Black man in a small town

You've always been treated poorly because of your skin color, so it's not like the looks are that different from the usual ones you got. You were the one black kid in school for twelve years, the one kid who always got pulled over by cops for mild speeding while your classmates were doing , the only person in your neighborhood who was never invited for barbecues. Adulthood didn't change that, didn't leave anyone thinking you were anything other than other.

But the glances you get are more fearful than disgusted, now. As the single person in the country in the racial reparations program, everyone knows who you are. Most of the town hides when you walk by, and the ones who don't give you weird looks you don't quite understand. You'd been worried at first, thinking that you might meet with an unfortunate accident in the middle of the night, but apparently some of the people who moved in recently were FBI agents acting as your bodyguards.

You didn't know which ones, but you were still the only POC in town, which meant they had to be white too. You weren't sure if that was still worrying or not.

It's been a month and you haven't been able to use your newfound ability at all. Even the girls you used to fool around with, the ones who had a thing for black guys but didn't want anyone knowing and who later got married to white guys, get pushed away by their husbands when you walk by.

Right now, though, none of them can hide.

See, there's only one major store in town. Everyone has to be there at some point during the month, and the store's hours mean you'll always see a few girls there.

There's Ellen, that fucking bitch of a manager, who always followed you around when you were shopping. Short-cropped hair, a perpetually-angry face, a thirty-year old body. She's staring at you, shocked, but she can't really run now that you've seen her.

Then there's Mary. The Christian former cheerleader who used to pick on you in class, who taunted you for being the descendant of Noah's least-favored child, who'd gotten kicked out onto the street after being found doing very un-Christian things with her boyfriend. Adulthood hadn't been as hard as it should have been for her - she was still reasonably pretty, and bummed off her various boyfriends as she cheated on them behind their backs. She hasn't noticed you enter the store at all.

Neither has whats-her-face. You don't actually know her name, you just know she's a cowgirl. And she definitely looks like most stereotypical cowgirl possible, with her blue jeans and blonde hair and freckles and long, sexy boots... Mmmm, yeah. You haven't actually talked to her, but she doesn't _look _like a jackass.

You could just shop. Honestly, you probably should. You don't really need your Sexual Privilege, anyway, not when you've got your handy right hand. But you haven't gotten a chance to try using it before, and these are mostly people you wouldn't feel guilty testing it out on.