You really need the ID

"Please! You can't do this to me! I really need this ID! I'll do anything. I'll-I'll-" You stop yourself, realizing what you could offer him but don't really have the balls to say it out loud. You rub your legs together as you remember the fact that you don't really have balls at all.

You don't know when you started crying, just that all this situation has made you really upset and stressed out. The world suddenly feels so big and oppressive now, and you don't quite know how to handle it.

"Oh stop with that." The old man tells you slightly annoyed.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." With your arms going past your big boobs, you wipe your tears and try to hold your sobs, realizing how much of a bitch you probably sounded like. You see the man sitting in the chair in front of you and hear him sigh.

"You see missy, that's exactly what is wrong with your generation. You go on doing things but never actually stop to think about the consequences." Are you seriously being lectured by that guy like you were some fucking kid? Well, yeah actually.

"You know." He holds one of your hands, bringing it closer to him. It feels so big against you. "If you only stopped to think more about others, things could go a lot better for you."

He stops and lets your hand rest on top of his junk. It's hard and big, and the scared pregnant teen that is you don't really know why. But then you repeat what the guy had just said inside your little head.

"Oh." You say, realizing what it was that he wanted.