I'm really sorry if I embarrassed you or made you uncomfortable this afternoon. Truly. I stepped on the elevator with a co-worker thinking we were just going to do a quick bodega run for some Gatorade and the next thing I knew I was totally mesmerized by the gigantic python you were hiding in your jeans.
Well, "hiding" is the exact wrong word, I guess. I have never seen a tighter pair of jeans on a man before. I mean, this is New York City and hipsters walking around in skinny jeans are as common as pigeons and the homeless but... yours were really tight. I'm nearly positive that I actually saw the outline of your glans. In fact, the sheer tightness alone was nearly as impressive as your member that was straining against the denim because, seriously, I think your legs were thinner than my forearms.
Also, I'm pretty sure that kind of constriction isn't good for your sperm count. Just saying.
Missing: your gigantic man-package.
I was really hoping you wouldn't notice me gaping but I guess it was pretty obvious when I trailed off in mid-sentence, my brain unable to forms words and wonder how your skeletal limbs could even hold up your body, let alone the massive thing lurking behind your zipper at the same time.
Still, I tried to hide my fumble but when our eyes met, I knew you saw me staring. You flicked a lock of shoulder length, greasy hair from your gaunt cheek like one of those shampoo commercials on TV (if they starred the hipster elite) and I could see the disdain in your glassy, hungover eyes.
I admit I felt a little defensive. You are like the penile equivalent of women who run around with their tits practically flapping in the breeze but get morally offended when a few gazes slant their way. It's HARD not to look, okay???
Okay, really, what WAS in your pants? A codpiece? A jock strap? A semi-automatic sex rifle? If you truly were hiding a horse cock, I can see why you were so, well, cocky, because honestly, there wasn't much else special about you.
But you sure acted like you're the best thing since sliced bread. You rock on with your well-endowed self, Dirk Diggler Wannabe.
Regardless, I am sorry if I caused you and your apparently gigantic bologna pony to feel judged upon. Even if that was exactly what I was doing.