I Taught My Roommate Sex Slang - The Exchange Student Part 2

I was starting to lose my mind.

Every night, Ren would fall asleep face down in that slow grind — like some sleepy little sex ghost, rubbing into the mattress like it owed him something. And every night, I’d pretend I wasn’t listening. Pretend I wasn’t hard. Pretend I didn’t care.

But I did. Too much.

So I started overcompensating — playing louder music, watching dumb TikToks, texting girls I had no intention of hooking up with. And Ren? He stayed his quiet, polite, half-naked self. Just existing in my space. Testing my sanity.

And then… the towel incident happened.

It was Wednesday. I’d just finished a half-assed gym session and was lying on my bed, scrolling through nonsense on my phone, half-hard and lazy in gym shorts.

Ren was in the shower. I could hear the water shut off, then soft, wet footsteps. Then the bathroom door creaked open, and—

Fuck.

He stepped out in nothing but a white towel, loosely knotted at the waist, wet hair dripping down his neck. His skin looked flushed from the heat, and little trails of water were crawling down his chest. He wasn’t ripped, but his body was tight — soft muscle, lean lines. The kind of body you’d see in an indie film where the two boys fall in love during a rainy summer and never speak about it again.

He looked at me. Head tilted. “Nate?”

I blinked. “Uh. Yeah?”

He walked in like it was nothing. Like he wasn’t dripping on the carpet. Like his towel didn’t look one shift away from falling.

“What does… jerk off mean?”

My heart stopped.

“What?”

He repeated it. “I heard in the hallway. One guy said, ‘I’m gonna go jerk off before class.’ I… don’t understand this.”

I sat up too fast. “It means… uh. Masturbate.”

He blinked. “Ah. What is that?”

Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

“You know… when you touch yourself. To feel good.”

He squinted. “Touch where?”

Jesus.

I gestured vaguely. “Your… dick. You, like… grab it. Stroke it. Until you finish.”

He looked so confused. “Finish what?”

I could feel myself getting hard. I shifted, pulled a pillow over my lap. “Like… you know, when guys cum.”

He tilted his head again. “I do not think I do this.”

That made me pause. “You… you don’t jerk off?”

He shook his head slowly. “Back home… people do not talk about this. It is private. Or shameful. So I don’t think about it. Maybe… sometimes I feel something in my body, and I rub. But not like this.”

My stomach flipped.

That’s why. That’s why he’s always grinding into the sheets. He’s not jerking off — he doesn’t know how. He’s just dry-humping like some horny, innocent animal because no one ever taught him how to finish.

Holy shit.

I swallowed hard. “So… when you feel that feeling… you just rub into your bed?”

He nodded. “It helps sleep.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh, moan, or offer to teach him right then and there.

Instead, I turned red and muttered, “Yeah, that makes sense.”

That night, we ended up watching TikToks together.

I was trying to distract myself — still semi-hard from the conversation, from the image of his wet skin and the way he’d said ‘rub.’ We sat on our beds, both cross-legged, passing my phone back and forth. I showed him a video of a guy doing a “rate my stroke game” challenge and he asked, “Is stroke like jerk off?”

“Kind of,” I said. “Depends on context.”

“What is context?”

I sighed. “It means… depends how you use it. Stroke can mean, like, ‘you got nice moves.’ Or it can mean you’re literally stroking your—fuck, never mind.”

He smiled like I was a puzzle he liked solving.

Then we moved on to curse words. He loved those. Thought “fuckboy” was hilarious. Asked if “cock” and “dick” were different things. I told him they were the same, but “cock” was hotter.

He nodded thoughtfully. “Cock,” he repeated. Slowly. Like he was tasting it. “Hot.”

I don’t know if he meant the word or the thing itself. I didn’t ask.

Later, I caught him staring.

I had just stood up to stretch — my gym shorts riding low, no underwear underneath, half a chub still lingering. I noticed his gaze before he looked away.

Quick. Guilty. But too slow to hide it.

When I raised an eyebrow, he just said, “I was just… learning.”

I pretended to laugh, but I could feel heat rising in my chest. His voice was soft. Almost honest.

I sat back down before he could see what he’d done to me.

Before he could see how hard I’d gotten just from explaining how to jerk off.

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Part 3 Preview

I told myself I wasn’t hard. I told myself this was just curiosity. But by night five, I was hard before he even started moving.