B1GBUTADORABLE.BL0GSPOT.C0M

Overwhelmed by the immense sense of panic, my mouth gibbers instead and makes up a string of disastrous excuses.

What the even hell is "curse" I'm blabbing about! They certainly will not believe as I said it out of the blue!

"Butt...c0cksucker!"

So, as if to follow up on that, obscene words start flying out of my mouth one after another. My brain, choosing the words on its own (associating them with "a pervert who touches a girl's buttocks"), highly misleads and makes it a lot stronger―the impact of excitement I have been suppressed since earlier. I can't stop.

I glance at the station staff flustered. Their looks at me have completely changed to that of a suspicious person.

"You, what the hell!" The molester exclaims with a sly smile on his mouth. "...I see, ha ha ha! So it was you, the pervert! What a waste of a good-looking guy."

"Do you know each other?" The station staff asks the molester, speaking oh so smoothly.

"No, I don't know him. I got on the train as usual today and some weird guy was yelling, saying things like 'd1ck' and 'pvssy'. I didn't know who it was since it was so crowded. But then, oh, right, that's you, ha ha ha!"

He laughs way too hard. He is even shedding tears. Then, meanly, asking back.

"We were pretty far apart, weren't we? Did you really see it? I don't think so."

"I saw it! I'm not lying."

"Listening to you blabbing out vulgar words, I think you're much more interested in high school girls' butts than I am... Man, I don't plan to go out with a high school girl with this kind of dirty trick. I'm not living a web novel."

For a moment, I seriously don't know what he is talking about. Go out with her? A kid?

"Speaking of molesters, you're just like those exhibitionists, aren't you? Words."

At that, I have no choice but to shut up. The station staff rebukes the molester by throwing, "Hey," though they are laughing with him. Regret surges through me.

I knew I should have stopped. Why did I feel the need to save her? I should have stayed quiet. This would have had the opposite effect of helping me.

The girl looks at me with contempt. To her, I've turned into someone on the same level as the molester. Ah, but since I've meddled, I have no choice but to repeat the same argument.

"Your, stripe...rape! No, please ignore that. Striped cuffs and the black leather....pseudo-s*xual foreskin...and the wristwatch..."

Once I start, there is no turning back. If I back down here, I am nothing but a lying pervert. It doesn't matter anymore. I can't let the girl be upset and cry later to sleep.

"You've been hurting me since a while ago. I told you to let go of me! I'm suing you for assault!"

The molester strains his arm, but I don't let go. At the very least, I have to hold him until the police arrived. I don't know much about microbiological testing, but I heard that there are methods to scientifically confirm molestation.

I am about to continue my faltering eyewitness testimony with a sad determination when suddenly I feel a large hand placed on my shoulder and the molester.

"What's going on here? You two don't seem good?"

His voice is calm and low. A large man in a white shirt is staring down at us. He is probably in his early forties. He shows us his police identification card. A detective. He may have happened to be on duty―it's possible since this is the nearest station to the Metropolitan Police Department.

Now, that I think about it, so the man in front of me had committed molestation on such a train line. Is he too bold or stupid?

"Hello. Good morning."

The detective turns around and greets the girl politely. For a brief moment, his stern face relaxes and becomes surprisingly gentle. It is the kind of face that puts a child at ease. The girl's shoulders relax.

"I was worried since you seemed to be in trouble, is there something wrong?"

"Oh, thank you! Thank you for your help! Actually, it's..."

The station staff straightens her posture and begins to explain the circumstances. The molester loses his momentum and remains silent with a complicated face. Seeing the detective's good physique, he seems to have already lost the will to resist. He makes no move to run away even after I remove my hand from his.

But suddenly I am no longer interested in this molestation matter. I am transfixed by the sudden appearance of the detective.

His thoughtful profile as he listens patiently to the station staff's incomprehensible explanation. His black hair is cropped short and left a little messy. His face is well-shaped but rather stern. His eyes and eyebrows are close together, and his cheeks are broad. He has prominent stubble and beard. His eyes are sharp, but there is a lonely shadow, and fatigue can be seen around his mouth and on his cheeks―though this makes him even more appealing and attractive.

His beard may be in the process of growing but is perfect. He has a wild and masculine face, and the weeping black mole around his right eye is so s*xy that I want to munch on it.

His body is also wonderful. Tight shoulders, thick pecs, bulging deltoids, toned, shiny and muscular waistline, and thighs as thick as logs, everything fascinated me.

He. Is. My ideal.

I am so lost in admiration that I suddenly blurt out super embarrassing words.

"...This dude is so hot and s*xy..."

And so, the detective glances at me almost too soon. It is not a friendly glance, but a glazed look that makes me shudder. That's when I finally realize what I just said. I hurriedly cover my mouth with both my palms.

The station staff notices. She says, "He says he witnessed the molestation, but he's been acting like that since a while ago."

She laughs, as if she is already accustomed to my eccentricities.

"Oh...I want to fvck you once...and let you suck my d1ck...! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

What the fvcking heII fvck am I saying!

They are no anymore a string of incoherent words. They are clearly a desire coming out of my mouth! I am so upset by the vividness of the situation that even I am unnerved by it.

"...Detective's breasts are so big, your shirt looks like it's about to explode."

The nastier I think a word is, the more my mouth can't stop.

The station staff looks at me with a big WHAT? on her face. So does the teenage girl. She seems uncomfortable hearing that.

"I'm really sorry. I can't stop myself...I-I want to pour it all over your big ass! I'm not doing it on purpose―I swear! It's just a habit...of mine."

The detective's brow wrinkles. 

"What are you...doing in front of a kid?"



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