Warm City Night.

The lease had expired on our happy shared flat. My studio apartment was the furthest away from the crew. Too poor to have a TV or car. Mobile phones not yet invented.

I was lonely.

Thursday night. No point trying the vandalised public ‘phones. Walked the fifty minutes to the crew’s hangout.

They were getting ready for a fancy dress night at the 'Philharmonic'. If I could find something to wear, I could join them.

The overcrowded little mini, dived into the curb and stopped outside my place. I squeezed out following a passenger reshuffle. Ran indoors and changed. whilst considering what the sentence, ‘Take your time but hurry up.’ meant.

It’d been a hot summers day, Earlier, I’d cut the legs off a pair of jeans. Figured, if I wore a pair of briefs and used a suspender belt to hold up the leggings. Covered the whole ensemble with my full length Mac, I’d make a great ‘flasher’.

For finishing touches I’d made a round badge, slogan ‘legalise flashing,’ to cover my ‘embarrassment’. The half cup under wired bra, that add a special pervy touch, was considered, but abandoned due to fit.

Entering the club, filing past the handsome black bounder, he indicates the cloak room. I say I’m OK, but he does the sideways body check and adds, “It’s fire regulations sir, everyone has to remove their coats.”

Momentarily, I consider my response options, decide on a quick flash, and get waved through without further debate.

Having a legitimate excuse to be a pervert is fun. The best reaction was with the singer of the band, Lavern.

Lavern, a gorilla of a man, is a bit of a local legend musically. They reckon he could have made it big had he not sunk negotiations by getting arrested. On this night, he faced one of his biggest challenges. To keep singing whilst a perv’ in semi drag, suddenly flashes, directly in front of him.

He fails miserably. Result for Tickers.

It had been one of those magical 'fun night with friends' times.

They dropped me off outside my place in Pontcanna, and I watched the red tail lights bounce choppily down the empty road. Tyres making that sticky sound only heard on warm city nights. I breathed in the ambience and light fragrance of Budlia. Life is good.

Being forgetfull, and a drinker, I’d developed a system of ‘everything in its place’ to cope with daily life. I can always rely on finding my house keys in my front, left hand jeans pocket……

Ohhhhhhh Fuck!!!!!!!!

It’s 3.30am.
I’m dressed as a pervert,

and I'm locked out of my apartment.

Fortunately, being resourceful, I manage to break in with minimum damage or attention, but I’ve sometimes wondered, what would have happened, if during the climb in, I’d heard the immortal question,

‘Hello hello hello, what have we here then?’

Before someone asks why I'm in posession of ladies underwear, long term relationships finish, sometimes things get left behind.

I'm not a trophy collector, or a cross dresser..........................I'm not!