"Woah, what the
fuck
, dude?" Rachel stood in the doorway to her room, towel-drying her hair and unable to believe what she saw. Her roommate's boyfriend was reclining on her bed, pants around his ankles, rubbing his cock.
"Uh, do you mind?" Norm responded shamelessly, without stopping. "I'm mid-stroke, here."
"Do I mind?" She sputtered, genuinely at a loss for words. "Are those my fucking underwear?"
"Yeah," he moaned, holding them to his nose and inhaling deeply. "They smell great."
"What the fuck are you doing here? Where's Laurel?"
"She picked up a shift at the bar. Left me here high and horny, so I figured I'd squeeze one out."
"I'm not asking why you're here in the apartment," she said through gritted teeth. "You're
always
fucking here. I mean, why the
fuck
are you jerking off in my room?"
"Duh, that's where your dirty laundry is. Hey, can you stop swearing so much? It's a real turn-off."
"For fuck's sake, Norm!" She threw her hair towel on the floor and stomped her foot. "I told Laurel you were a loser, but this is a new low."
"I wouldn't say new," he chuckled, oblivious to her anger. "I do this all the time! It's just that, usually, I finish before you get out of the shower."
"Will you fucking
stop
rubbing yourself in front of me?"
"Can't do it, man." He took another whiff and sighed. "Sorry you had to see this, but I'm building up to a monster climax. If you just leave for a few minutes, I can finish and get out of your way."
"You're not 'in my way!' You're jerking off in my fucking bed!"
"Don't be dramatic, I'm not
in
your bed, I'm
on
your bed."
"Wait, is this why all my goddamn underwear keep disappearing? You've been taking them to jerk off with?"
"Oh yeah, your panties smell
unreal
. That scent gets me so hard. And when I put them around my cock like this?" He sighed as he wrapped the satin fabric around his head and continued stroking. "It feels amazing, especially the silky ones."
"Fucking gross! And why mine? You're dating Laurel, use hers!"
"Nah, hers are all cheap cotton. The elastic chafes. Plus, they don't smell as good as yours."
"Stop fucking talking about how good I smell!"
"Jeez, learn to take a compliment."
"Is that why you steal them? Do you keep them stashed away somewhere to sniff?"
"Nah, I just throw them out."
"You... You fucking what?"
"After I cum in your panties, I toss 'em." He sighed, switched hands, and kept stroking. "I mean, I thought about putting them back in your laundry basket, but I figured you'd notice the spunk, get pissed, and start yelling at me, like you are now. Seemed easier for everyone to just put your panties in the garbage."
"Okay, first,
stop
saying that fucking word."
"What, panties?"
"Yes," she shuddered. "I hate it. And second, those underwear cost money!"
"Eh, you can afford it. You got that hot-shot advertising job."
"I'm a part-time intern!"
"Same diff." He shrugged. "But fine, I guess now that you know, in the future I can just put them back in the dirty laundry when I'm done."
"You're missing the goddamn point here, Norm!"
"Well, maybe you can explain it later? You're kinda killing my boner."
"I'm killing your boner? Are you fucking serious?"
"Yeah. Can you step out and give me, like, fifteen minutes, tops?"
"Fifteen...!" Rachel took a deep breath before she did something she'd have a hard time explaining.
This fucking guy was unbelievable. He was always here, eating all their food, smoking all their weed, and scratching himself on the couch. She couldn't understand what Laurel saw in him. Well, no. Clearly, what she saw in him was surprisingly girthy and currently wrapped in Rachel's favorite black satin hipsters.
What made things worse was the increasingly hard-to-deny undercurrent of arousal beneath her anger. Her heart was pounding, and she was undeniably livid, but some part of her limbic system was responding inappropriately to the intensity of the situation. She crossed her arms over the thin fabric of her nightshirt, not wanting him to see how hard her nipples had become.
This was so stupid. She hated him and the fact that he genuinely seemed not to understand why she'd be upset. How could he not get that what he was doing was a violation? She wanted to scream and throw things at him. He looked at her with that dumb expression, as if
she'd
somehow intruded on
him
. Asking her to step out? Outrageous! She wanted to shut him up. She wanted to cover his mouth until he couldn't breathe, to see his eyes widen in alarm.
She wanted to
smother
him.
Huh.
She had an idea.
"Norm, how many pairs of my underwear have you thrown out over the two years you and Laurel have been dating?"
"Jeez, can this really not wait? I guess like twenty or twenty-five?"
"Twenty-fucking-five?" The number was shockingly high. That meant twenty-five times, he'd snuck into her room. Twenty-five times, he jerked off with her underwear. Twenty-five times, he threw them out.
"Give or take," he shrugged.
Her cheeks burned with humiliation. She'd noticed, of course, but it had happened slowly enough, she'd chalked it up to the landlord's cheap laundry machines eating them. Just one of those things, like how socks disappear.
"Fucking hell," she frowned, doing the math, "that's, like, five hundred bucks."