A brunch in the park

The morning the law was set to take effect arrived like any other — sunshine pushing through gauzy curtains, birds outside the window, the smell of toast from the kitchen. But something about the air felt different. Charged. Quiet in the wrong way.

Paru sat at the table in her dressing gown, a cup of chai cradled between her hands. Erin was scrolling through her phone on the other side, lips pressed into a tight line.

“It’s trending,” Erin said. “#Firstfacial. Some guys are calling it ‘a white christmas.”

Paru’s stomach twisted. “That’s disgusting.”

Erin looked up, her expression softening. “You don’t have to go out today, you know. We can stay in. Watch films. Paint our nails again.”

Paru shook her head slowly. “No… I don’t want to hide. That’s exactly what they’re counting on.”

Later, the girls gathered at the flat — Erin, Ayesha, Sonal, and Lucy. They were dressed casually, but carefully. Hair brushed. Sunscreen on. Makeup, even. All of them pretending not to notice how they were preparing for something.

They talked around it. Laughed when they could.

“It’s like we’re going to brunch in a dystopia,” Sonal muttered, adjusting her earrings.

Ayesha groaned. “At least brunch still has pancakes.”

Paru **** a smile, but her mind was turning.

No protests had erupted. No statements from leaders, no university emails, no feminist groups rallying in outrage. Just a sense that this was going to happen — and women would flinch, wipe their faces, maybe laugh it off, maybe not. But no one would stop it.

We're meant to act like it's nothing, she thought.

Like we’re being dramatic if we don’t.

In the end, she said the words out loud: “I’ll ignore it. If it happens, I’ll just… keep walking.”

The girls nodded. It was all they could do.

That afternoon, the sun was out again. Too bright. Too normal.

They went to Kelvingrove Park — one of their usual picnic spots — and tried to settle into something like their old rhythm. Paru wore a pale blue sundress, soft and summery, with the sandals Erin had picked out weeks ago. Her toes were painted again — coral pink this time.

She noticed boys in the distance, walking in groups, laughing a bit louder than usual.

She tried not to look.

“Excuse me,” a voice said.

Paru turned, heart hitching.

A guy was standing nearby — maybe mid-twenties, tallish, with sunglasses and a smug smile. Not threatening, but… expectant. His eyes flicked between Paru and Erin, but landed firmly on Paru.

“Hi,” she said, cautiously polite.

He grinned wider. “You two look amazing. That pedicure’s doing work.”

Paru blinked. She smiled, awkwardly. “Thanks…”

Then he added, “I’m really looking forward to cumming over your face. You’ll look even more beautiful with it dripping down.”

Her face froze.

The words hung in the air — sticky and surreal.

She didn’t know whether to laugh, get angry, or walk away. Her heart beat louder than it should. Erin’s hand brushed against hers under the blanket, steadying her.

Paru gave a small, uncertain smile, like it was a bad joke. Like she hadn’t really heard him. “Right.”

The guy chuckled, as if pleased with himself, and walked off.

They sat in silence for a few moments.

A breeze rustled the leaves. Kids shouted in the distance. A dog barked. Everything felt normal, and wrong.

“I didn’t know if that was a compliment,” Paru said finally, her voice hollow.

“It wasn’t,” Erin said softly.

And still, they stayed in the sun, eating crisps and talking about nothing. Because what else were they meant to do?

The world had turned strange around them — but somehow, they were expected to keep smiling.

The laughter had just started to bubble again. They were trying — genuinely trying — to reclaim some sense of normal. Paru had just finished telling a story from her lab about a broken centrifuge, and Erin was midway through a dramatic re-enactment, holding a bottle of juice like a prop when—

Splash.

A warm, wet splat landed right in the middle of Paru’s forehead. A moan and a guy finishing jerking off onto her face.

The conversation stopped mid-sentence. Her body froze, not fully processing the feeling yet. But the weight of it—the thick, viscous slide of sperm beginning to ooze downward—made it real very quickly.

She blinked.

The slime dripped slowly down from her hairline, curling over her eyebrow, sticking in her lashes. Some of it clung to her nose. More slid down to her chin in heavy, wobbling strands. Gloopy. Warm. Degrading.

Multiple shots of cum from the random stranger, it’s not just an act of surprise — but a humiliation with texture, designed to linger.

Paru didn’t move.

Erin gasped, her hand halfway to reaching for her. Ayesha just stared, her mouth slightly open. Lucy muttered something under her breath and shot to her feet, looking around for whoever had done it.

Paru clenched her hands into fists in her lap.

All she could think was:

I’ve never even had a boyfriend.

Not even a first kiss. Not a single quiet, nervous hand-holding moment. No one ever looking at her in that way that made her feel seen.

And now she was sitting in the middle of a public park, a thick load of cum dripping off her face as a stranger finishes shaking his dick in her face, the last drops hitting her face, like some obscene porno. In front of her closest friends. In the dress she loved.

There was a sound—a mechanical click. Paru turned, dazed, and caught sight of a guy, mid-twenties, with a phone raised and angled directly at her. He was grinning as he took the photo. Not even laughing—just documenting it, like she was scenery.

She didn’t say anything. Couldn’t.

The cum clung to her skin. Hanging, sticky and milky, stretching in long threads that refused to fall.

Her breathing was shallow. Her cheeks were burning.

She tried to stay still. Tried to be “one of the strong ones.” The kind who ignored it. Who didn’t flinch. Who didn’t give them the satisfaction.

But she could feel the shame soaking deeper than the mess on her face. She wasn't just surprised.

She was humiliated.

And still, no one else in the park said anything. No strangers stepped in. The man with the phone walked away without so much as a word.

The law was real now.

And Paru, brilliant, beautiful, unseen Paru — had just become part of it.