Bus stop.

There was a bus stop just a turn away. It wasn't far from one of the busier streets, which winded into the city. The bus there took you into the center of it too. Even passed through the mall.

It was worth a visit.

Ducking under a tree branch, I made it past the corner to the bench. Two cars hunkered past. I steadied my hair as I began to sit down when I peripherally noticed a long-haired girl in a fitting long sleeved shirt and a pair of equally adequate, baby blue jeans sitting on the opposite end.

"4..." trickled her voice. "7..."

Whatever she was mumbling, I didn't have the context to form a single clue about it. Instead, my eyes drifted below, to where she had her phone on her lap. Neither, unfortunately, was I sly enough to peep.

Lightbulb.

But of course. Things were different now, weren't they?

Deep breaths, shambled my pathetic attempt at coaching. I felt the power pulsing in me, and I knew (not really a textbook knew, but like a in-the-heart, abstract kind of knew) I could do whatever my imagination could fathom. But, Abigail's alleged deep breath relaxation techniques at bay or not, there was still one roadblock.

What should I do?

How should I do it?

I got a D on creativity in my last art project!

"Calm down," I muttered to myself, eyes on the woman. Still focused on counting... whatever it was she was counting. "Just...clear your head. Find that place you did when you were with Abigail. And... think; think of what you would want her to do."

I exhaled, fogging the air at my lips.

Then, concentrating, I bored invisible holes into the woman. Nothing appeared at first. Out of context, I probably looked like a really angry, silently fuming stalker. Until finally, and very slowly, she began pulling her hand away from the phone. I widened my eyes. My nails dug into my jeans like fangs.

The mid-air halts looked like an indecisive neural jury presiding over the trial of to phone or not to phone. It would rise to a wispy strand of hair, then hobble down an inch, then back up, then forward, all over the four spacial quadrants. Lifting up your hand shouldn't ever be that hard.

But it was. Using magical brain juices to move a living person's arm even moreso. Sorry, impossible. It should've been impossible.

Yet there I sat, doing it. Constipated-looking as crud, but doing it.

Maybe it was just being outside, privacy compromised, that dumped molasses all over my original prowess, but it did feel more challenging than it had with Abby. Plus the fact this was a complete stranger. It was just guesswork, but who knows, maybe it was a part of it.

To my brow-crinkling excitement, she flinched a little, causing her arm to move up limply. It was as if she was being pulled by some invisible string, attached to the sign head, and it was mildly erotic for some reason.

But I felt it, the power. Growing stronger, gushing out, smoothed over like a roll of dough while I strained a vein or three.

Then finally, after much woe, she drew her hand up to her shoulder, then, a little unsteadily, rose it over her head. But sure enough, the next second, she had it up with her palm wide open, arm fully extended to the sky.

Mother of pearl.

I... I did it! I thought.

A complete, random chick at a bus stop... I controlled her!

My eyes took on a juvenile shade, unfinished, and I whispered, "Now... say, 'I want cock,' and make the last part really loud."

Suddenly, the woman effortlessly took back control of her arm. I watched for a patient, innocuous second as the long-haired brunette brought both hands to her mouth to cup it.

One weighty breath was sucked in, pressing her tight stomach against her shirt, which I noticed with an appreciative glance. Then, she proceeded. "I want..."

Holy crap, she really is going to...

"...COOOOOOCCCK!"

Echoes reverberating against metal fences and a nearby electrical station carried her declaration through the air and down the block. A passenger in a whizzing car gave her a look I swear read, "dafuq?". All while she, meanwhile, casually let her hands return to her lap, then went back to tapping her cellphone with unfazed banality.

My cheeks puffed, throat **** up. Before I could stop myself I'd burst into a fit. Her face turned to me with a wrinkle of confusion over her brow as I wiped away a tear.

"What's so funny?" she insisted in a warm, much softer voice. I turned to look at her mid-sniffle and realized she was dead serious.

"Nothing," I dismissed. "Just, er, thought that was interesting, what you said earlier."

"Oh." Her eyes, which I saw now looked quite pretty under her arch of nice dark hair, looked at me innocently. "You mean, when I said I want some cock?"

"Yeah." I cast my head down, nearly losing it. With a fist to collect my giggles I cleared my throat, then met her gaze. "You do, though? Want some cock?"

A look of consternation fell on the young woman's fairly cute features. "Oh... no, no, I..." She shook her head, body language turning into a slight shiver. "I'm not like that! I just felt like saying it, that's all. For... um... erm..."

"You just had a sudden urge to yell you wanted cock."

"Yeah! You know, kind of like when you just want to laugh, or sigh, or something. I just thought it would be a good release, of, um, energy."

As the fellow bus stop camper looked at me, I had no reason to believe this person was lying. No, equipped with the self-assured, unassuming light in her eyes from before, she looked liked she believed every word she said, and simply wished to go on with her day, completely convinced of the fact that she had yelled said declaration because it was in her 'character' to do so.

I felt tickled by this lady's rationalization of her ridiculous statement, first. Then I felt myself stirring at the power at my disposal, boner primed and in position. Baby steps or not -- this was still amazing.

A bus reared its head past the intersection and approached the stop. Leaning sideways, I squinted to check if it was my route.