You make her forget about the whole thing.

You decide that you're playing with fire here. Sure, the unexpected show was fucking incredible, but who knows how controlling her this way could affect her down the line? You think about how you would feel if some perfect stranger caused you to, say, drop your jeans and expose your underwear to them. You'd... that is to say... you... okay, fine, you'd probably get some sort of illicit thrill out of it, but you'd also be totally mortified! Besides, that's you; not everybody is the lonely, horny pervert that you are.

Yeah, but she certainly doesn't seem embarrassed by it, your id thinks. Looks to me like she's enjoying it.

You concede that you can't argue with that. She's still staring at you with that mischievous little smile on her face, still staring at your {if female==true}chest{else}crotch{endif}, still pulling her skirt hem up. There isn't a hint of guilt or shame on her face.

But that's almost more disturbing! you think. What have I done to her mind that she has no problem blatantly showing her underwear off to me? People don't just do that out of the blue. The Manipulator must have done something to make her believe this is perfectly normal! I've given her some sort of brain damage!

Jesus Christ, your id says, shut up. So a beautiful girl wants to flash you. She'll be fine. It's not the end of the world. Enjoy it.

No, your superego counters. You can't use people this way. You're cheating. If you want to get to second base, you should do it the right way.

God, you're such a pussy, your id sighs.

You like this woman. You don't want to fuck up her brain. So you look her in the eyes, and think, I wish she would just forget the whole incident. Immediately, the mischievous smile fades from her face, and her hand pulls the hem of her skirt back down. She stops looking at you, and returns her attention to her code.

It makes you a bit sad, of course, and while you're proud of yourself for doing what you believe to be the right thing, you can't help but also tease yourself for being such a goody-two-shoes. Here you are, with this ridiculously powerful mind-altering device on your arm, and you refuse to actually use the damned thing. Where's your initiative?

As you're dealing with this complex internal morality play, you're startled by an unexpected sensation: a soft, but definitely noticeable, buzzing sensation on your upper left arm, right where you've concealed the Manipulator. You're glad the buzzing isn't any stronger, or somebody might hear it. You quickly stand up, walk over to Mr. Useless Teaching Assistant, and excuse yourself to go to the restroom.

Once you're safely locked behind a toilet stall, you roll up your sweatshirt sleeve and take a look at the Manipulator. A new symbol has appeared on it; below the glowing green circle on its largest segment, there appears a small checkmark. It glows too, but in a cool white instead of a color. As you look at the checkmark, it fades out, and the buzzing sensation does as well.

What the hell was that? you think. Some sort of "okay" indicator? No sooner do you think that than you get your answer.

You can't really describe the feeling of having thoughts just appear in your brain, thoughts that are definitely not your own and yet somehow are. You wonder if this is how a psychotic break feels, this weird dissociation from your own ego. The thoughts are words, but it's not like you "hear" them or anything -- they're just there.

The thoughts in your head read:

Changelog
Version 1.4.1 - decreased activation threshold of telepsychic interface due to excessive inadvertent triggering of functionality. Interface now requires specifically subvocalized commands to activate.
Enabled alternate power consumption algorithm.

It's extremely odd, knowing something while also knowing that you didn't know that thing only seconds before. But here you are anyway.

It makes perfect sense, you think. This device can alter the minds of those around me; of course it's also capable of altering my mind. You realize that what happened was a software update -- that you no longer have to worry about accidentally scrambling the brains of whoever you look at. It's such a relief that you let out a long, ragged sigh, and a strange ****-sob-laugh. You hadn't even realized just how tense and nervous you'd been.

Since you're already in the toilet, you use the opportunity to do your business, then wash up and return to the classroom. Sitting down, you return to your work... but, as usual, you can't help but keep glancing over at your stunning classmate, watching her long fingers dance over the keyboard. I wonder how nimble those fingers are with... other things, you think. Then, once again, you feel her eyes on you, and you look up and right into them. You're picturing her hands running up and down your body, caressing you, touching you between your thighs... and nothing is happening. She's still looking back at you. She smiles again, and it's that little, friendly smile, rather than the naughty, mischievous smile from a few minutes ago.

Eventually, the bell rings. You save your work, log off, and get up to leave along with the rest of the class. You intercept her as you're heading for the door, surprising the hell out of yourself. That's okay, though, as she looks a bit surprised too.

"Hey," you say. "I hope I'm not intruding, but since we've been sitting near each other in class for a while now, I figured I should introduce myself. My name is Sam."

She appears to ponder you for a few seconds, unsure of how to react to this unexpected display of camaraderie. Then she breaks into a radiant grin, and it feels like a ray of sunshine hitting you squarely in the chest.

"Nice to meet you, Sam," she replies. "I'm Smita. Smita Prasad."

"Smita," you repeat. "That's a nice name. I don't think I've never met a 'Smita' before."

"It's Sanskrit," she explains. "It means 'smiling girl'."

"No kidding!" you say, smiling widely, and you can't help but let out a little giggle. "Sounds like it's really appropriate, then."

She actually blushes a little at this, and looks away slightly. "Awww, thank you!" she replies. Who are you, and what the hell did you do with Sam? a part of you asks in astonishment, but you shush it away.

"Anyways, I'm Sam Anderson." You extend your hand, and Smita shakes it. "Hey, what's your next class?" you ask her.

"Intermediate Java," she replies. "I'm not a fan of the language, seems a bit too verbose for me."

"I know what you mean," you agree. "I'm on my way to Data Structures. It's in the same direction; you mind if I walk with you?"

"Sure!" she agrees.

The two of you walk to your next class, chatting about what seems like every topic under the sun. Apparently, days and days of small smiles and furtive glances have caused quite a flood of interest to build up, and now that the dam has cracked, it's all rushing out at once. You learn that her father was transferred here a couple of years back, requiring her family to move here from California, and the transition wasn't easy for her. The stress of the long-distance move, combined with depression from having to leave all of her friends, impacted her studies, and hence her grades.

She decided that, rather than busting her ass trying to get into a four-year college right away, she'd attend the community college here for two years, get an associates' degree, and then transfer the credits to a university so she could go on to get her bachelors' and masters' degrees. Her parents weren't exactly thrilled by this decision, thinking she was being lazy, but she knows in her heart that she made the right choice.

You talk with her about your own situation: how depression, anxiety, and a frustrating lack of focus and organization combined to result in your failure to get into any of the schools you applied to. You must have let more than a little hint of self-blame creep into your voice, because you can see the sympathy on her face as you talk about it. You have to stop yourself from blurting out your entire life story to her; you don't often get the chance to open up to people like this, and the catharsis from doing so is incredible.

Finally, the two of you reach the point where your paths have to split.

"Thanks for the company, Sam," Smita says, flashing that dazzling smile of hers again. "We'll have to do this more often."

"Yeah," you agree, grinning yourself. "I really wish we'd done it earlier."

"Well, no time like the present!" she replies. "See you around!"

With that, she turns and walks off, and you watch her go, her hips gently swaying with her gait. You stand there for a few seconds, reviewing the walk in your mind, still a bit in awe of what just happened.

Well, your id grumbles, okay, fine, I guess that's one way to do it.

You've never been prouder of yourself than you are right now.