Yesterday I wanted to perform my usual Sunday ritual of eating a bagel under a shaded tree in the park. I decided going to Central Park was a Very Bad Idea because all the protesters would be there, interrupting my sleepy meditation and stomping all over the grass. So I went to the little river-side park instead.
I strolled around looking for the perfect resting place. I spotted a patch of shade beneath a tree and laid down my blanket. I kicked off my shoes, flipped open a magazine, and ate my gooey bagel as the breeze pushed sailboats up the river.
A short time later, my new friend Caroline joined me. We sat and chatted and watched the dozens and dozens of people wandering. The park was crowded and we decided it must be full of Central Park avoiders. Then a Little Old Man walked by, clearly prepared to sunbathe as evident by the smears of creamy white sunblock all over his face.
The little old man disappeared for a moment before returning on our side of the fence. He smiled at me, and I smiled back, because I am not completely a new yorker yet. He looked around wondering where to best set up camp, and I was more than a little disturbed that he chose a spot in such close proximity to Caroline and myself. And even then, he sat facing us, and leaned up against what I imagine is a very uncomfortable wrought-iron fence. Odd choice, I thought.
So Caroline and I chatted, pointed at cops, coast guard boats, and military helicopters all around us. When I turned my head to speak to her, I caught the most horribly unexpected glimpse of the Little Old Man's balls. Yes, his balls. My Little Old friend clearly chose to go commando and didn't seem to mind that I could see directly up his shorts.
I looked away and attempted to act unphased, though I'm sure my speech was momentarily disrupted simply out of sheer shock. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the L.O.M. adjusting his position to give me an even broader view of what dangled beneath his shorts.
Trying not to be rude for not looking at Caroline while I spoke, I forced myself to turn my head again. And there, not 6 feet away, was the L.O.M.'s penis, falling out of his very innapropriate shorts. And on his face, amidst what I'd still hoped was sunblock, was a very dirty grin.
"Hey, Caroline. Want to go see the dog park and--"
"Yup, let's go!"
I've never packed up my blanket so fast in my life. I don't know what it is with penises in the park, but really, I could do without. Dirty pervs.
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7 comments:
Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww! Grooooooody!
were they really short shorts?? or just a long old ball sack?? :)
They were really short running shorts, the stiff kind that hold their form when, say, some dirty perv in the park sits on the ground leaning against a fence, spreads his legs, then pulls his knees in. At that point, there's no need for the shorts at all because everything is hangin' out anyway.
But at least I can say he wasn't "happy to see me." (Not that I could tell, anyway.)
sick!!!!!!! I would have said something to him, or punched him whatever I have to go to the bathroom and throw up!!!!
He WANTED a reaction, which is why I gave him none. Of course, I was afraid that even eye contact would have made him "happy," so I figured it was best to just put my sunglasses on and abandon ship. I kept looking away to see if one of the many present cops was tuned into what was happening, but I guess inappropriate display of old men's balls is not on their list of terrorist activity to watch. Mm, good times in the park.
...then there is always the one thing any man hates to have happen to him, the two of you should have pointed at his nutsack while giggling uncontrollably! I have a buck says he would have gotten all embarrased and just gone away!
ugh, that happened to me at jones beach
laura@glittering.org
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