Ice-cold fake pussy juice is dripping from the puddle on my desk onto my lap. My pecker, soft as a jellyfish at this point, is burrowing backward into my flesh as my teeth start to chatter. Gee. If Mom could see me now, wouldn’t she be proud?

I’m in serious need of a game plan. I rock my chair back and forth until I’m close enough to reach Fleshlight. Both of my hands are slick with lube but I manage to pull it onto my lap, where I squeegee some lubricant from the puddle between my legs back into the coin-slot eye. I wipe my left hand on my shirt and put the bottom back on before too much more can drip out.

I breathe deeply in that calming yoga way and casually flip through the pages of Juggs, trying to pretend that it’s a warm, sunny Saturday and not forty degrees in my room. Now concentrate on the girl washing her truck in Montana. Nice. Cute butt—and butt-hole, I see. A very nice pink eye. Mmm, boobs. My trusty lust is taking over. I pick up the thing. I tip it over my dick. I slide it over the head. It’s tacky. Kinda like a chick who isn’t quite wet. My dick kind of bends cuz I’m only like 80 percent hard. To remedy the situation, I let go a warm string of steamy saliva onto my shaft. Shoulda done that instead of leaking that freezing lubricant all over the place. I turn back to the virgin cutie on page nine. There’s a red line on her shoulder that her bra strap has left. “Babe,” I tell her, “you’re cute!” A couple of insurance pumps with my trusty right hand and, yes! Solid as a friggin’ rock!