Bottoms and Handbags

We were miserable, cold and tired after a very, very long day with both of us very short in the patience department. We had been travelling since early that morning, and although it was early evening, our journey was not yet over. Uncle Nick was grumpy, and well, I was even grumpier. Walking into Preston station, we had to determine which platform our train was going to leave from, and Uncle Nick that is so richly blessed in the patience department, had already stormed off in a huff to the information desk, not preparing to wait for the information board to change to the next page.

I was tired, dying for a warm cup of coffee, and desperately needed some peace and quiet, preferably in a comfortable sitting position, and as he stormed off, mumbling whatever he was mumbling, I refused to budge. I leant back against a pillar, waiting for the information board to change; there was no way that I was going to consider walking in any direction that was not needed. Lo and behold, a couple of seconds later, the page appeared, I determined the platform and time that we were suppose to leave from and turned around to call Uncle Nick back.

The words literally died on my lips. There he was, standing in the middle of the terminal foyer, putting Lot’s wife to shame, with tired and irate passengers having to find their way around him. Obviously, the next step for me was to identify what he was focused on so attentively that it appeared that he was not even breathing. There she was, with her three friends, clearly trying to determine where they are supposed to be going. She was fashionably well dressed, a nice mini skirt, and her handbag was one of those with the very long straps, where the bag will then nestle against the side of the top part of leg. Well, that was how the bag was supposed to be worn, however, somewhere along the line, she had flung the bag over her shoulder, which had resulted in the bag snagging itself underneath her skirt and resting against her bottom.  

The problem was that every time she adjusted the bag, she was only pulling it forward, resulting in the skirt being lifted higher and higher, until her whole bottom was exposed. I cannot quite remember the colour of her panties, I think it might have been white, well, Uncle Nick will most definitely remember, but by this time, I was hopeless with laughter. As she was walking up and down with her friends, re-adjusting the bag continuously, lifting the skirt higher and higher, the statue formerly known as Uncle Nick was eventually only moving his eyes. A couple of times she did pass quite close to him, and it was as if I was watching a National Geographic programme; the absolute stillness in his demeanour, waiting, waiting for the target to come within reach...

Although I doubt that he would had actually given her bottom a smack, even with every ounce of his body telling me, that he really, really wanted to, I owe this girl a world of gratitude. I have decided to adopt a strategy, in that every time he does seem to start building an interest in my bottom, specifically referring to its temperature and colouring, I only need to find another bottom to distract his attention with...while I safely make my escape...

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