On Thursday, I met up with Morgan. As with most Morgan Encounters, it was anything but ordinary. Except it wasn't extraordinary in the way I expected it to be.

You see, most (if not all) Morgan-related events are highly sexual in nature. That's just the... erm... nature of the beast, might I say? It's always about this incredibly sexy (but repressed) woman coming on to me, but somehow not wanting to. Or wanting it too much, but trying to deny herself the experience. I'm not sure which one it really is. But on Thursday, it was something more... well, it wasn't HER.

I'm not making sense, I know. Let me start from the beginning.

When I got to the coffee place, I immediately spotted her sitting inside at a table right next to the front window. She had a glass of water in front of her and was looking out nervously. She probably couldn't see much because it was night and there weren't many lights in the street, but her eyes kept darting between the sidewalk outside and the entrance door of the cafe. I debated for a moment going in or not. You may think it's an obvious choice, but everything about her has been bad news lately. Did I want more of it?

And I guess at the end, I'm a glutton for punishment. Or for big boobs, if I have to be honest. Or maybe there's a tiny streak in me that thinks I can help her through whatever she's going through. I'm not sure what won over, but I stepped in, and the moment she heard the door's chimes ring up, she looked straight at me with relief. It was like she didn't believe I was actually going to show up. When I got to the table, she stood up like she wanted to hug me, but I pretended not to notice and sat down.

"Okay," I started. I kept my tone flat. I wasn't going to make this easy for her. "You wanted to see me. I'm here."

I could see she was taken aback by my words. I'm normally a lot friendlier, even when I'm very upset at people. But I was already regretting being there and wanted to make this as short as possible.

"I know I've caused a lot of chaos in your life," she said. "I... I want you to know I truly regret that. This isn't what it seems... I'm not that type of person. I'm not that type of woman."

Just hearing her say woman like that reminded me of how much of a woman there was under those clothes. My eyes fell down to her chest, and I half-wished I could touch them. Then I clicked -- I couldn't see them! I must have flinched or my eyes must have grown wide, because she looked down at her breasts, then back at me.

"Don't do that," she asked with a whisper. "It's wrong."

Yeah, I thought to myself, wrong like everything you've done to me. There was an angry part of me that was still upset at her -- and probably would remain upset forever. I realized I didn't have much respect for her. I didn't owe her anything or even want to be here. If she wanted to talk, she was going to have to do it fast. I kept my angry stare at her boobs, still wondering why I couldn't see them anymore.

"Talk fast. I have other plans tonight."

She shivered. Which is normal considering the cold weather we're having, but I think there was something else. She took a deep breath, which made her chest look even bigger. Damn she was filling out that blouse real good. And I could swear her nipples were getting hard under her blouse.

"I... I want to explain what happened. I think you deserve an explanation. You deserve MORE than an explanation, but I don't know..." She seemed to struggle with the rest of her sentence, and reluctantly finished it. "...I don't know if there's anything I can offer that you'd want."

What the hell? Was this some kind of overture? Was she offering herself? Was this crazy woman for real?

She was starting to breathe heavy, her chest moving up and down with each passing breath. I folded my arms, determined not to play into the sex part of this meeting. If she didn't get to the point, I was out of there in three minutes.

"Well?" I said. "Explain."

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She hesitated, then tried again. Still nothing.

"You're wasting my time," I said. I moved to get up. So did she, leaning forward and reaching out to grab my hand. As she did, I could see the blouse hug the curves of her breasts like it was a second skin, the top button straining to contain everything. That woman may have been one hell of a nut job, but damn those breasts were something else!

And that's when it happened.

From outside the cafe, a camera flashed in our direction. Someone was taking a photo -- probably of her. Morgan and I both had the same reflex: we looked out. Just a few steps on the other side of the window, a dirty, shaggy older man in a trenchcoat was pointing a camera in our direction. He was grinning with a half-toothed smile that was more creepy than friendly. Then I heard a small snap and was hit on the cheek by a small object. I turned to Morgan, and saw that the two top buttons of her blouse had snapped off and her voluptuous chest was spilling out, barely contained by a sturdy, plain white bra. Then there was another flash outside, and the middle of her bra snapped too, letting out these mounds of white flesh I knew only too well.

Morgan yelped and made to cover herself. Her eyes didn't leave the man outside and she looked amazingly pale. Whoever it was, she knew him and was terrified of him. I looked at him and he looked back. He made a little wave at me, then pointed at the camera, and laughed. And then he ran away.

Folks, I'm not always the smartest guy in the room, but even I can do the math, here. I'd seen this guy before. And this camera. This was Meghan's "Funcam," and this guy HAD to be the hobo who had gotten a hold of it. And if he was here, using it a SECOND time against someone I knew, it couldn't be a coincidence.

So I dashed out toward the cafe's door and tried to chase him. Unfortunately, he had a good head start and was able to lose me in less than a minute. He probably knew the this area really well, too.

I finally returned to the coffee place, but Morgan (not surprisingly) was nowhere to be seen.