Photo by Shaayad Shahid on Unsplash

The bus was hot and crowded. My body was slick with sweat — some my own, and some from the other passengers jostling against me as we bumped down the road to Maroubra.

I let out a slow breath. Counting to ten, I felt the hand make a second attempt to fondle my ass.

After I’d felt it the first time, I’d screamed bloody murder, flailing at the hand like I was having a fit. But now, after twenty…