She always was. She always had been. She didn’t know why, or what attracted them, but they had been present throughout her life. Even now, in her early twenties, it continued as much, if not more, than before. It didn’t matter if she dressed nice or frumpy. It didn’t matter if the skirt was short or long. None of it mattered, least of all her.

She had been so happy to have been promoted to executive secretary. She was so proud of her work. And then, late one night while bringing her new boss some paperwork, he’d sighed, looked at it, and rested his hand on her ass. And then, the kneading had started. She was a deer in headlights, frozen, as he had stood up, told her how pretty she was, as he pressed gently forward on her back. Still frozen, she’d heard the zippers. First her skirt, then his pants, and he’d pushed into her, rutting in her for several long minutes as she grunted under him. Finished, he pulled out, pecked her cheek, and said that she had a great future at the firm. Then he had pressed her head down to clean him. Later, she vomited in the bathroom, puking up her stupid belief in her abilities.

When money was tight, she had prided herself on ways to skimp and save. She had started riding the bus. Between not having to pay car insurance and gas, she had saved so much money. And then one day, a large man sat beside her on the loaded bus. She had whimpered when he started groping her, pawing at her chest. She wanted to scream, but a lifetime of abuse had effectively silenced her. Instead, when his hand worked at her panties, she’d taken it, and his fingers. Shaking as he licked them clean, he had pulled her hand under her coat in her lap, bringing it over to him. She hadn’t done anything. He used her hand to jack himself off, cumming on her hand and coat. She had sat there silently, missing 3 stops before realizing her purse was gone along with the man. All that was left was her coat and the drying cum on her hand.