It was hot yesterday, so I wore sandals, shorts, and a black sports bra under a sheer camo tank top. In case you're interested, this seems to be the formula for getting seriously ogled. One guy on a motorcycle almost wiped out, he was so busy staring. A muscle man in a rose beret scoped me so hard I could feel his eyeballs scraping my skin. And the air was decorated with wolf whistles after I walked through a cluster of shady-looking figures outside a tattoo shop.
I don't normally notice ogling or flirting until it becomes overzealous, as in the case of the young pups at the Hamilton dance club (where I had to resort to using kung fu to get one of 'em off me), or like a couple of weeks ago when a man holding a cat carrier while riding a bike kept ringing his bike bell until I looked. Then he crossed the street to ask me if I'd be his girlfriend.
Somehow, well on my way to my fourth decade, I appear to have become a sexpot. How the hell did that happen?
no subject
Date: 2007-05-24 07:37 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2007-05-24 07:51 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2007-05-24 07:56 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2007-05-24 07:56 pm (UTC)From:Somehow, well on my way to my fourth decade, I appear to have become a sexpot. How the hell did that happen?
no subject
Date: 2007-05-25 02:14 am (UTC)From: