I was at Fred Meyer on a Sunday night. I was roaming through the aisles trying to find body wash and seemed to be blankly staring with no results. I did, however, notice an older gentlemen, quite tan for the time of year, that kept appearing in each aisle I was in. I didn't think much of it until I noticed him yet again in the make-up aisle. I made eye contact and glanced away. I shot another look to see if he was still there. He sure was. But this time, he was facing away from me- feet spread like he was getting his dick sucked at summer camp. His shirt was raised halfway up his back and his hands were placed awkwardly on his ribs pretending they were hips. And there it was in all its glory. A fucking g-string tan line that was so clearly worn so high up it was like a fucking 1980s workout video. I looked away, mouth agape. I laughed. And stopped. And laughed again. I looked back and he turned around, dropped his shirt and vanished from the aisle. WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?
The Man in Aisle 7
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