My Milkshakes

I've always found it curious that the my friends, the Lushes don't wear more revealing clothes at work. At work I see far more Laura Ashley frocks than Versace glam. Not talking about shocking the stuffy seniors with scandalous gold-sequinned minis but perhaps just a modest slit up to there or even the occasional tastefully revealing neckline! Doubt that would outrage the moral code of our practitioners.

Paul : So why not a short short skirt to work? The coats would cover them up.
Fiona : The male workers would stare at us in a disgustingly lewd manner.
Sarah : Think drooling dawgs.

Never walked a mile in a lady's stilettos - well not figuratively - so I wouldn't know how being ogled and yet feel utter helpless would be like.

But today I finally caught what they meant.

Imagine randy leering uncles with their gaping fish-mouths and drooling chins. And I wasn't even at the secret neighbourhood go-go bar - I was at an immigration office! And the poor victim was an underaged nymphette who astonishingly had the glorious D-cups of Dolly Parton. And though our Lolita was dressed far from seductively, her frilly peasant blouse could only do so much to disguise nature's blessed bounty.


I'm talking here! Eyes to my face!
Certainly brought all the 'boys' to her front yard since it was quite obvious that the much older men around were eager to appreciate nature. Obviously the current fasting month - and her relatively juvenile age - wasn't enough to give the aging pervs a valid reason to look away red-faced. Easy to understand how they get all excited over the allegedly provocative schoolgirl uniform.

Look I have a tendency to ogle as well - though I try my level best to be somewhat discreet. But the pecs I drool over belong to gym-built fellas who would have no need at all to fear me physically. Come on, they could crush me with their ham-sized fists quite easily. Hell, maybe even a thick finger or two.

But I guess it's a whole different scenario for the girls. Especially a younger ingenue trapped with a group of older men. So how did our poor Lolita feel having her bountiful bosom stared at like fresh grade-A meat dumplings just off a rack? Can't say since the schoolgirl buried her burning face - and what she could of her generous endowments - under a local daily.