Hello Mr. Johnson

If you've been keeping up with the blog comments, you'll note that there have been multiple requests for me to detail the stories of my many penis sightings while commuting in Chicago.

I know, I know. Just swallow the coffee before it sprays all over the keyboard and electrocutes you. It's not quite like that.

But, apparently these stories carry an interest factor that is timeless, or my friends just wanted to see if I would actually type the word penis on a blog. Well, done and done.

What they don't realize, or have forgotten altogether, is that I DID share these stories back in September on my 7-year Chicago anniversary post. Maybe I didn't give them quite the flavor or texture that was requested? I'll repost, and start adding in the colorful details that make me "famous" as a storyteller. And, don't worry, when typing a story, I don't NEED any backtracks, so I will stay on track.

Here goes. I apologize in advance if you're prone to a sensitive stomach, or if you're reading these before you've fully digested that bagel and cream cheese.

I was flashed once on the El on the orange line to Midway Airport.

On a Tuesday morning. At about 8:30 in the morning, with the sun shining and the city gleaming. It isn't exactly prime "look out for predators" time of day. Or so I thought.

I was seated, with headphones and sunglasses and two pieces of luggage, when the loser crossed into my car, chose the seat kitty-corner to mine (about 5 feet away in linear distance) and proceeded to just stare at me. I should have known something was up—who crosses cars on the El unless you're peddling bad poetry or simply begging for dollars? It didn't help my cause any that there were few other passengers on this train car, and with each passing station, the numbers shrank. Pretty soon it was just him and me.

At any rate, this guy, let's call him Carlos, sat near me, close enough that I could smell his dime store cologne. I ignored him as much as I could, but my instincts were peaked, and the little tremors of "a gut feeling" began to fill my body. He sat there and just treated me to a nasty sneer while he began fondling himself.

I then realize he's getting into it—and was removing his penis—ugh, the word is starting to creep me out in this context; let's call it a member instead—from his pants to get a better handle on the situation. (The bad puns just roll right out of me, I can't help it).

This went on for a few minutes while I tried to stare nonchalantly out the window (they just want a rise out of you—and their member!) I ignored him quite well for about 10 minutes, which felt like 10 days. He stood up at the Pulaski stop, continued flogging, while standing facing me, holding onto the bar right by the door, and smiled.

He then got off (literally).

I was shaking. All the way home to Atlanta, where I debated telling my suburban mother the drama. I told her. She even let me come back to Chicago when the visit was over.

Satisfied? Want MORE public penis sightings?!?!

Well, lucky for you, I have another one.

Some time later, fully recovered from the El flashing incident, I was entering a cab (into the backseat, with three other girls) and one girl climbed in front with the driver, as is the custom when cramming that many people into a taxi.

The glass partition was open, but only allows the backseat passengers a glimpse of what's going on in front, thank God.

My friend up front starts shouting, "OH MY GOD, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!!?"

And we lean forward, and realize the guy is pleasuring himself IN THE DRIVER'S SEAT. Into a hankerchief. With passengers.

It was all too much—my friend shouts at us to "get out get out get out get out get out" and we do. I hurled a solid "why did you stop to pick us up if you were clearly preoccupied?!?!" at the driver as we stood on the corner and shook off the grossness of it all. Needless to say, the crowd of guys on the corner were interested, and equally mortified, by the incident. Or at least they put on a good face for it all.

Disappointingly, calling the cops was no help—we even had the cab number, date/time of the "incident" and everything ready. But, they wanted us to ride around with them all night to track down the guy and "catch him in the act."

Uh, yeah, already been there and done that. No thank you.

There you have it. A double dose of penis on a Wednesday. They don't call it Hump Day for nuthin'.