You board the bus and run into someone.

The bus pulls up with a hiss and a creak. You ignore it at first, but after glancing around you begin to realize how exposed you are. The bus stop offers no concealment from the road, obviously, so any spooks that drive by would have a clear view of you. You bite your bottom lip as a worse thought comes into mind. If they're government, or can at least pose as government, couldn't they put out a police alert for you? Framed in the awning of the bus stop, you're practically gift wrapped and presented to the first observant agent or officer to glance your way. But would that be a bad thing? Maybe they're the good guys? Maybe they can help? A police car rolls past the bus and a tickle of adrenaline causes a flutter in your heart. You can't take the risk. You could end up stuck like this, or worse.

Swiftly you rise to your feet, hugging Zoe's purse, and step into the bus. Remembering you don't have any change, you clumsily start digging through Zoe's purse for her metro card, only to catch the snicker of someone behind you. The machine beeps as he reaches around you and swipes his own card over the kiosk.

"Don't worry babe, I got it." A man with parted blonde hair offers with a smirk.

"T-thanks." You manage to stammer before bustling over to an open seat hidden by an advertisement printed on the outside of the window. You sigh, feeling slightly safe at last, only to feel a flurry of light flicks and thumps from inside your belly, making sure you don't forget the absurdity of your circumstances. You shift in your seat, as if changing your posture will offer relief from the strange sensation.

You've got a lot to decide, but maybe if you know where exactly Zoe went two weeks ago, you'd have a better idea of where to start? You pull out Zoes phone and start to scroll through her recent messages only to bristle quietly as the same man who payed your fair sits next to you with a lopsided grin plastered on his face. You knew you were shorter but sitting alongside this man really drives it in. You barely come up to his shoulders, even sitting down. He sits with a wide posture, so you pull yourself in tight, and try to bury yourself deeply in your phone, but he leans over and whispers.

"Nice panties baby doll." He snickers again.

You freeze in place, and wiggle your rear, suddenly realizing the waist band of your panties was riding a lot higher than your jeans. When you stood, climbing into the bus and rummaging around for the pass must have given a cheeky show to everyone behind you.

"You want to get off this bus? I can give you a ride instead."

You scowl, and face him, only to run into an unexpected hesitation. You expected to confront some trashy tool, but instead find yourself facing a remarkably handsome 20 something man. He wears a trim black jacket with a grey striped v-neck. and his face is flawlessly tanned. You get lost in an abstract sort of appreciation. Clear blue eyes, a sharp jaw line, and a charismatic smolder. A delicate flutter tickles your heart and flushes your cheeks, and despite yourself you're reminded of your brief cock sucking fantasy from before. His confident proposition and handsome appearance disarms you. What should have been a swift rejection becomes lost in ambivalence.

You remember you were intended to say something, but all that manages to come out is a vapid "Uhh..." Your lips hang open and your eyes are blank, lost in the sculpted visage before you.

He smiles, looks forward, and casually puts an arm around you. "My apartments two stops away."

Your brain starts to fire and misfire like a blown transformer. You feel small, and frail, but needy or even ****. You know you shouldn't, but you want to be near this cool confident man. Your next breath comes hot and heavy while your frantic mind wages war with your flesh. You aren't really considering his offer, are you? Why haven't you told him off yet?! You summon up the will to kick him out of the seat, but only manage a shy peak up to his eyes. You stare. He smirks and glances down at you, and again the words slip from your mind. He wants you, and it feels good to be wanted, but do you want him? Worse, why are you even asking yourself that question?

The bus stops once, waits for everyone to board or depart, then with a roar it begins to trundle on. The man looks around nonchalant, then having confirmed your relative privacy, takes your hand in his. He holds it for a brief second, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb, then places your fingers on his crotch. Your first instinct is to pull back. But you don't. It's so big. God it's practically twice the size yours used to be, and iron hard, even through the denim of his jeans. Or does it just seem that way because of how small your hands are?

An almost playful curiosity comes over you, like you're a young teen playing with one of his first boners. It feels good, it feels right, to touch it. Your body begins buzzing with affirmation and anticipation. You find yourself rubbing it and feeling the shape while lost in a blissful formless thought. The guy smirks, and softly chuckles "Take it easy babe. Our stop's next." You draw your hand back, suddenly realizing what you'd been doing.

"It's the gun." You silently tell yourself. "Evil Zoe... She... she did something to my mind too." But somehow that realization, or excuse, only seems to make your desire more permissible. It disarms your resistance, soothing your ego and expectations.

He takes your hand again and whispers in your ear. "I bet you haven't had a good hard fuck since..." his eyes wander to your belly and you put your other hand on it self consciously.

The thought of saying 'stop' comes back to your mind, but it's abstract and distant. It's like someone else is saying it. Everything else has been pushed out, including your concern for your sister and your fear of the mysterious agents. Here, even the awkward clumsy body you've been cursed with feels natural and desirable. As you weigh up your emotions, you realize you don't want to be concerned, you want to feel desired. You don't like hating your body, and so you don't want to say 'stop'. With another hot breath, you realize you Want a Good Hard Fuck.

The bus pulls up to the next stop, and the young 20 something takes your hand again. "I'm Liam." He says as he tugs, urging you to follow him. There's some echo of resistance in the back of your mind, but it's locked up in a deep cell. You realize this is it. Time to come up with a name, or else tell him off.