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Giving myself pleasure was the last thing on my mind today.

Ever since I got back from a short trip abroad in April -- which now feels like it happened years ago, even if the calendar disagrees -- all I've been thinking about is this strange emptiness. A quiet kind of weight that follows me through the day, pressing on my chest without ever fully announcing itself. Time passes. I go through the motions. I do the things that are expected, or at least the ones that make me look present. But underneath it all, there's just... space. Blank space.

There's no urgency, no fire. Nothing demanding my attention, which only makes the silence louder. I find myself drifting toward the console, not with excitement, but with something closer to instinct. Habit, maybe. Familiarity.

Diablo IV was waiting for me. And the timing was almost poetic -- my return to everyday life happened to line up exactly with the beginning of a new season in-game. A clean slate. A reset. And I jumped in with everything I had. The previous season, I hadn't done much. I was new, quiet, barely visible in the clan. No one said anything, of course -- people are nice. But still. I wanted to catch up. Not to prove anything to them, really, but to prove something to myself. That I could hold my ground. That I could run with the best of them.

Up until now, I'd mostly been boosted. Watched other players do the work -- kill bosses, clear dungeons, carry weight I couldn't. I'd just stood there. A background character. But today felt different. Today I had the chance to switch sides. To be the fast, agile rogue doing the carrying.

The day started like any other. I got up, walked the dog, turned on my computer. There was nothing pressing. No calls. No noise. I booted up the console, made sure I stayed visible online, just in case. Then I logged into my sharp, beautiful rogue and stared at the screen, wondering what to do next.

No plans. No messages. Discord was silent -- probably everyone was working or pretending to be. I went for bosses. Joined a few quick groups. Said hi. Fought. Left. Melted gear. Traveled. Repeated. The rhythm was clean and impersonal. Just action, loot, action, loot. People didn't talk much -- a simple "Hello" here and there, pressed from a button. Typing on console is its own kind of pain, so nobody really tries.

But then -- someone different.

Someone who hadn't joined Discord yet. Someone still using the in-game chat like that's where real conversation happens.

"Can someone help boost me to level 60?" she asked.

I wanted to answer first. I had nothing going on. Two others replied before I could -- said they could help but were logging off soon. I don't know why, but I still felt like I should be the one to help. Maybe because she was new. Maybe because she seemed unsure. Maybe because it felt like something I could give -- like a way to be useful in a space that didn't ask much from anyone.

I invited her to the Discord, but she said it wasn't working well on console. I dropped to her difficulty level, sent her an invite, and told her I usually reply on my laptop -- it's just easier that way.

"I know that pain," she said.

And even though it was such a simple response, it felt surprisingly real. A small thread of honesty in an otherwise empty day.

I invited her to the group, and we went down to the pits, the place where everyone goes when they want fast leveling without too much risk. It's a good spot for quick boosting. I started Tier 50. Nothing higher. I'm not that close to the veterans yet. Not even pretending. Besides, dying would be embarrassing. At this level, I felt safe. Confident, even. It was still pretty high for the start of the season.

We entered.

She stood still. Just like I used to do when my clan friends were boosting me. That moment -- the first time you stop moving, when you let someone else carry the weight -- it's strange. And suddenly I felt this pressure. Like I had to be fast and clean. I wanted to kill monsters the way the boys used to do it -- with skill, with flair. No hesitating.

At first, it was a little stiff. I needed to warm up. But after a few minutes, I found my flow. I was jumping across the screen, zipping from one mob to the next, her XP bar rising like a rocket. Every now and then I checked her level. 12. Then 18. Then 27. I was trying to judge myself -- Am I doing well enough? Is this fast enough? I didn't want to disappoint.

After two runs, I got comfortable. I stopped thinking so much. I played smoothly. Took breaks to go back to town, stash items in the chest. She hit level 34. The pace slowed down, which is normal. Higher levels always take longer. But then something shifted. Something small, but strong.

I stopped wanting to go faster.

The feeling of focus turned into something more like relaxation. But not just that. There was also something soft, low, buzzing under the surface. A kind of calm excitement. I wanted it to last longer. We weren't talking at all. Not a single message. But my mind was full of her. I imagined her watching me play, or eating dinner, or doing nothing at all, just standing there while I moved around her like a bodyguard or a knight. I wasn't thinking about monsters anymore. I was thinking about her.

I felt... responsible. Protective. Almost masculine. Like a man in armor helping his woman through a dark world. I liked that feeling. It felt big. Strange. And I didn't know yet how intense it was going to get.

"I'm going to the bathroom," I wrote in chat.

"Ok, I'll wait," she replied. She walked over and stood next to me in town.

And when I stood up from my desk, I felt it. That strange pain deep inside. I know this feeling. It shows up sometimes when I'm turned on but don't touch myself. A heavy pressure, right in the middle. Like a voice coming from inside my uterus saying, do something, or it's going to hurt. It's not really my feeling. I don't control it. It just happens. A kind of hunger, physical and sudden, like it doesn't care what my brain wants.

I thought: maybe this could be something new. Something I've never experienced before. Diablo IV never made me feel like this. I've always been bored or focused. Never excited. Not in this way.

I came back from the bathroom and reached for a small vibrator -- the kind that fits in your underwear. A soft one. For clit massage. I slid it into place and put the remote on the table next to me. I wanted to be able to change the modes while playing. I needed control. But also... not too much control.

"Okay, we can go."

She didn't reply right away. Which was fine -- actually, it gave me a moment to just feel what was happening in my body. The warm, slow waves moving under my skin, like small ripples that come after you throw a stone into water. It wasn't strong. It wasn't sudden. It was something gentle, spreading out. I liked it. And I was waiting. Not impatiently, but with this quiet kind of hunger.

I kept watching her character on the screen, still not moving. I hoped she would start walking soon, so we could go back to the chamber together. I wanted us to be in that space again -- with its quiet light and stone walls and the strange comfort that comes from doing something together without really talking.

And all the while, in the background of my brain, this small but sharp thought was growing: She doesn't know what's happening here, on my side. She doesn't know how I'm sitting, what I'm feeling, what I'm thinking. That made everything hotter. Not because of anything she did, but because of everything she didn't know. The not-knowing was almost more powerful than any touch.

The vibrations in my pants were soft, stopping and starting. Nothing too strong. I didn't notice any big change in my playstyle. Maybe nothing was happening at all. Maybe it was all in my head. But I kept leveling her character, moving through the game, pressing buttons without really thinking. And I imagined her watching me. Or thinking about me. Maybe even imagining me the way I was imagining her. Most likely not. But this was my story, my version of events, and I let it continue.

I started playing with the vibration settings. Switched through different modes -- one faster, one slower. I kept running around the game chamber. But something inside me had already changed. I was no longer really in the game. I was somewhere else. My body wanted something, but not in a loud or urgent way. It wanted something slow. A soft hand. A small push. A little teasing. My uterus -- yes, let's just call it that -- was quietly making demands. Not in words, but in feelings. And I was listening.

Five minutes passed. Maybe more. And I was starting to drift. My focus was slipping. I began making quiet sounds. Small ones. Sounds I didn't plan. They just came out. Like breath catching. Like humming without music. And I thought -- what if I had an erection right now? Just suddenly, by accident. What if I had something I didn't expect and didn't really know how to handle?

And that led to another thought: Did my high school friends feel this way when we played games together? When I stood close to them and watched them click and move and fight? Was it this hard to concentrate?

I started making more mistakes. Missing easy parts of the game. I didn't care. I didn't even want the leveling to go fast anymore. I imagined myself stepping away from the console. Just leaving it there, letting the controller fall from my hand. Letting go. Letting it all stop.

And even now, I still don't know what excited me the most.

Was it the fact that I was running around as this beautiful male rogue -- his armor glowing with these gentle flames, his movements smooth and fast?

Or was it the idea that she might see what I was doing as simping -- me doing all the work, her just watching, and maybe even laughing a little?

Or maybe it was the fact that I was simping. Fully, deeply. Like, my whole body was leaning into it. And not just in a silly internet way, but in a real, physical, felt way. A way that made me feel open and soft and very, very human.

Maybe that was the most exciting part of all.

I could feel it all starting to spin. The screen, the flashing lights, my jumping character, the monsters flying across the battlefield. Everything was moving too fast, too bright, too much. The sharp clinking sounds of daggers hitting stone skin were ringing in my ears -- and yet, at the same time, everything sounded far away, like underwater. My clit was pulsing hard now. My thighs were shaking, squeezing tight without me even telling them to. My hips started moving, forward and back on the chair, slowly, then faster. My breath had gone shallow, broken up with short moans I couldn't fully hold back.

At this point, I didn't care about the monsters or the loot or the level. I just wanted to hold this moment. Stretch it. Pull it longer. Not finish. Not yet. I wanted to stay inside it. Float in it.

And in my head, the voices started to play.

"This has never happened to me in a game before. I'm, like, really turned on."

"Do you still need help?"

"Want to play with me a bit longer?"

"Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"I can keep boosting you past level 60 if you want."

"Wow... that run was weirdly hot, you know?"

All those lines, all at once. Not said by anyone, just imagined -- from her, to me, or maybe from me, to her. Fantasies. Possible futures. Parallel dialogues that would never happen but felt close enough to taste.

I imagined her completely. Fully. Her breasts pressing against a tight shirt, soft skin struggling against the fabric. Her long blonde hair smelling like flowers. Not in a perfume way -- more like a fresh, clean, real scent that lingers. Her nails -- long, turquoise, perfectly shaped, hard. Her face slightly blurred in my mind, not because I didn't know it, but because I wanted it to be everywhere at once. She wasn't even focused on the game, I imagined. She was bored, maybe. Leaning her head against her hand. Doing something else entirely, not thinking about me at all.

And that made it worse. Or better.

Her pale body. Soft but strong. Sitting neatly, maybe even elegantly, in a comfortable chair, the kind that supports you just right. She was calm. She wasn't doing anything. And I was burning.

The fantasy took shape -- I was the aroused hero, the helpful knight who couldn't stop himself. And she -- she was young, innocent, unaware. Just lying there, existing. Not doing anything to seduce me. Just being. And somehow, that was enough to drive me into this fire. This slow, sweet madness. I wanted to put it out, but at the same time, I didn't. I wanted to stay inside the heat. Let it melt me. Let it ruin me. Let it go on.

"Thanks," she typed, just after we finished the dungeon run.

"I'm off to build now."

"Cool, good luck," I answered.

And then -- nothing. My character stopped. I stopped. She was gone, or at least off doing her own thing now, and I sat there in silence, frozen on the screen. I couldn't delay it any longer.

I stood up. My body felt strange -- full, tense, like a string pulled too tight across a wooden frame. I walked to the bathroom, mind buzzing, hands already searching the drawer for something I knew was there -- something soft, pink, double-ended. I was thinking more in shapes and heat than in words. I wanted release, yes, but also something deeper -- a way to stay inside the experience without rushing it, without falling out too soon.

I stayed half-dressed, leaving my underwear on, not for modesty but for that little sense of pressure, of control, of something holding me in. Everything already felt soaked -- not wet, exactly, but heavy. Alive. Like the feeling had been waiting for too long. And when the round, humming shape slid inside me, it wasn't a surprise. It was like it belonged there, like it had always been there.

I closed my eyes. Leaned forward slightly. Moved my fingers gently. Not chasing anything. Just staying close to the center of the storm. One hand held the middle of the device, the other traced soft, nervous lines. My breath grew shallow, catching. My thoughts became blurry. My body twitched -- not in pain or fear, but in that helpless, electric way it does when it's not yours for a moment. When it becomes something else. A signal tower. A nerve.

I started imagining her again. Not what she said, but what she might have been doing. Maybe standing in town, her character still. Maybe she was stretching. Maybe bored. I saw her face, not sharply, but in fragments. Her shirt pulling across her chest. Her hair long, maybe blonde, maybe not. Her nails -- turquoise in my mind, sharp and perfect. Her skin pale. Her presence soft, quiet, almost innocent.

And then me -- in the fantasy -- not soft at all. Full of heat and tension, something hard pushing against the world. A version of myself I didn't fully understand, didn't fully control. Something more masculine, more desperate. I was the helper, the savior, the one who gave and gave and now wanted something back. I imagined her not knowing, not noticing, not trying -- and that somehow made everything worse. Or better. Or both.

When the release came, it was deep. Slow. A door that opened inward, then refused to shut. I bent forward, held my breath, and let it move through me. Not like an explosion -- more like a wave rolling over stones. Quiet, but full of weight. After it passed, I stayed still. I was shaking slightly. The pink thing still inside me. The image of her still in my mind.

And then -- a second need. Not urgent, not loud. But steady. My body still asking. My breath deepened. My hand moved again. Heat bloomed across my chest, my face, my stomach. I saw flashes -- not real ones, but ones in my head. Her face. My face. Her sitting and jumping on my lap. My body open. Hers moving. A strange, chaotic vision that didn't belong to real memory.

And then it hit. A final, bright collapse.

A sound leaving my mouth that didn't sound like mine. The bathroom echoed with it and swallowed it back. I sat down, dizzy. Floating.

And for a second -- just one -- I imagined her kneeling in front of me, laughing softly, eyes full of some secret she would never tell.

And then she vanished.