Morning after pill, then laying low.

You’ve got to fix this, pronto, then you’ve got to get home and hide for the next 40 hours. The last day has been way to fucking risky and you may have already blown it.

An involuntary shudder runs down your spine as you imagine the thought of being just another ghetto hoochie mama on the street, single mother to some kid that looks nothing like you and never getting to go back to being a guy again.

Shaking your head as the dread makes you feel almost sick, you pick your disgusting clothes up off of the ground and put them on, gritting your teeth in disgust as they smack wetly against your skin and the dried cum on your inner thighs chafes.

Definitely a shower and maybe some new clothes.

Leaving the building, keeping your eyes down and making eye contact with nobody, you stumble onto the street and walk directly towards Dollar General. At least you won’t be the trashiest person they’ve seen this evening.

Ignoring the questioning gaze of the obese black man behind the counter in a yellow Dollar General vest, you make a b-line for the medical section only to find the Plan-B locked behind the glass, apparently it’s a high theft item around here.

Trudging miserably back to the counter, you inform him that you need the case opened, mumbling when you say what it is for and growing even more embarrassed when he makes you repeat yourself.

You know you look and sound like shit right now but even so his leering eyes won’t stop undressing you up and down.

The only clothes in your size here are awful; very short Jean shorts that will almost let your pale white ass flesh spill out and a tight polyester tube top in leopard print that will let anyone who cares to look watching your pert teenage breasts jiggle.

Swallowing your pride, you take it all to the register where the clerk leers at you saucily.

As you take your purse out he licks his cracked and chapped fat lips and says “you wanna keep your money?”, and raises his eyebrow.