The bus was crowded, so I stood at the back. Seated directly in front of me was a scruffy fellow, his arms were decorated with what looked like homemade tattoos. I was admiring a cigarette (or was it a syringe?) located on his thumb, when he looked up at me, shifted uncomfortably in his seat and pointed at my crotch.
I looked down. I was flying low. My zipper was wide open, a mouth screaming to be noticed.
How considerate! It’s rare for a stranger to broach this subject. I’ve certainly never done it, even if it’s a friend. It’s just too awkward, as is anything to do with the pelvic region. What’s there to say? “Oh, hi, I was just looking at your crotch and, uh, noticed your penis might spill out any second.”
Because that’s the fear, isn’t it? The Emergence. No one needs to see that, but it’s…
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