Musette and I sort of have sex. It’s more me rubbing against her thigh until I cum in my underwear. I don’t know if it’s a way of me thanking her for the game, but it all starts with me getting on top of her and undoing her robe belt. I peel apart the fleecy lips and kiss her nipples. She reaches into my underwear and starts playing with my penis.

What is this, she says.

She is rubbing a scab.

It’s nothing, I say. Just a scab.

Why do you have a scab, she asks.

I tell her that I have more than one. I’ve been masturbating too much, too often.

She understands that. She masturbates a lot too. She does it like in the way that I’m doing it to her now, but usually with the blankets, and sometimes on my thigh when I let her and she feels like it.

Sometimes you’ve just gotta rub one out, is what she says. But more so recently than usually, because she thinks she might have a bladder infection.

I think that’s why she likes it when I do this to her. It’s giving her a mild sense of erogenous pleasure, but I think it’s more mental. I have a feeling that it reminds her of when her best friend and she would experimentally rub against each other and kiss each others’ nipples when they were younger. I think it might be the reason why the only way she can masturbate is by rubbing against something.

She wants to get me some lotion.

I tell her that I don’t like lotion, that it makes everything a mess.

We can get me some that doesn’t smell, she says. And what’s a mess anyways compared to this, these scabs?

It messes my boxers, I say.

Your boxers?


How many days in a row are you wearing your boxers?

As many days as I can get away with. But the real question is, how many times a day do I masturbate.

I’m getting you some lotion, she says.


No. Anything but Jergens.



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