I remember years ago sitting in an enclosed patio of a New York City restaurant when a man came up and pressed his private parts against the window. Like a scene out of Sex in the City my girlfriend and I gave him the itty bitty sign and kept on eating.
I was about 25 years old at the time, that was then; but the other day while driving my car, I came eye to thigh with a young black man sporting the shirtless, dreadlocks, pants down below his penis look.
I could clearly see his privates swinging in the breeze and he was strutting like a chicken, head bobbing back and forth checking to see who was checking him out.
I almost drove into a tree, not because he looked like a Chippendale dancer, but in outrage that this seeming intelligent young man would expose himself like this in front of me and the rest of the world. I wanted to pull over, get out of my car; and like the mother that I am, scream what my mother would have screamed. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Find him a belt and whip his bared behind, and then put my belt around his damned pants.
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