He wasn't mad

The man looked up at her. "It's not a problem. Don't worry about it."

"Gosh, you're awfully kind. I really do feel terrible."

"It's nothing," he said again, totally calm.

"Wow. I knew the folks who rode the Number 19 were nice, but you're not making any kind of fuss over this."

"It's nothing. You fell."

"Yeah, I just fell."

"You fell, and then as you stood up again, you put your hand on my cock."

"Right, I -- what?"

"You put your hand on my cock. You groped me for a while, you rubbed my cock through my pants. You probably felt it get a bit hard -- I mean, for me, it was kinda cool. It's not every day a hot woman like you practically gives me a hand job on the bus. But hey, nice way to start a Thursday, am I right?"

Amy was speechless. The bus pulled up to its next stop.

"Maybe I'll see you on the bus again sometime. Please feel free to grope my cock any time you want."

Amy's mouth hung open. She watched the man in the blue suit walk toward the front of the bus and disembark. She looked around. No one seemed to flinch at any of this. She kept waiting for someone to crack, someone to say this was some kind of prank. No one even looked at her. The man had just been talking in a full voice about how she, a complete stranger, was rubbing his penis through his pants, and there was zero reaction.

She stood in silence for the rest of the bus ride. When she arrived at Wexler Tower at 8:22, she slowly made her way to the door, got off the bus, and stood on the sidewalk for a moment, trying to make sense of this unusual turn of events.