Ask her to give you a show.

"I can't get jack off to this!" you whine, waving your hands over the still-discomforting white pads stuck fast to your body.

Devi cocks her head to the side. "I find that hard to believe, coming from a man." You're pretty sure that's sexist, and frankly a bit insulting. "Just get to... y'know," she shakes her hand sarcastically at your crotch, "stroking." She stares as you comply, giving your little soldier a few sad, fake pumps with your fist. The last thing you want to do is prove her right, after all... especially now. Now it was more about pride than deception. After a few minutes, you do notice a slight chance in her behavior: her eyes have yet to leave your crotch, half-chub as you are, and her breaths are getting more drawn out. Was your presence affecting her again? With a sigh, she asks, "Does it normally take this long?"

"Of course not," you hastily retort. You think about it for a second more, and regret your answer. "Look, this is your sample, and it would go a lot faster if you... y'know..." She finally looks you in the eye, waiting. She bobs her head left and right, trying to fish out the end of your sentence. "... helped me out a bit."

A moment. A blink. A second blink, and her eyes go wide. "That is... not acceptable," she says, swallowing hard while glancing away. "You know I'm gay."

"Hey, I didn't say you had to get hands on," you offer, "just... help me work it out." You motion to her outfit: her token turtleneck, a labcoat, work pants and all the sexiness of a physics professor. "Get comfortable, take off a few layers-"

"Excuse me?!"

"Just a bit of visual stimulation, all I'm asking," you don't bother stroking your limp cock now, for fear that just talking about her stripping will prove it unnecessary.

"I can play pornography on the laptop if you must have-"

"I can't get into pornography here," you lie. "Not like this. Devi, I'm not an animal!"

She shakes her head, muttering "no" repeatedly... and sighing with such long breaths. She pulls on the nape of her turtleneck as if to let in some cool air. Cool air you smartly denied before she got here, albeit for different reasons. She looks at her laptop while trying to come up with an alternative plan, and you take a moment to try and imagine her body underneath the layers... and then stop, because you can already feel blood rushing downward.

She takes her lab coat off almost angrily. "Fine," she spits out, "but you aren't allowed to touch me in any fashion."

"Of course, unless you want me to-"

"That. Will not happen." Her terse tone is difficult to take seriously as she takes off her shoes. You lean back, and stare at her... and then try to unfocus your eyes. The entire scenario was too erotic, and you knew she would barely get her shirt off before you were ready to go. You try to ignore the blur of her body and think about taxes, about your last grades at college, and about the wrinkled, hideous face of Mr. Grieger in the lobby at your job. There were no things in the universe, that you could think of, that were less sexually exciting.