It was the Friday afternoon after the inevitably heavy Thursday night when I left my friend’s place in Walthamstow for work. Hanging like a rassclart basket in the wind, all I wanted was my bed. But I got so much more…

I took my seat on a reasonably empty carriage and am shortly joined by a short stocky man that sits opposite me. My initial thought was ‘never trust anyone that sits directly opposite you when there’s loads of seats on the carriage’, who knew it would turn out to be more true than I’d realise.

As I quickly scanned his attire and questioned his sexuality (a straight-looking guy in a pink Abercrombie tee can really throw a sister through a loop), I looked down and to my surprise – and minor delight – saw he was going commando. Don’t get me wrong, he totally wasn’t hot, but the situation kinda was. Two guys on an empty train carriage, glances turn in to groping and the next thing you know the train inspector is standing there and he ain’t after our Oyster cards. Anyway! Before one gets a little carried away…


As he read the Metro unaware that his privates were no longer very private, I fought with the idea of snapping him and shaming him out on… Even though he did look a little mentally retarded. I decided to avert my gaze, as his helmet was distracting my daydreams about winning a knobel prize for the world’s best sex blog. As I glanced back, his bell end was now fully poking out his shorts.

Hold up. There’s no way that much of your man meat could be hanging out of and you wouldn’t even notice… Something told me he was fully aware he’d ‘slipped out’. It was the most poorly orchestrated wardrobe malfunction since Janet Jackson’s boob ‘fell’ out at the Superbowl.


Then when he began peering over the top of his newspaper to see if I was looking I knew we had a full on flasher on our hands.
I mean who did he think he was? Britney Spears? And this was not 2007 hunty.


Wait, hold up, was that a hearing aid he was wearing? Oh my God, I was being flashed by a disabled person. Indecent exposure is wrong in the first place, it’s even worse when you’re audibly impaired. Oh no, sorry, it was just his earphones. *wipes brow*
Although he did kinda look like he had boss eye. As if getting your piece out on The Victoria line wasn’t special enough, he had one eye checking me out and the other looking to see if the coast was clear. So just to clarify, he had three eyes – and only one that could see… Shame babes.

Then suddenly this kinda harmless and rather amusing situation takes a bit of a turn, when I see he’s covered his lap with his newspaper and now has a full on hard on boner. This was more awkward that when Ariel tried combing her hair with a fork…


Then he starts squinting and making all these ratchet sex faces. Like, who does that? I mean, obviously I can’t help it if I turn men on to the point of sexual deviance, but I hadn’t even taken my clothes off.


Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t encourage him, but neither did I get up and move seats. Was he a deluded sexual predator? Probably. But hey, any attention is good attention, right? Oh God. Is this what my love life had resorted to, allowing a sordid exhibitionist to expose himself to me on public transport because I couldn’t decide if I was horrified or flattered. Lord, I’m not sure what’s more tragic, that or the fact that this was as racey as my sex life had been since coming back from Gran Canaria. Fuck, that’s depressing. Now, Where’d I leave my hand gun?

What followed was five stops of avoiding (third) eye contact, and the occasional snort that slipped out while trying to refrain from pissing myself laughing. And you better believe when we pulled up at Leicester Sq I ran like Anne Hathaway running away from a good haircut.

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