You should probably be getting out of here, tho....

"Hey, you!" A voice calls out, pushing through the crowd and approaching you. Eh? You're a bit too dozy and bleary-eyed from the orgasm to think very well at the moment, so you just kind of turn your head lazily. It looks like a news reporter is coming up to you. At least, they've got that hat with the 'press' slip of paper in it.

They come up to you, notepad in one hand and pen in the other, face looking like they just won the jackpot.

"You just helped to put out that fire, right? You're a hero! What's your name?"

"Uhmm...." You start, screwing up your face. What was it again? Oh, yeah! "Debbie." You say proudly. It didn't even take you that long. The reporter scribbles it down hastily.

"Have you got time for an interview?"

"Hmmmm...." You look down at your soaked see-through shirt, and your knock-kneed wobbly legs. A droplet of water drips down from the tip of your nose and lands on the wet pavement. "I'm not sure...." You say, slowly.

"I'll give you $30?"

Your head snaps up to attention, eyes lit up. "Wow, no kidding? It's a deal!"

The news reporter brings you over to a nearby bench, where the two of you sit and have a quick ten minute interview. You answer all of their questions, but the whole time you can't help but feel weird sitting on a roadside bench with a slowly drying transparent shirt on, clinging against your chest and body.... n-nah, it's probably okay! The reporter doesn't seem to focus on it, anyway.

By the end of it, you're given your $30 and told that you did a really good job, which makes you feel happy. With how long the interview went on for, you don't even remember anything dirty or impure happening earlier, not one bit! Which probably means that it didn't happen. Nicely done.

You stuff the money into your pocket and spring up from the bench, happily rushing home to store it away with the rest of your cash, and to get changed into a fresh set of clothes. Overall, it's a pretty good day for you and the reporter both -- though you do feel a bit bad for the congregation of sad chefs, still.