Back when I was fifteen years old, I had the appearance of a twelve year old boy. And I had an extraordinary talent at the time for attracting street pervs.
I saw all of the classics; everything from closeted priests to rentboy pimps doing the “touch their chin to check for stubble” thing. I even had someone try the “would you like to come upstairs and see my etchings?” line verbatim once.
It didn’t particularly bother me; they were easy enough to spot, never caught me, and were occasionally amusing to mess with.
Which is why I once managed to get a guy to pay me $20 for a pair of old gym socks…
See, that I could follow. It’s the specificity of the soft and fluffy socks that gets me.
Of course, it’s by this point been decades since I discovered there was a Usenet alt.binaries.pictures.erotica.loose-socks newsgroup. I thought it had to be some sort of euphemism for something really strange, so I checked it out. Nope, just pictures of fully clothed young women with big really loose socks fallen down around their ankles.
Yup. I do love a well-turned-out set of tootsies, but I’m with you and Nanner when it comes to the socks. I guess it’s akin to the used-underwear deal, to an extent, but neither appeal to me. Laundry is laundry.
