<strong>ASHERAH:</strong><br/><br/>There's no time to waste; even if you took the back alleys there's a chance somebody could see you, and the longer you spend exposed like this, the more likely it is for somebody to see you. It's better to chance making a break for the bench. After a second's hesitation, you dash along the sidewalk, keeping your head down (hopefully your hair will obscure your face in case anyone<em>does</em>see you), and finally the bench itself comes into view -<br/><br/>- only for you to find somebody already sitting there.<br/><br/>You drop a curse, and though you meant to keep it inside your head, you get the strange feeling that you actually<em>said</em>it, because the person sitting on the bench wrinkles his nose before actually looking up at you.<br/><br/>He's your age, probably a couple years younger - if he's in college, he'd be a freshman, and he looks pretty okay - he's got a big frame but it's easy to tell that he's not ripped or even toned, though he hasn't really let himself go, either. He's got a roundish face and a bulbous nose, but striking, blue eyes - you don't really consider him gorgeous, but he was still good looking.<br/><br/>He glances up at you after you curse, and you see his eyebrows shoot up, his mouth curling into a steep frown.<br/><br/>"Well," he says, "you don't see this every day."<br/><br/>"Please," you beg. "I need the bench - I need to hide."<br/><br/>"And I need to sit down," the man replies, leaning back against the bench and snorting. "The supplies place doesn't open for another hour and I have nowhere else to go. Besides," he adds, "I<em>like</em>this bench."<br/><br/>"But..." You draw a deep breath - you consider telling him your story, but on some reflection you realize just how far-fetched it would be. Would he buy the "I forgot my dress and panties?" story, or just brush you off? You can't tell if he's gotten hard off you or not, but...<br/><br/>Before you can say anything else, the man grunts and lets his eyes drift southwards, casually admiring your pussy. "Well, I guess I can share the bench, but I won't let you sit here for nothing." He glances away, looking off into the distance - towards the college. "If you're not going to do what I ask, then get out of here."<br/><br/>What - what a jerk! Still, sharing the bench was better than not having it at all and it's a miracle that nobody else has seen you yet. You stop to think for a second...you don't know if you could force him out, so, perhaps a compromise is in order. With a grimace, you ask, "What do you want me to do?"<br/><br/>"I have an hour," he repeats, looking almost bored - though you can see his eyes darting back to you (your vagina) every once in a while. "You sit here, and I get to play with that wonderful flower of yours, however I want, either until I get bored or until the store opens." After a pause, he adds, "And don't worry, I won't try to rape you. No point in getting in trouble."<br/><br/>He was just grubbing for everything he could get at this point, and this situation was already bad enough...when you realize, with a lurching sensation of dread, that you were dangerously close to flunking the class you were supposed to be preparing for. Too many nights of partying hard have left you with only a handful of allowable skips left - but you're not sure exactly how many, and for all you know (panic rising up into your throat), you might have already used your last one up.<br/><br/>Crap.<br/><br/>So, do you want to RETURN TO CAMPUS and try your best to make it to class, or do you want to TAKE THE GUY'S OFFER and sit down on the bench, hoping to God, Allah, the Flying Spaghetti Monster and any other imaginable deities that you won't flunk the class if you miss it?<br/><br/><strong>CHLOE MILEV:</strong><br/><br/>Though the camera phone thing still irritates you (you'd have to see if you could do something about that later, but what, exactly, you have no idea), you've managed to sneak into the front of the auditorium without anybody noticing...or at least, nobody letting on that they'd noticed. Either way. It wasn't your peers you were worried about...it was the professor. Even though the desk actively hid everything worth seeing, all it would take was a little attentiveness on his part to realize that there was too much skin showing; it was one of those ones with the chair and desk bolted into the floor, although for all intents and purposes they were two separate units. If he looked at you from either too far to the left or too far to the right, he would see your bare legs, and the jig would absolutely without a doubt be up.<br/><br/>Public nudity wasn't illegal nowadays, but the college still had a minimum dress requirement, and you could only imagine what sort of administrative hell would come if the professor noticed.<br/><br/>The professor in question was middle-aged and of average build; he wore a tan suit and had dark brown hair that started to pepper around the edges. He wore narrow, rectangular glasses on his pointed nose, and, well, he was a pretty okay guy despite his appearance, but you didn't know him that intimately. He was just a professor, you were just a student, and there had never been any beef between either of you.<br/><br/>You shift your weight, the wooden seat uncomfortable against your bare ass. Every passing moment is a terrible reminder of how much of you can be seen at any given moment, and...<br/><br/>The professor turns around, apparently finished with his preparations. His eyes pass over the assembled students, a calm frown set onto his jaw, and you bunch your shoulders up, hoping he doesn't notice, oh<em>please</em>don't notice...and then he's looking away from you, and you let out a breath you hadn't known you'd been holding.<br/><br/>"Good morning," He says, bouncing on his heels and folding his arms behind him. "My students will have realized by now that we have some extras sitting in with us; Professor Snodgrass has had to leave for a family emergency, so I will be teaching his class alongside mine. If you have any problems, feel free to talk to my secretary." He cracks a smile now, and a low wave of laughter rolls through the students, though most of it (you can tell) is forced and polite. As cute as the joke was, it's too early to properly enjoy it (and you have your own reasons for letting loose a quiet, nervous laugh).<br/><br/>Without any further small talk, he points to a board near the front of the room with twelve quiestions scribbled onto it - the quiz. For at least a half hour, you're just a student, and you forget all about your awkward situation, allowing yourself to get lost in the test. It's not so much that the subject is fascinating (it's not) as it is that it provides some modicum of escape from...<br/><br/>You realize, dimly, that the professor had said something, and suddenly you're plopped back down into reality, the utter thrill of writing about microbes and vegetable cells and whatnot sliding away from you like an ice cube drifting across a counter. And when the professor calls your name, your stomach does flip-flops. You glance up at him, taking a deep gulp (your throat and lips have suddenly gone dry) and point at yourself, saying (whispering), "Me?"<br/><br/>"You," he says, pointing in your direction. "Just what do you think you're doing?"<br/><br/>...shit.<br/><br/>"I, uh." You swallow, glance left, right, left again, but your peers - those who are nearest you and have noticed your 'condition' - keep their attention rapt on either you or the professor, waiting to see what unfolds next. "I'm - not sure what you're talking about."<br/><br/>The professor sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. "You know very well what I'm talking about, miss. Just what the hell were you thinking?"<br/><br/>You swallow again, but your throat has gone dry, leading you to swallow again. It works no better the second time, but, your mind races, whirls, as you try to think up some way out of this predicament...<br/><br/>"Miss, I want you to stand up," the professor says, voice stern. "Stand up and join me at the front of the room."<br/><br/>Your mind is racing, going almost too fast for you to keep up with - your first instinct is to bolt, run and run and find someplace to hide, but the professor seems to anticipate this and says, "There won't be any trouble if you do as I say."<br/><br/>It's possible he's telling the truth, but you're not entirely sure...but running...you glance over your shoulder, looking through the field of your peers, and see the door all the way up at the top of the auditorium. You could bolt, be out of here, gone, but the professor knows your name, and all you really have to know that you won't get in trouble is his word.<br/><br/>Do you want to DO AS HE SAYS and go towards the front of the room, granting everybody in the room (including the professor) a free look at your vagina? Or do you want to GET OUT OF HERE, hoping that nothing bad will happen, even though you know it probably will...?