You know when you've just given some guy a blowjob and then you have to take the subway right after and you feel like everybody knows?

So, that's where I'm at right now. Just sitting here on this faux-fancy velvet red seat, smelling like cum, and feeling so conspicuous I could hang myself. Sure I swallowed, but that's never good enough. The scent doesn't go away. It sticks to your hair, doesn't it? And your skin. Sex is in my aura, gossiping with other passengers, telling strangers secrets that aren't really true.

I'm not a total slut. And I'm not a whore.

Shut up, aura! You wanna take this outside?

There's a guy all in black standing by the doors. I know he's looking at me while I pretend to read that subway ad about Why Can't Street Kids Just Get A Life? I get the feeling he knows it's for show. I'm glancing his way, really subtle, catching only outlines of his bulky body.

I imagine myself whipping my head around and shouting, "What are you staring at, motherfucker?" but I second-guess myself. Maybe he's not looking at me. Maybe I'm wrong. Hey, it happens.

But I think I'm right this time. I'm pretty sure I'm right.

So I turn my head to meet his gaze, but he's not looking at me. He's not. He's just staring into oblivion, and suddenly I'm the one staring at him... because I'm not sure anymore if he is a him. I look at his chest, look for telltale boobs, but I'm still not sure. He's got a vest on. It's hard to say. Smooth cheeks, though. Too smooth. Butch dyke? Maybe. Or trans guy. I don't know.

And suddenly he's looking at me, right at me, and he asks, "What are you staring at?"

He doesn't say "motherfucker."