I felt sick, I felt scared. I quickly secured the lab, and called my supervisor and told him I was not feeling well and had to go home. I went downstairs to my car, and once getting in I laid there for an unknown amount of time. My body felt hot, and I was uncomfortable. And even my clothes did not seem to feel right. I realized I could not drive home in this condition, so headed to the train station.Something felt funny in my walk, and even my shoes seemed as if they were too large for my feet. I used my bank card to buy a ticket and leaned against a sign as I waited for my train. Then I saw a man come up and stand next to me. I looked over at him, he was around 40, and I think Hispanic. He looked at me, and pulled me away from the sign and had me bend over leaning against it.I felt my pants being pulled over my hips, and realized that they had been snug at my hips, something that should not have been. I felt fingers move between my legs, and it was... wrong. The hand should have. Without the pleasure of screwing her.What can I do about that?* * * Marsha was paying a price for her bad conduct. Her parents, now thoroughly disgusted, had disowned her and she was stuck without money in a town where she had to perform five hundred hours of community service without pay. She managed to get a job as a waitress in an all-night restaurant, working from 6 p.m. to 2 a.m. What with her daily six hours of picking up trash in the county parks, she was pretty exhausted by the time her restaurant shift was over. Too tired to pay attention, one night, to a familiar van as she started to walk past it on the way to her car.“Good evening, Miss Taylor.”“Oh. Dr. Carlson.”“Yes. Dr. Carlson. You look tired, Miss Taylor. Allow me to give you a lift.”His tone was polite – edged with sarcasm. Marsha did not like it. “That’s all right – I have my car.”“Oh, but I insist.” With that, Carlson pressed his remote, the van’s side door slid open, and with surprising strength he threw the girl.
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