BARTed into San Francisco to work for Black Sheets, my every Monday gig, and brought a backpack full of "I'll do anything" flyers to spread all around San Francisco afterwards.
Of course, on a subway platform, incoming trains always kick up a gust, so I loitered until a Fremont train blew in. It ruffled and raised her skirt, but not quite enough.
The escalator was broken, so I had to climb the stairs, and in doing so one tends to look upward. Another short-skirted woman was upward, standing at the edge of the mezzanine above, and this time without even hoping for a breeze, the view was unobstructed. All the way up. She was wearing pink panties, either or the thong design or all bunched up, leaving 95% of that woman's fine butt on display for everyone below.
As I reached the top of the stairs she walked away, which was of no matter to me. It's not like I was going to make a pass at her or anything. Maybe I might've said 'Hello', or 'Thanks'.
Wondering how she could not have known she was flashing a hundred people below her, I paused for a moment where she'd been leaning on a short safety bar, and looked down. What came into focus, looking down, was another woman's very low-cut blouse, as she stood on the platform, far below.
Yessir, today was my lucky day. Any one of these wouldn't be an uncommon sight, and I wouldn't bother writing about it, but a trifecta, three in a row in about three minutes, was a special treat indeed.
Disgusting, you say? Typical male behavior?
Yeah, and I came straight home and masturbated.
I'm a weirdo in many ways, but completely typical of my gender when it comes to long legs, butts, and boobies. Put a pretty woman in a short skirt, and show me any man who's not hoping for a breeze, and it's gotta be a gay man.
But c'mon, even most gay men would've been watching, hoping.
From Pathetic Life #16
Monday, September 11, 1995
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