No. Barkley shows up.

From the dark opening of Big Bird’s doorway, Gina launched herself into a silent jog, her steps careful and measured across the pavement. Heart thumping, she allowed herself a tiny breath as she emerged. First her bare shoulders appeared, then the **** curve of her upper body, quickly followed by the gleam of her thighs and buttocks as they emerged from the shadows. Finally, her legs and bare feet came into view, carrying her across the concrete.

The cool evening air kissed her bare skin. Her arms crossed instinctively—left arm tight across her chest, right hand cupping between her legs. Her shoulders hunched forward, trying to make herself smaller, but there was no disguising the **** curve of her body as it moved out into the open.

The concrete was cold beneath her feet, sending a chill up her spine with every step. Her limbs remained taut and controlled, the quiet tension of her movements betraying just how exposed she felt.

A dull pressure still lingered in her lower belly—her bladder a constant, nagging discomfort that pulsed faintly with every step. The front stoop of her building was just ahead. If she could reach it, she’d be out of the open. Not home yet—not safe—but one step closer.

-

She was just a few paces from the steps when it happened.

A sharp bark cut through the stillness like a gunshot.

Gina froze mid-stride, foot suspended above the sidewalk. Her breath caught in her throat.

No… not now.

The barking grew louder—closer. Her eyes snapped to the far end of the street, and there it was: a blur of golden fur bounding into view, ears flapping, tail high, tongue lolling.

Barkley.

Gina’s stomach dropped. She didn’t think—just moved.

With a gasp, she spun and dove for the nearest hiding place: Oscar’s trash can.

Her bare feet slapped the pavement as she darted around the can’s edge and dropped to the ground behind it, pressing herself into the narrow gap between the stack of wooden crates (which held the cans) and the building wall. Her knees tucked up against her chest. Her back scraped against the rough wood of the crates. She tucked her head down and held still, barely daring to breathe.

The metal can loomed just inches above her head, its surface cool and slightly damp with early spring dew. A faint, unpleasant cocktail of smells lingered in the air—rust, coffee grounds, banana peels, and something sharply sour she couldn’t quite place. She tried not to breathe too deeply.

The pounding of Barkley’s paws hit the pavement nearby, quick and eager. He was just around the corner.

Gina clenched her jaw and curled into herself, making her body as small as possible, all too aware of the breeze on her bare skin. A low throb pulsed in her bladder again—not new, but steadily more noticeable. The crouched position wasn’t helping. She squeezed her legs tighter, pressing her thighs together with as little motion as possible.

Barkley’s snout appeared first, poking around the edge of the trash can. Gina froze. He sniffed the base of the can with big huffing breaths, tail wagging and body wriggling with excitement. His cold nose brushed the corner of her foot.

Her eyes widened. Don’t sniff me. Don’t sniff me. Please, Barkley, don’t sniff me…

Then—

Note: This chapter was originally composed with the help of ChatGPT, and then edited with the help of Gemini.