do those people look like? Those people who belong to the 18 inches, or so, of leg he could see. How could you tell how tall a man was, or how heavy he was, or what color his eyes and hair were. How could you tell what he looked like when all you could see was a few inches of his pants leg. There was just no way of knowing or imagining. But it was different with the women. Of course he couldnt really tell, but at least he could see the shape of the leg and could imagine. He could even imagine what type of shoe they were wearing, especially if he could hear the click, click of heels. They had to be high heels. And if the leg were attractive, exceptionally attractive, then she was young with a nice figure and large tits. Firm and round and soft. The kind you rest your cheek on. The kind that had large, dark rosy nipples. And some had dark hair, some blond hair, and some had to be redheads. And they all had red lips and long painted nails, and their asses wiggled when they walked. But what color snatch hair does a blonde have? Redheads and brunettes were easy, but blondes???? Was it blond like their head or was it darker? Could they have black snatch hair or was it just sort of brown? If he could get close to the window he could look up their skirts and maybe some of them wouldnt have any pants on. He had heard of girls who didnt wear pants. But even if they did he might be able to see something. Anyway, that wasnt too important, the color, it would be great just to look. And they wouldnt know. He could just stand there all day and look. But not for twenty years. But he could look for now, anyway. He continued to watch those inches of leg walk by, then slowly became aware of a slight pain in his groin. He had a hard on. It scared him. Suppose the guard came and saw it. He had to get rid of it. He pushed it with his hand, almost shoving it back up in his crotch. It seemed to be made of the same steel as the slab he sat on. It ached, but he had to push. He placed both hands on the head of his prick and pushed even harder. For a brief second hethought it would put a hole in his hands, but eventually it started to bend and slowly it softened. He stood for a moment to make sure there was no visible bulge. All was flat. He sat down on the slab and turned his back to the window and didnt move until the guard called him and gave him another cheese sandwich and a tin cup of hot coffee. He slowly ate his sandwich, taking small bites and chewing as long