WARNING: The following post is rated NSFW (Not Safe For Work)
He was in his mid thirties and seemed genuinely helpless. He politely asked me to sit behind the wheel and start his car while he attempted to fix something under the hood. I slid into the driver's seat and shut the door. I turned the key in the ignition and the car revved up but nothing happened. He motioned to me and I tried to start it again, but still nothing. He came over to the driver's side and leaned in through the window to check if the gear was in neutral. His left hand was resting on my knee for support as he jiggled the gear around while I held down the clutch with my foot. He went back to the front of the hood and motioned to me again, and I turned the key. Still nothing. He leaned back in through the window and this time his hand was on my thigh. I sat perfectly still in the driver's seat, thinking that nothing was out of the ordinary. Again he went to the front of the car and I fruitlessly turned the key again. This time when he leaned in, his hand was higher up my thigh and I felt my heartbeat quicken. At the time I didn't know if it was out of fear or lust, but I realized how easy a prey I must have looked walking home that night. When he leaned in again, his hand moved from my thigh directly to my crotch and he held it there for a few seconds before going back to the front of the car. The next few times he leaned in his hand rested longer and began to feel and stroke what he knew was there. Soon he had given up going to the front and I knew that he had me where he wanted me. His breathing had become quick and hoarse and he leaned in for a kiss, but I pulled away at the sharp smell of alcohol. Before I could do anything his hand was inside my jeans, and he was breathing hard, almost directly into my face. I just thought what would happen if anyone would walk by; what they would think as they saw this delicate scene unfold. You faggot, you fucking faggot go and get screwed somewhere else.
I asked him to go check under the hood one more time if he could fix the car, and surprisingly he obliged. When he got to the front of the car again I opened the door and started walking away. I could not command my legs to run; my mind was not in synch with my body until I was back home standing under the shower feeling dirty and invaded.
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