Panty Pervert
It finally happened. I am officially a dirty old man!
I’m not exactly sure at what exact moment in the Laundromat I suddenly morphed into the world of ‘Letchdom’…but it happened swift enough; I was caught today by some girl across the Laundromat, shamefully staring at her panties as she delicately separated and folded them into her laundry basket. BUSTED!
I feel about as couth as Harvey Kietel in the movie ‘Bad Cop’. Surely the look this girl flashed me was similar to the expression of shock on the girls face in the movie as Harvey flogs off outside the drivers window like he was shaking coconuts from a tree.
What can I say? I was stoned…I was bored…I was lost in thought. Am I not a man after all? My eyes are automatically drawn to things with lacy waistbands…it’s part of my natural DNA makeup! It couldn’t be helped! We men are drawn to these particular women’s garments like dark matter to a collapsing star. Their magnetism cannot be avoided.
What is this strange magnetism that men have to women’s panties? Display any pair of soiled women’s panties and you will inevitably end up having to beat off* the leering old men with a crowbar. There’s just something about them that brings out that primal beast in us males.
However, women don’t seem to share the same intense interest for men’s underpants as we have for their pretty unmentionables. Why is that? You’ll never stumble across some girl in the Laundromat rifling through your laundry to sniff your dirty boxers, will you? But I bet that the reverse is not true. If any woman were to leave her soiled laundry at the neighborhood Laundromat for even a split second to grab a ‘Jersey Milk’ from the vending machine, she would inevitably return to an empty laundry basket. All the local dirty old men, like myself apparently, would have plundered that unprotected panty cache and have made off with our pink lacy plunder like starving coyotes in the night.
“THAT DINGO STOLE MY THONG BIKINI!”
* Not that kind of "beat off", Sicko.
I’m not exactly sure at what exact moment in the Laundromat I suddenly morphed into the world of ‘Letchdom’…but it happened swift enough; I was caught today by some girl across the Laundromat, shamefully staring at her panties as she delicately separated and folded them into her laundry basket. BUSTED!
I feel about as couth as Harvey Kietel in the movie ‘Bad Cop’. Surely the look this girl flashed me was similar to the expression of shock on the girls face in the movie as Harvey flogs off outside the drivers window like he was shaking coconuts from a tree.
What can I say? I was stoned…I was bored…I was lost in thought. Am I not a man after all? My eyes are automatically drawn to things with lacy waistbands…it’s part of my natural DNA makeup! It couldn’t be helped! We men are drawn to these particular women’s garments like dark matter to a collapsing star. Their magnetism cannot be avoided.
What is this strange magnetism that men have to women’s panties? Display any pair of soiled women’s panties and you will inevitably end up having to beat off* the leering old men with a crowbar. There’s just something about them that brings out that primal beast in us males.
However, women don’t seem to share the same intense interest for men’s underpants as we have for their pretty unmentionables. Why is that? You’ll never stumble across some girl in the Laundromat rifling through your laundry to sniff your dirty boxers, will you? But I bet that the reverse is not true. If any woman were to leave her soiled laundry at the neighborhood Laundromat for even a split second to grab a ‘Jersey Milk’ from the vending machine, she would inevitably return to an empty laundry basket. All the local dirty old men, like myself apparently, would have plundered that unprotected panty cache and have made off with our pink lacy plunder like starving coyotes in the night.
“THAT DINGO STOLE MY THONG BIKINI!”
* Not that kind of "beat off", Sicko.
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