30/07/2019
Once inside the women's clothing store, my only solace was the Man's Chair. It wasn't long until she ducked into the dressing room for a small eternity and I was left to fend for myself. A man is never more naked than when he's alone in a women's clothing store. I nimbly located the Man's Chair. It was shoved in a corner by the dressing rooms leaving me eye-level with a rack full of grannie panties. Awkward! I didn't last. I stood. Hands in the pockets. Rocking my heels back and forth. Contemplating a stain on my shirt. Then I checked my watch. Two years of saving for a collectors edition? I was an embodiment of disappointment at 24. I frowned and tried to take solace in mrealised ted ...testosterone. All of this wiggling was no use. I was still surrounded by pink things. The kind described with adjectives like "pretty" and "soft". The bare thought of them was an actual physical sensation. Manhood receding, I glanced around the store. Most of the women were alone. I silently cursed their boyfriends and husbands who were fortune enough to be at home, at the bar, or dead. I couldn't help but fancy life on the outside. I almost got emotional. As my eye leaped from face to face, an attractive teenage girl inevitably caught my gaze. I smiled sheepishly though she didn't smile back. It's then that I realised ...that I was the creepy guy lurking by the dressing rooms. Ogling. My smile vanished and I tried to offer an expression that was innocent and apologetic. I pulled my hands from my pockets(which of course made it look worse) and averted my eyes to the nearest clothing rack. With much desperation, I started touching things. As I lumbered around the racks, I tried my best to feign interest. I pursed my lips and nodded at some of the pants. Hoping the look passed as normal. “These are nice sweatpants,” I announced to the woman across the table. She stared for a moment then walked away. I shrugged and continued touching the sweatpants. They said "JUICY" across the ass.