The Unbearable Urge to Wank

After leaving my mother’s daughter’s room, I stopped by a convenience store to buy wet wipes and tissues for my aunt, then headed back home. My aunt’s face had been quite a sight. She looked like she was dying to say something, to explain herself, but couldn't bring herself to do it. That’s why it felt all the more bizarre.

I’d been rubbing my cock against her body in the middle of an alleyway like a rutting beast, yet the aftermath was so mundane. But the residue in my mind was anything but mundane.

Damn it.

I want to jerk off.

Ah. I really want to jerk off.

I’d already finished once, but that hardly scratched the itch. Logically speaking, anyway. Should I have just dropped my pants and fucked her right then and there? Hmm. Just thinking about it makes my cock feel like it’s getting even harder.

‘You should’ve made more time.’

What was with that attitude, telling me to talk after we were done? Did she actually want me to ravish her in that short window? Oh, was that it?

If that were the case… I should’ve dropped my pants right then… and slammed her against the wall! Like an alpha male… like a bad boy…

“…….”

My sister walked out of her room, chuckling to herself, which made it impossible to continue that depraved fantasy.

“Exit 5? No, meeting there every time is so hipster. It’s seriously crowded. I told you, let’s just eat near the district office.”

My sister’s outfit while she was on the phone was something else. I guess she’s heading out to hang out with friends? I just realized that there’s no middle ground with this woman’s clothes. They’re either super big or super small. Unlike yesterday, where her top was small and her bottom was big, today both were tiny.

“Yoon Hyerin? Her? Right, I heard she appeared in some music video or something. A ballad, maybe? Ugh, that’s hilarious. So funny.”

She headed for the entryway without even glancing at me. She didn’t even notice that the shoe rack was a mess because of her, just calmly picking out her shoes.

Finally, she’s leaving this dump. Maybe I can use the computer now. It’s definitely more satisfying to watch on a computer than on a phone… unlike the phone, which is only good for manga, the computer lets me scour the depths of porn. Though that’s more for when I’m getting really deep into it. For now, manga is enough. Either way, I can jerk off a ton now that she’s leaving…

“I’m using the computer. In my room.”

My sister paused for a second, then flipped me off. Her glossy black nail tips stood out. Crazy bitch.

“Moron. Just don’t come back home.”

“Oh, wait a sec. You little shit.”

My sister said that into the phone and glared at me.

“I’ll be back in the morning. Tell Mom.”

“Wow, look at you, acting like a total bitch.”

“And if you’re going to use my room, don’t touch my perfume. Don’t even go near it.”

My sister turned her head, put on her shoes, and walked out the door.

“…Damn, is she sane? What ‘good smell’? It just reeks. Honestly, her room smells like an old man…”

I’m dying to know what that phone call was about. I guess birds of a feather really do flock together. What a loser.

Anyway, I looked around the suddenly silent house and stretched out on the sofa. A refreshing sensation rippled from my feet all the way to my outstretched arms.

Ah, liberation.

The feeling of freedom is absolute. Let’s start with a wank. First, a wank. I’ll start with some manga. I immediately pulled down my pants and turned on my phone, but then… Beep-beep-beep-beep. I heard someone coming into the house.

“Doha~ Mom’s home. I heard your sister is going out. Did you have a good day at your uncle’s company?”

Damn it.

My sister’s room was a total mess. No… she turned my once-tidy room into a disaster zone. Hasn't it been almost a week since we moved? Oh, I haven't been to the psychiatrist yet, so maybe it’s soon. …Or is it? Did I already miss it? I’m going sometime this week, anyway.

There was a suitcase sprawled out, with clothes spilling out like vomit. Every surface that could hold something—the bedside, the computer desk, the empty bookshelf—was covered in various glass bottles. They were all long or translucent. Mists, toners, lotions, oils, what a mess…

Especially this brown ampoule with the dropper stuck in at an angle.

It was right next to the mouse, so I couldn't help but notice it.

I hung the headset around my neck and leaned back in the chair. Do Harim’s languid voice drifted from the earcups.

“Man, it’s been forever since I turned on the computer. Because of Lee Seol.”

“No. It’s not my sister’s room, it’s my room. You asshole.”

Do Harim chuckled. I hadn’t even been able to jerk off earlier, and coincidentally, I got a message from Do Harim. A message asking to play Overwatch. Since it came to this, I had no choice but to eat with Mom and turn on the computer. I was in a foul mood, but what could I do? I figured it’d be better to just jerk off at night. By then, Mom would be asleep, and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I could take care of it comfortably without anyone noticing… Hmm.

It feels so strange that my own room doesn't immediately come to mind as a place to masturbate. Honestly, it’s kind of pathetic. That’s what I think. Ah, I really did get it taken away. My room. By that wicked Lee Seol.

‘What are you thinking about? Damn it.’

I cleared my head and launched Overwatch.

Do Harim only played competitive. I only ever played quick play. It wasn't for any other reason than that my skills were absolute trash. But looking at Do Harim, who was only Gold, I couldn't help but think I’d be better than that.

“Who? A friend? You had friends?”

“Ugh. You must’ve met them on Twitter again.”

Then, someone actually joined the party. The list now had three people. My nickname, <Lee Doha>, Do Harim’s nickname, <CrazyBitch>, and the other person, <GwakDupal>. Seeing it like this, my nickname feels a bit embarrassing. They told me to write my name, so I did, and it just stuck as my nickname. Damn it.

While waiting for the queue, a chat popped up, so I asked Do Harim.

“Does your friend not use a mic?”

“Is it a girl?”

“Whoa…”

I replied to the greeting. Then GwakDupal chatted.

Do Harim immediately chatted back.

And GwakDupal.

Genji. He was my most-played since I played a bit in middle school. But he’s super hard. I picked him because he looked like a ninja—sneaky and agile—but he’s a character for veterans.

Once the game started, that became a very painfully realized problem.

During the game, I checked my K/D/A and saw 2/0/8.

It meant 2 kills and 8 deaths. Damn it…

Our team’s tank chatted. Since Do Harim ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and GwakDupal were healers, they didn't get any complaints.

“What’s that?”

What is Jil-woo-geun? Just hearing the name sounded kind of lewd. Jil… as in vagina. Why do I feel like I’m about to get an erection? I did rub my central-one-muscle against my aunt’s vagina… Damn it. I’m the kind of guy who thinks such lewd thoughts even when it clearly doesn't mean that. What am I… I’m just a nephew who fucked his aunt. Hmm. Good. For some reason, my mental state is recovering.

So, when should I fuck her again? Next week? Should I call her to a motel separately? Oh, fuck…

What a piece of trash I am.

Behind the tank’s angry chat, GwakDupal sent a group chat message.

Do Harim was busy spitting out short gasps like “Ah” or death rattles like “Ah, fuck” even in the middle of that. I crouched behind a wall and said,

“Hey, hey. Give me the boost.”

“No, I’ll just kill everyone. Should I get a 5-man kill? Ah, should I get a 6-man kill? No, you tell me. What do you want? Should I kill them all? Should I kill the narrator too?”

“Yeah, yeah. Give it.”

“Attack!” the line echoed.

I got one kill and died. Ah, fuck.

“Ah, you idiot, seriously. What are you doing?”

“No, that friend GwakDupal is a bit bad. Why aren't they following me?”

The round ended, and the screen flashed "DEFEAT." Do Harim’s character stood still inside the base.

I chatted.

Do Harim queued up again. I kicked the hairdryer cord that was getting in the way under my feet and looked at the chat window.

How much had she told them? I thought about asking, but gave up.

Do they think I’m a community friend too? I thought about clarifying, but gave up.

Do Harim had said that from the start, anyway.

The conversation between the two was popping up in the chat window. I could hear Do Harim chuckling softly through the headset. They’re having a lot of fun. Have fun, then. But isn't that Twitter thing only for people with mental illnesses? Should I do it too? I, too, ended up harboring a different thought at some point.

The object of that thought was, of course, my aunt, and, um.

…Should I jerk off?

Ah.

This is it.

Yeah, let’s do it now.

I shook my legs and said through the headset,

“Hey, I’m going to the bathroom.”

And as I stood up from the chair, I turned off the mic and typed frantically.

I rushed toward the bathroom, but without realizing it, I stepped on something.

‘Oh.’

It was my sister’s clothes.