On a city bus.

You are sitting on a mostly empty city bus, on your way back from visiting a friend. The only ones on it are you, the driver, and a bitchy-looking woman in a power suit who, despite there being empty seats everywhere, is standing and holding on to the pole with one hand, her briefcase with the other. She looked like someone very important, and with the streak of bad luck you've been having, you silently resent her for it. Suddenly, you get an idea to annoy her by taking he picture. You take your phone out of your pocket and point it in her direction, which either she didn't notice or she is just ignoring you.

"Hey," you say, but she continues ignoring you.

"Hey!" you say again.

She turns her head to the source of the noise and, when she sees you taking a picture of her, her eyes widen with realization, before contracting into a glare.

"Say cheese," you say.

With a slightly annoyed expression on her face, she reluctantly says "cheese" in a monotone voice.

"What, no smile?" you say.

In what you assume to be sarcasm, she flashes you a wide, toothy looking grin.

"Now say cheese," you say.

She says it again.

"Come on, where's the enthusiasm?"

"CHEESE!" she says, holding it out for a long time, and you take the picture of her grinning like a moron.

"Got it," you say.

She stops smiling and recomposes herself, having done what you wanted and hoping you will leave her alone. But if she thinks you are done bothering her, she is sadly mistaken.

"Okay," you say, "now one with your top off."

You are sure that this will elicit the angry outburst you are trying to draw out of her. You watch as she sets down her briefcase, which you assume is so she can walk over and waggle a finger in your face, or even clobber you over the head. But to your surprise she pulls her jacket off and folds it, gently, laying it on her briefcase so it doesn't touch the dirty floor. Then she begins undoing the top buttons of her shirt, but before she is halfway done she begins looking around self-consciously.

"Are you sure?" she says with a nervous tint in her voice, a far cry from the sass she was giving you before.

"What?" you ask, stunned.

"Can't we do this in a more secluded place?"

"Do what?" you ask, confused.

"Take topless photos."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's just, well, and I don't mean to disobey you, but I'd really much rather do this in private. Look, I'm going to work right now, and I can't afford to be late. Why don't you follow me and we can finish this in my office?"

"Um, sure," you say, not knowing how to respond.

"Oh my god, thank you," she says gratefully.

She re-buttons her top and puts her jacket back on. You put your phone back into your pocket and wonder what is going on.

After a few minutes she says "this is my stop"and the two of you step off. She leads you into a large building and into an elevator, which you take up to her floor. You exit the elevator and walk toward a secretary sitting behind a desk.

“Hello Jessica,” she says. She looks down at her watch. “Cutting it close there.”

“Yeah,” the woman, whose name you have just learned is Jessica, says.

Jessie is about to lead you past the desk and down the hall, when the secretary stops her.

“Who’s he?” she says, pointing at you.

You certainly don’t look like you belong in a place like this, and you don’t look like a handyman or anything either, so her question was fair, if inconvenient.

“It’s not important,” says Jessica.

“Non-personnel aren’t supposed to be here, you know.”

“I know, I just…”

“There was a traffic accident,” you say. “We need to exchange some information.”

The secretary looks at Jessica and says “I thought you didn’t have a car. You said you take the bus, and that’s why you don’t have a parking space.”

“That’s right,” you say, thinking quickly. “It was my car that was damaged. She’s was kind enough to be my witness, and I didn’t want her to be late. This won’t take more that a few minutes, please.”

The secretary glares at the both of you for a few seconds, and then smiles.

“Why didn’t you just say so?” she says. “Go on ahead, I won’t say anything.”

“Thanks,” says Jessica.

“Really,” you reinforce.

“But you better be out of here soon,” she warns.

The two of you pass beyond the door and walk down a long hallway to another door with JESSICA DUMAST on it. She opens the door, letting you in first. Once you are both inside she locks the door behind you.

“Thanks for that,” she says. “I don’t want her to know what we’re doing. Oh right! Speaking of which.”

She whips off her jacket and starts undoing the button much faster than before, and within a minute she has her bra off and you can see her tits.

“Ahem,” she says while you stand there drooling over her chest.

“What?” you ask.

“The pictures? Your phone? Hurry up, we don’t have long.”

“Oh, yeah.”

You still don't understand what's going on, but you figure you can ask questions later. You pull out your phones and open up the camera app. You aim it at her, unsure of what to do.

“Do you need me to, like, pose or anything?”

“Yeah,” you say, suddenly more excited at the realization at what you are doing. “Can you stand with your hands behind your head, and your chest out a little, really arch your back?”

“Like this?” she says.

“Yeah,” you say as you snap a photo. “Now one with your hands over to your nipples, leaning forward?”

She does this and a few more poses including sitting on her desk, against the wall, on her knees, and whatever else you can think of. After a few minutes you tell her you have no more poses for her to try.

“Good,” she says. “So we’re done?”

“Guess so,” you say.

She puts on her bra and is buttoning up her shirt when she says something else strange.

“So, what are you planning on doing with those photos?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you going to sell them?”

“I dunno,” you say. It hadn’t even occurred to you. “Maybe.”

“Well, I’d like to buy them off you.”

“What?”

“Name your price.”

“I don't understand. if you wanted to have these photos, then why didn’t you take them yourself?”

“I don’t want topless pictures of me to exist at all. Especially ones that could get me fired. So what do you want for them?”

“Well, uh, they’re not for sale.”

“Fuck,” she says, holding a hand up to her head. “Alright, I should have known. But I encourage you to reconsider. In fact,” she says, pulling a sticky note out of her desk and writing on it, “here’s my number, my personal number, don’t call my business number.” She hands it to you. “Now, you really need to leave.”

She walks you out the way you came, stopping at the elevator, and the secretary from before, who doesn’t say anything but just winks and puts a finger up to her lips. You wave goodbye to the both of them as the elevator doors close and you make your way down to the lobby. Once you walk out the door and onto the sidewalk, you feel like you just walked out of a dream, unable to make any sense of what just happened. You check your phone again, wondering if you imagined it all, but the pictures are still there. You figure you can work it out later, but right now you have just gotten off your bus early and you're going to have to walk home, which isn't too far, but you wonder if you want to stop anywhere else first.