I didn't even think of it, so relieved was I to have something to wear, but as she had bundled up her things, apparently my erstwhile jailer had scooped up my tank top and bra. So that was it. All I had was this miniskirt and blouse. But at least I could make a dash for the loo, now.
I wasn't as quick to get up as she, so by the time I did, there was a whole traffic jam of passengers getting off the bus. When I finally stepped down onto the pavement, assaulted by a brutally chill wall of late night air, she was gone.
The temperature was surely below freezing. My breath was forming impromptu vapor clouds, and hairs on my arms stood at attention, each with its own pronounced goose bump. My legs were seared with the cold, and the blouse gave no resistance to the air as it sucked out my core heat mercilessly. I rushed to get into the bus station, both to get away from the brutal chill, and because my need to pee was becoming embarrassingly urgent.
I ducked into the midst of a crowd of passengers who were all attempting to enter the single door together. Nobody, once inside the warm station, was turning around to release the other door to open the way for people behind, and I surely wasn't going to do it either, so the process was a slow one.
I scooted to the ladies' room. Naturally, once inside, there was a queue for the toilets. I didn't know how much longer I could hold on! At least the temperature was more moderate inside the building, so I didn't have to contemplate hypothermia.
Presently, I shuffled forward in the queue, which was moving reasonably well, sufficiently to see myself in the hand basin mirror, and I was shocked. My hair, previously a neat, high ponytail, was a disheveled mess. My makeup, though minimal, was wrecked. The worst part was the blouse, which I suddenly realized was transparent! Lacking a bra, I was obscenely on display. I self-consciously crossed an arm over my chest to hide the disgraceful shame of it. The ponytail, I just pulled out and let my hair fall. I figured it was simpler to just arrange my hair as best I could for now, the ponytail having been totally debauched.
I looked around, and noticed that, mercifully, everyone was in a kind of wee-hours sleep-deprived trance. They were in various states of half-awakeness, and were all bleary-eyed. Some of them were wearing pyjamas, and nobody was dressed sharply. Nobody was judging me. I was at least relieved about that!
Finally, I got into a cubicle, and that crisis was over. I didn't feel it was fair to the other women lined up behind, that I should use that precious moment of privacy to take off my blouse and pick the tiny fragments of sugary residue from my skin - a process that would surely take ten minutes or more. I decided to just leave it all there and get the trip over with.
When I emerged, I came back into the transit lounge to asses my options. Immediately, the young guy from the far seat on the back row, whom I had caught peeking during my earlier ordeal (not that I could blame him), stepped forward. He had been waiting for me. I had a chill of trepidation, wondering what was going to happen next, and having no solid basis for making assumptions. I was in a foreign setting, and didn't know what to expect.
I stopped in my tracks. If I went back I would just be stuck in the ladies' room, but I couldn't get around him in the narrow corridor without making a scene. So I made sure my arms were neatly folded across my impertinent breasts, eager as the girls were, to peek through the flimsy material, and I straightened up in a manner that I hoped conveyed self respect and confidence, in spite of the degrading things he had seen me do just a little earlier.
Only when he was standing in front of me did I notice he was holding something out towards me, as if to give it to me. It was a coat. A large, warm coat.
"I... um, well, I just figured you might need this," he sheepishly bumbled.
I looked incredulously into his face. He looked all shy and goofy, and in fact, he looked nervous. He had picked up his coat, and followed me in here, just to offer it to me. What a sweetie!
"Omigod yes!" I took it eagerly. I was peripherally aware that this meant my cheeky boobs were bouncing a cheery hello at him, but at that stage I didn't even mind. I threw my arms into it and basked in the warmth, then wrapped it around and fastened the double-breasted buttons and tied the waist tie. The hem came down almost to my knees, and it was oversized on me. I didn't care. It was warm. It was luxury. It was bliss.
After my torment at the hands of that nameless dominatrix, and prior to that, my lonely auto-erotic odyssey, and even earlier my perverse descent into the darker, unexplored corners of my psyche, this simple gesture was a godsend. I admit my eyes welled up with grateful tears, and I threw myself at him with a bear hug that he was not at all expecting, and which appeared to make him nervous and embarrassed.
I babbled and blubbered about how grateful I was, and he mumbled away about how it was nothing, and I should forget all about it. This went on for a little while, before he again stunned me with another superlative kindness.
"I, um... I'm getting a coffee. We've got time before the bus leaves. Can... can I get you one?" he had a hopeful expression, but one that was nervous, lacking confidence.
By the power of suggestion, suddenly at that moment under a wave of exhaustion, dehydration, and probably tapped-out adrenal glands, the single thing I wanted more than anything in the world was coffee. I nodded vigorously, not even tempering my response with any airs and graces, or qualifying phrases like, "are you sure?"
He gestured me to one of the less densely populated seating areas, and he headed to the counter with a bright smile and a spring in his step.
I sat, and while I waited I noticed the whole room was like something out of a zombie apocalypse. Everyone was clearly used to being asleep at this time of the morning, and they moved about, or sat vacantly, like just so many automatons. I happily daydreamed (at night...) about writing a short story about a late-night bus stop full of flesh-eating zombies, despite the fact I'm not really much of a writer, so I wouldn't know where to begin.
Presently, my rescuer returned with two steaming hot take-away coffees. He offered me stirrers, napkins, milk, half-n-half, raw sugar, white sugar, and artificial sweetener, eager to ensure he got me everything I needed.
I have to admit that, having been pampered and served by wait staff my whole life, I've never felt more warmly nurtured than at that moment. This clumsy fellow was just so intent on ensuring I was satisfied, I realized for the first time that all the pomp and manners practiced by waiters, maids, drivers, etc. are all just attempts at emulating this sort of actual devotion. I thanked him profusely, and eventually convinced him I had everything I needed so that he could relax and drink his own coffee.
At my first sip, it was like a veil lifted from my mind. My thoughts became sharp and clear, all sense of tiredness was banished, and I felt fresh and energetic. Now, I know caffeine doesn't enter the bloodstream that fast, so these effects were all psychosomatic. Pavlovian, even. But I really didn't care. Coffee was the perfect medicine for the moment. I took a deep breath and just appreciated it. The warmth, the caffeine, and the safe sensation I had, sitting next to this guy who had seen me at my worst.
After a moment, I turned to him and expressed my feeling, "I want to thank you again. I don't know if you could appreciate what it means to me that you're so kind right now."
He blushed, and looked away. He mumbled, "Aww, nah, you're all good."
I didn't feel I had really got my message across, so I pressed further, and without really thinking much about it, I said, "I mean it. You really rescued me. You're my hero. Is there anything I can do to thank you?"
At this, his modest blush turned beet red, and his eyes suddenly darted to the floor. He was tongue-tied, and seemed uncomfortable for some reason. He muttered, "Nah, nah. No, nah, not really..."
It didn't seem like a complete answer. I leaned closer and placed a hand on his arm, repeating, "Please, if there's something I could do to return the favor...?"
His eyes steadily climbed until they were looking into mine, and he was suddenly an open book. How could I have been so naive and self-centered? He had a crush on me. It was obvious now. And the look in his eye was urging me to understand both that fact and something else. Something... Oh! I finally caught up. I could see what he was thinking I could "do for him".
Of course it was obvious, in hindsight. I don't know exactly how long he had been watching me, but at the very least he had seen me willingly molested by that woman. He had sat through some fairly spicy stuff. He must be a pressure cooker!
I paused thoughtfully, then began in a gentle voice, "You know I caught you watching, right?"
He bowed his head in shame, nodding.
"So you saw what I had to do to try to get my pants back from that lady?" I probed.
Again, he nodded, looking at my feet.
"You saw that she made me go down on her, under the blanket?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
