It's not like no one saw you standing in front of the mirror with your skimpy white towel and man boobs that made some of us a *lot* less self conscious.
But there you were, standing, wait... scratching. Scratching? Holy sh*t. Scratching where I think you were scratching? Hold up. No. Not scratching. More like cranking. Yes. I saw this.
So did thank-God-he's-fully-clothed guy next to me. Cranking. Subtley beneath the towel. You made eye contact with us, too.
Ew. Gross.
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