A retelling, with permission and differences, of C.D. Rudd's classic webcomic SailorSun.org.

Billy Jones, a film student and extra, seems to have been exposed —if that's the word— to some sort of special effect.

I dithered as to whether to deposit my check via ATM or go in and give it to a teller. On the one hand, if I used the machine, I wouldn’t have to deal with anyone who might notice that my ID didn’t match my appearance. On the other hand, depositing with a human meant the money would be available immediately and I would avoid maybe having to wait until Monday.

On the gripping hand, the bank was closed. Doh!

So the question was, deposit via ATM or wait until tomorrow? WaMu was pretty good about making funds available, even if they hadn’t cleared, as long as you hadn’t over-drafted recently. Which I had been being pretty good about. So, I walked up to one of the ATMs, dug my check out of my pocket and got my card from my wallet to tell the machine who I was. It wouldn’t care that I had tits.

It did care that the check wasn’t endorsed and informed me firmly that I should endorse the check and write “For Electronic Deposit of Funds Only through Washington Mutual” on the back. Eep! I didn’t have a pen.

I looked around. A guy who had been using the next machine had a backpack, so he might have a pen. And he was already looking at me. “Uh?” I said, intelligently. “I need to sign this check—do you have a pen I can borrow?”

He smiled hugely at me. “Soitenly!” he said in a Curly Howard voice. He flourished a ballpoint at me like a magic trick, and I surprised myself by giggling at his antics. Since when did I giggle?

“Thank you,” I said, blushing but taking the pen and quickly writing the required magic formula on the back of the check. The machine beeped at me to say I was taking too long so I hurriedly fed it the check and it masticated thoughtfully while I handed back the pen.

“Thank you,” I said again. With another giggle, damnit.

He took the pen, clicked it once, waggled his eyebrows and suavely asked, “Come here often?”

I was saved from still another giggle by the machine horking up my receipt and my card while playing its “Go away, now,” music. “Uh,” I said, looking at the receipt. Dad’s deposit of my $400 monthly parental support had cleared five days early. “Wow,” I commented then decided I could afford to take some money for the weekend and stuck my card back in the slot.

“Hmm?” asked my casual but helpful acquaintance. “There’s a Starbucks on the next corner? Can I buy you an iced cappuccino?”

I stared at him with my mouth open until the machine booped to get my attention. I moved to hide entering my PIN then asked for Quick Cash, all while trying not to think about being obviously hit on. Does this happen to girls all the time? It’s distracting, especially when trying to enter your PIN for the third time. One more mistake and the machine will eat my card.

“My name is Chad,” the guy was saying. “Chad Fox,” he added. “I’m a film student at UCLA.”

Surprised by that, I admitted to being one myself. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in any of my classes, though,” I added as I took my forty dollars and my card back from the machine. But why would I have noticed him, particularly? He was tall, had dimples and good hair…wavy, brown hair…and crinkly blue eyes. Okay, I hadn’t noticed him before because I was a guy. Now his details seemed more memorable and that worried me.

He grinned. “I know I haven’t seen you. How about that cuppa and maybe a scone? My treat, of course.” He blinked earnestly.

For a moment, I actually considered pointing past him and exclaiming, “What’s that!?” in a fearful way then running the other direction when he turned to look. Right at the moment, he was trying hard not to stare at my chest. I resisted the urge to shrug and wiggle my shoulders, just to see how he would react, but the thought of doing so caused me to giggle again.

“That’s a yes?” he asked, still smiling.

My stomach chose that moment to growl plaintively and I realized I hadn’t had anything since the very good studio luncheon seven hours before. Well, half a package of Hostess Cupcakes and a few Fritos someone shared with me on a break. Had I been a girl then? I didn’t think so but my expression must have been something to see because Chad laughed out loud, thinking I went crosseyed just from sudden hunger, I guess.

“That sounded like a definite yes,” he said. “Something more substantial than a scone perhaps? Dinner?” If he grinned any wider, he could have passed for a South Park Canadian.

“Okay,” I said. “But I’ve got money.”

“Aw,” he said. “It’s not a real date if the girl pays her own way.” Still grinning but I didn’t think he was kidding.

A date? Was I going on a date with a guy?

“Do you like Chinese?” he asked.

“Love it,” I said without considering that that would sound like agreement. My stomach growled again, ready to argue about it.

Chad reached for my hand, asking at the same time. “Wanna go Northern?”

“Uh,” I said. He meant the Northern Cafe, a stereotypical hole-in-the-wall family-run restaurant about three blocks away. Good food but not my favorite style, since I loved me some Szechuan. I watched him take my hand; his paws seemed twice the size of mine. I looked up at him, realizing that I had lost several inches in height. “W-why not?” I stammered.

At least, Northern Cafe would be on the way home to my apartment.

The sensation of a guy holding my hand sent shivers up my arm and down my back. Chad’s hand was not only larger than mine, but harder and his skin felt rougher. It made me feel small and soft and smooth all over. I looked up at him again and realized I was smiling. He smiled back and said something. I didn’t seem to be able to listen and walk at the same time so I just murmured some nothing when he paused.

Maybe I could use this as practice in how to deal with Jack my roommate. Mr. Harrelson had not affected me this way. If Chad was an example of how I was going to react to guys near my own age who weren’t my boss, I was going to be in trouble.