Only in New York

Sometimes I get sad that I never have those creepy New York experiences that everyone else seems to have. They make for good stories. But tonight, I finally had mine.

I was on my way to Brooklyn on the D train, in a window seat--which sits perpendicular to the seats that run along the inside edges of the cars. A man dressed in all black sat in front of me holding a messenger bag on his lap. After four or five stops I looked down and noticed his pubic hairs. I at first thought that he had on very low pants and that his shirt was riding up. I tried to look up and around and everywhere but at his lap, but I couldn't help looking down. And then it happened. He adjusted the messenger bag and there it was: his penis! It wasn't hard and he wasn't playing with it. It was just...there.

On the Manhattan Bridge I got out my cell phone to text message my boyfriend and tell him what had happened. I considered taking a picture of the man (no, not his penis) to turn into the police like this woman did in August. But then I reconsidered. He wasn't really exposing himself; he was covering his penis with his messenger bag. I figured it was the equivalent of a man catching a glimpse of a woman's vagina when she crosses her legs (of course to really be equivalent, she'd have to be sans underwear).

As we approached my stop, I got up. So did he. But instead of zipping up his pants he just kept his bag in front of his sack.