A few interruptions

‘I’m naked in public… I've had nightmares like this,’ I think to myself, finding that the cold doesn't bother me. Of course, they've never been like this. Now that I'm moving in earnest, I can feel all the jiggling flesh. I wasn't designing who I wanted to BE, I was designing who I wanted to BED. Just one little letter… ugh. So now I am SUPER aware of this new body. The air blowing where I'm not supposed to have a hole, a light touch slowly driving me batty. A jiggle behind me, two watermelons shuffling around that just don't want to stay put... which is nothing to the four in front of me.

Of course, I had to specify that they're sensitive. When I try to hold them in place, I feel like I'm rubbing my meat rod. I have to avoid touching myself entirely if I don't want to go off… and I have good reason to believe I'm a giant screamer now.

‘You wanted her to feel really good…’ a treacherous thought flows through my head, ‘...it's going to be amazing.’

‘I'm not ready to be on the receiving end,’ I think to myself to shut that voice up, and look at the bus stop… on the other side of the street. There's a lot of traffic… but if I walk… ugh. Thinking a bit, I go to the corner, and press the button for the crosswalk. I wait for the light… watch the cars go by… there's the change… wait for everyone to stop… and go.

I hustle across, and a bus takes the free right turn through what the driver certainly thought was an empty crosswalk. I hear dice in my head, followed by Adam's voice: “That's a hit, take five damage from the impact, and reflex save or fall…” more dice as I collapse on the pavement, screaming, “Failure,” more dice as the front tires come barreling at me, “Take eighteen crushing damage from the first set,” as they roll over me, and I hear my bones cracking over my own screams, followed almost immediately by the double set of tires in the back hitting me, with more dice and Adam's voice saying, “thirty-five crushing damage from the rear set.” Screaming, I hurriedly clamber onto the sidewalk, in agony, as the bus drives to my stop… and pauses.

I cringe and stand, moving as quickly as my broken legs will take me… broken legs that seem to be quickly mending, the pain fading as I go. I get to the bus just in time to see the driver step out, look around, and do a walk around the vehicle. I climb in… they stopped taking fares a while back, as apparently it cost them almost as much to collect fares as they were making from it; they've always been largely funded by taxes… and sit down on an empty seat, safe for now.

A minute later, I'm feeling fine, and the driver comes back in and picks up the radio, “Ah control? This is Route 67, parked at checkpoint six. I had a couple really big bumps, sounded like I hit and ran over something big, but there's nothing there. Mind reviewing the last ten minutes of video and advising? Over.”

A voice crackles back, “Checking, please hold 67, over.”

A few minutes later, the radio crackles back to life, “Video agrees. I can see and hear what you're talking about, but there was definitely nothing there to hit. I'm guessing there's a mechanical problem. We have a relief bus and a tow truck on route, ETA five minutes. Shut down and stay put until they arrive. The relief driver will take your rig to the shop with the tow truck, you'll take the relief bus for the rest of your route. Acknowledge, over.”

“I'm taking the relief bus for the route, the new driver takes the wreck to the repair ship, got it, over.”

"Thank you route 67, over and out.”

The driver speaks up in an announcer voice, "Sorry folks, the bus seems broken. Hang tight, we'll have another bus here in about five minutes, and we can all go about our day.”

Meanwhile, I'm checking the route fliers… looks like it'll be faster to go to the library and get my car, then drive to Charles’ place. Okay.

I reach into my bag and pull out my phone… which I can't see. I frown, shrug, and hit the voice assistant button, “Call Charles,” I talk to it clearly, hoping everyone will assume it's just sound bouncing oddly.

The phone processes for a moment, then I hear the ringing, and Charles picks up, “Hey Dan, what's up?”

“Bus is delayed…” I take a breath, and realize it's the first one I've taken since getting hit several minutes ago… right, I don't actually need to breathe anymore… “they ran over me, and are treating it as a breakdown. On the plus side, the Waxen Regeneration works fine.”

“So…” my friend pauses, and I notice that his voice has gone up an octave, “you're going to be a bit delayed?”

“That, and…” I consider, “Have you heard Adam?”

“Uh, yeah?” Charles talks like I'm being stupid, “Last night, at the game.”

“No, I mean…” I pause, “He announced the damage I took when I got hit, just like he would at the table. I heard him in my head.”

Charles pauses, “Huh.”

I pause, “That's it?”

The line waits a bit, and answers, “Well… what should I say? No, I don't think you're crazy or hallucinating, but I don't have any idea what it means. We can check with Adam when he gets here to see if he remembers anything, but I doubt it - he'd have mentioned it.”

“Right, hmm.” I consider, “Have you done anything that would involve a die roll in the game?”

He pauses, “Yes.” I hear dice in my head, followed by, ‘He's telling the truth,’ in Adam's voice.

I consider that, “That was a lie, but is now true, isn't it?”

“Correct…” Charles chuckles, “...Bluff is opposed by Sense Motive, which I think you mentioned you have… but Wisdom isn't even a secondary stat for you. It seemed easiest… and you bought it for a moment. Yes, Adam narrates. You didn't mention the sound of dice, though.”

“I didn't, no,” I confirm, “which confirms you were bluffing earlier.”

“Successful experiment, then…” the pet master considers, “...so what does that tell us?”

“Dunno yet,” I shrug as the new bus arrives and I shuffle out with everyone else… getting bumped by someone who can't see me, and then groped as the guy feels for what he can't see, making my breathing labored, “but I think I hate public transportation now…” I moan as the man's exploring fingers find a nipple, causing my taps to spray milk, and my knees to go weak, “...I need to get off… the bus… get off the bus…” I hang up, and rather than getting on the new bus… I make a run for it.

Literally.

My jugs swing like pendulums, slapping me repeatedly and squirting milk everywhere… it's fine, I heal, simple slapping is just loud, and it rains often enough that the mess from the spilled milk isn't really going to bother anything… and I'm not winded after a block like I used to be. I dodge between folks on the sidewalk, bump into a few… it's fine… and get to the library in maybe ten

[minutes.

At](http://minutes.At) least I don't get run over crossing the street this time.

I walk to my car (a hybrid old enough to vote, but not quite old enough for biodiesel) , unlock it, get in, close the door, buckle the seat belt, set my bag on the passenger seat (where it fades into view), buckle it in place, hold the brake, hit the power button, wait a few seconds for the electronics to confirm they're running, and head out.

The seatbelt feels really weird between… okay, I should admit physical reality… between my udders. Still, at least everyone can see the car, and I can pretend nothing happened for a little while… even if the vinyl seats feel weird on my bare skin, the seatbelt is digging into some rather sensitive flesh, my hair keeps catching on things (I should probably get some scissors soon) and my nails keep getting in the way when I'm pressing buttons (I have some clippers… in a drawer at home).

I'm not even halfway to Charles’ place when I see flashing lights in my rear view mirror and hear sirens. Sighing, I pull over and roll the window down, grabbing my registration from the rubber band on the sun visor (along with my insurance card), holding them and digging through my shopping bag for my wallet, getting my license out. Then I wait.

When the officer hasn't approached the window well after everything I'm holding has faded out of sight, I frown, stick my head out the window, and shout, “Ah, officer?”

He comes to the window then, a frown on his face, and I read his badge as I start talking to him in my oh so not me voice, “Here's my license and registration… might I ask what I was doing wrong?” Holding them out… and realize he can't see me holding them out for him any more than I can. So I pull them back in a bit.

That really throws him off, but he recovers quickly, “Ah… state law requires a human operator be in the vehicle ready to take control whenever an autonomous vehicle is in operation. Radio doesn't cut it. Where'd you get the rig? This is an old car.”

Oh, the truth… eh, may as well, “This isn't a remote operated vehicle, nor is it autonomous. I'm right here, holding my license and registration, ready to hand them to you Officer Mitchell.”

“No you're not,” the man rolls his eyes, “I'm not blind, and this is being recorded,” he points to his body camera.

“Seriously, here…” I stretch out the chest strap on my seatbelt and put it back, “look, if you're going to pretend you can't see me, whatever… just put your hands out so I can give you the paperwork, OK?”

The man frowns, and holds out his hand. I place my license and registration in his hand, and watch them fade into view when I let go.

The policeman jumps when he sees that, dropping them on the ground. I groan, “Umm… am I going to get in trouble if I step out to pick those up? Also, mind if I ask why you pulled me over?”

“I… umm…” the man is looking at the car like it's possessed… which I suppose is reasonable, “...I… was just pulling you over because… umm… it looked like… ah…” he trails off.

“Look,” I sigh, “if you don't have a reason for pulling me over, it's just harassment… and I'll remind you that you told ME this is being recorded. Can I get my license and registration back and go?”

“Ah… sh… sure…” the man is visibly shaken, bends down to pick the indicated items up, and holds them out to me.

For my part, I grab them, wipe the dust off them with the passenger seat, and put everything back while he watches: The registration in the spot I use on the sun visor, my ID back in my wallet in the bag. “Thank you, officer Mitchell. Will there be anything else?”

“Ah… no, no… you're free to go…” the man runs back to his car.

Chuckling, I signal, and get back on the road, heading to Charles’ place.