Home sweet home

You wait an appropriate amount of time for the police car to drive away before you put your own car into gear and merge into the intermittent traffic. You're only a few blocks from home. Always so close to home when someone bothers you. It's like this whole neighborhood is hypervigilant for some reason.

You've tried the whole hats-and-sunglasses thing but it only seems to draw more attention. There's nothing you can do to fully evade the fact that you look shockingly like a famous actress. It's kind of ruining your life, honestly. You grumble the whole rest of the way to your suburban home. It was your parents, once, but they died in a car accident when you were nineteen and you managed to get it from the estate on a technicality, despite their lack of documented Last Will and Testament.

It was a whole thing. It took you over a year to work out the legal mess and you had to borrow money to cover the lawyers' fees. When it became clear that you were short on cash, one of the lawyers you'd hired had made you put on a blonde wig and pretend to be Khaleesi from Game of Thrones for his masturbatory amusement. It had been deeply humiliating, but that was the first time you realized you had some deep, unrecognized fetishes. Because you got off on it. You were so hot and bothered over what he'd made you do that for days afterwards you masturbated, yourself, just thinking about it.

But you're a very proud woman. A feminist with a reputation to uphold. You can't just throw all that away in pursuit of some fleeting jollies. At least that's what you thought. A year after that experience, after you'd moved into this neighborhood, you had your first run-in with someone mistaking you for a Character. You'll never forget that day or the way those three men you. After a while you stopped trying to convince them you weren't Daenerys. You just let them have you. It was easier.

You pull your car into the garage and let the door close completely behind you before you step out of your car with a sigh. What a crazy time to be alive. You don't even bother cleaning out your car; you're so hot between the legs that you need some release. Fortunately for you, although you'd die if anyone ever learned your secret shame, you own a few Characters of your own.

One of them specifically comes to mind as you toss your keys into the basket by your door and strip off your light jacket.