LOOK OUT – Perv alert!


LOOK OUT – Perv alert!A few times when I was younger, I sometimes managed to find myself in dangerous situations – where I was going to be at least seriously embarrassed, or even exposed as a solo-sex pervert mac-wanker. Although I loved the thought of girls knowing my guilty secret, that didn’t include being in a situation where I was expected to be like normal men, to be able to perform. Obviously, I’m not saying I was ever ‘propositioned’ – that’s too ridiculous to imagine – but here are a few examples of when those situations arose.It’s one of my early jobs. I overhear a conversation and it appears that there’s going to be some sort of ‘show’ involving a girl at work, Miss Sue, in the local woods at lunchtime. I wait anxiously for a few minutes and then set off, hoping to get there unseen. My plan is to find a spot to watch the ‘show’ and get my perv sex pleasure. No sooner than crossing to the footpath when another bloke from work is walking along there too. He makes a joke about am I going along ‘to watch’, and though I’m assuming that’s what everyone will be doing – I got the impression three blokes were going to be there – I didn’t want at all to be with others. I’m going to hopefully spunk in my pants seeing Miss Sue show, whereas I’m assuming the ‘normal’ blokes will just watch – this is way before phone cameras or anything. We arrive at the woods and walk to the centre, and Miss Sue is already there with two blokes. She starts to undress – right there, in the woods – and one bloke gets his knob out and starts to make it stiff. She is down to Her undies and goes towards the stiffening dick and onto Her knees. I’ve absolutely no idea what’s going on and I’m scared to death. I try to back off, looking away, trying not to be noticed and I hear Her making a noise like someone really enjoying a doughnut or something and at that point I run away.That afternoon I hear two girls in the offices talking about Miss Sue and the fact that every week She goes down to the woods with 3 blokes and something something something – words I don’t understand. I’m quite traumatised by it, and it’s not until years later I realised that what was to take place was a gang-bang, and if I’d stayed a minute longer I would probably have seen Miss Sue sucking that bloke’s knob, which at that time would have been quite distressing for me. (There was no porn then that I knew of, I’d seen girls partially dressed only in my magazines, there was no Internet, no sex on TV, nothing).The fact that I’d seen Her start to undress in front of 3 blokes was quite exciting and disturbing at the same time – I couldn’t make sense of it, or how I felt about it. However, when I was at the window in the disused offices I really enjoyed spunking in my pants seeing Her walk by, having decided that, even if I knew nothing else, She was obviously very sexy.Towards the end of school, crowds of pupils were indulging in social events, often at someone’s house when their folks were at work. On a few occasions I tagged along, just part of the crowd, not particular friends with anyone. I wasn’t yet a loner, having not quite worked out what I was – I knew I didn’t ‘date’ like the other lads and didn’t talk to girls at all. I hadn’t yet coined the term ‘girl-worship’, but I knew I was utterly enchanted by girls and was obsessed with several of them. Attending one of these parties did give me the opportunity to see Miss Julie in just Her blouse, showing cleavage and stocking-tops, sights I only ever saw in my mags, and my dream came true when She made me spunk my pants. So one of the reasons I tagged along was in the hope of getting ‘lucky views’ of one or other of the girls I worshipped. Music was playing and there were a few people in the room I was in. People were chatting while I was reading a newspaper, which occasionally had nice pics of girls which I would then usually steal for later wank pleasure. I hadn’t noticed the room thinning out as lads and lasses paired off – how was I to know this was normal? I only realised when the last two started to get up, and realised that there was one poor girl left – and me. Now I have no doubt that She wouldn’t be the slightest bit interested in me – spotty, timid, totally inadequate bloke who never spoke, had minus charisma. But what was I supposed to do. I felt as if I was about to be exposed as a wanker, and hesitated, agonising over my means of escape. As the lad and lass started to exit the door, I jumped to my feet and rushed out, straight to the front door and gone. That was a key part of my education as to how and when I got my sex pleasure. Obviously I would always want to see girls I worshipped in scenarios where I could ogle till She made me spunk my pants, but getting involved in any sort of social venture was not the way to do it – everyone would know sooner or later that I wasn’t normal, didn’t have normal relations and was incapable of and disinterested in normal sex.On a couple of occasions I was seen by girls at my secret window, and on others at the local shops in my mac. I loved the thought that those girls knew I was a wanker, and what I was doing on those occasions. This was in contrast with trying to keep it a secret in the early days, because reputationally at school that would have been a disaster. That’s not to say that it wasn’t at work – in those days I never kept jobs for long – but my tactic was to gradually leak out what I was by the way I behaved around girls – ‘the creep from the stores’.Strangely that information never seem to spread far, despite the fact that on one occasion at my window, when I was seen by Miss Jacqui’s friend as She was making me spunk my pants. At the local shops two girls from work saw I was mac-wanking – I was powerless to stop as one of the girls, Miss Joanne, had been driving me crazy for months and I was utterly desperate to spunk with my eyes on Her, bahis şirketleri and when that opportunity came up – well knobby spunked all by itself as it often did, and all I could do as they walked past was try to stifle my moans and dampen my shudders. How I LOVED it though that those girls all knew. When I delivered the mail to offices in the morning, I always overheard conversations. On this occasion people were talking about a TV programme about dating or something like that. I wasn’t particularly listening, but each person was talking about their first time on a date and where it ended up. Suddenly I heard my name, and didn’t have any chance to prepare myself. I was asked about my first time, and stuttered for several minutes, getting redder and redder, trying to think about my first pants-spunk to see if I could turn that into a comparable experience, but unable to find the words and hurriedly making my exit, to the sound of laughter behind me. Shame it wasn’t all girls and I wasn’t a bit older and more experienced as I might have been able to ease out the information subtly that I didn’t date, I was just a pervert. I also wasn’t to know that the lady serving in the nearby newsagents was married to one of the blokes at work. I thought my luck was in – new job and a newsagents with a rack of dirty mags nearby? Perfect! Now I don’t do anything nasty when I buy baregirl mags from a girl, but you can be sure She knows by the time I’ve bought my mags and gone that I’m a real perv. That lunchtime I go in and buy almost every mag She’s got – I can never have too many mags – and because in newsagents they don’t give you a brown paper bag for your mags like the dirty bookshops do, I ask for a carrier bag. That evening, I go to my locker to get my carrier bag and set off for home and to look at my new mags. Who should be chatting in the car park with Her husband and his work colleagues but the lady who saw Wanker buy a stack of mags today, perving over them with eager lustful eyes. She did a quick double take when She saw me with the carrier bag, and I of course flushed up and tried to walk past as quickly as possible. I was afraid my secret would be out and that job would be over almost before it started, but no-one ever said anything about it. I didn’t dare go back in that shop but fortunately there was another newsagents in the town and I got a lot of mags there. One day I’m at the counter, nervously waiting to be served and hoping nobody sees Wanker with his stack of dirty mags. I get to the counter and the lady is picking them up one by one to add up, and suddenly I realise that right next to me are two girls from work being served by the other lady. I quickly look away but I can see one of the girls had noticed and nudges Her friend. Looking back on it now I love the thought that they saw what I was buying and could only have concluded that I was a big wanker, but then it was cringingly embarrassing. I was let go by the firm not long after that, but the good thing was I could go back to the shop next to the firm and buy lots of mags from that lady. It was interesting the way She looked at me, knowingly, slightly disdainfully but also amused. I loved the humiliation of desperately picking up all the mags I could see and hurrying to the counter to buy, so She could see the urgency with which I needed to get those mags home for my perv sex pleasure. Then struggling to get my notes out and counting out the right amount, so the mags lay on the counter for as long as possible. Then as She clicks the till I’ve got a chance to hold up one or two of the mags and ogle the covers, making sure my eyes widen and my mouth drops open slightly. Of course there’s a risk She’ll tell Her husband about the pathetic wanker that used to work there and how he buys lots of mags, but I take that risk as I love buying my mags from ladies. By the 90s I’m comfortable living the life of a perv. I’m on the road these days, delivering stuff, and I’ve discovered that in the evenings, girls are going clubbing and town or city centres are good places to be in my mac. It’s the early days of the Internet and I’m worshipping remotely 2 or 3 online models. I’m also a member of a few forums and I’ve made contact with a few of the guys, one of whom is also in email contact with two of the girls I’m worshipping. He tries to persuade me to be normal for once and actually go out to one of the clubs he goes to with his friends. It turns out he’s a mate of Miss Melanie’s husband, and he saw me once when I turned up for a Worship Session with Her – Her husband and a few friends, including this guy, were at a table outside enjoying a drink and the warm sunshine as I arrived all done up in my mac. Anyway, he tells me which club they are going to and crucially that he’ll be accompanied by two friends of Miss Melanie – in the same line of business – Miss Vicky and Miss Sam. Now Miss Sam I spoke to when She answered Miss Melanie’s phone cause She was on holiday, and She was lovely, saying I could see Her dance. Unfortunately She got in trouble with Miss Melanie for trying to steal Her client. But when I heard that, well I was going to that club – not in it, outside it, in my mac. Unbeknown to me, as I was standing on the corner mac-wanking on a girl going by, the three of them were in a taxi opposite, and Miss Vicky took some video of me on Her phone – rubbish quality as it was very early days. My cyber friend took great delight in sending it to the two online models we both corresponded with, and sent me their reactions in emails. I think both girls knew I went mac-wanking, but as one of them commented, it showed them that I did actually do what I said I did. The other girl replied to him “OMG, he’s actually having a wank under his mac! God his dick must be red-raw the amount he must play with it!”Interestingly it didn’t change the way they bahis firmaları continued to correspond with me, but how I loved it that they’d seen me at work in my dirty mac – proof I’m a REAL pervert!I’ve always taken great care only to be seen perving when I want to be seen, but even so there’ve been occasions when I was caught out. Once when Miss Rosie at work was driving me out of my mind but I was finding no way to watch Her and cum in my pants (that day did cum eventually) and at lunchtime I ran to the nearby woods, took off all my clothes and rubbed up and down loudly chanting Her name as the spunk rose. I didn’t realise there was a path next to the spot I’d chosen until a man and woman walked by, though they carried on, taking no notice. I found a little wood next to a beach many years ago, and it was perfect for standing in there looking out over the beach. It was never busy but sometimes there’d be nice girls there and I’d have a lovely time rubbing myself. On this day there were a few people on the beach, including two girls, one of whom had a lovely figure – we’re talking glamour model here. Obviously it wasn’t going to take Her long to make me go into ecstasy, I just had to get it hard and I was being as slow as possible, to eke it out as long as possible. As I always do, I was chanting very pervy things, which if anyone heard them would leave them in no doubt I’m an utter pervert wanker. So I can feel the spunk gradually rising as I ogle the girls, hardly rubbing at all to prolong the lovely feelings, and I can hear laughter. I take no notice, assuming it’s people on the beach, but it gets closer. I’m concentrating on ogling the girls and there’s a long stream of pre-cum from the slit in my tip and I’m making quite a lot of noise as the girls have me on the verge. Spurt! Moan…. Spurt! Moan…. Laughter….Spurt! Moan…. more laughter, now so close I have to turn to see, and there’s a girl with Her fella, obviously (now, though not then) coming to their spot to ‘do stuff’. Oh the embarrassment! (I love it that She saw a pervert wanker spunking while he watched two girls, hardly needing to rub for them to make him). Quickly stuffing willy back in my pants I scarper, not back down the path as they’re in the way but through the bushes to the side, getting scratched as I do. The time came when I wanted to be ‘caught out’ as a perv, and what better way than for girls to see me perving with my dirty mags. To begin with it was simply because, on the road and far from home, I couldn’t wait to look at my new purchases – sometimes for the 4th or 5th time – and so would park up near the shop to ogle till the girls made me spunk my pants. So it was an accident when I was first seen but a lovely pants-spunk as I was mocked and laughed at by two girls. It wasn’t easy finding the right spot, because there was a risk of causing offence or upset, until I realised that red light districts were best. I was a regular visitor anyway, because standing at a bus stop or in a phone booth seeing some of the lovely skimpy-dressed girls at work gave me some lovely pants-spunks. I was able to spread a lot of mags around and ogle them while girls of the night would walk past and take the piss. Sometimes in exchange for a note they’d read my pervy captions, I would show them my Miss Melanie homemade mags, which surely tell the story of what an utter perv I am better than anything. Groups of girls walking along or standing by the road waiting for clients would call out, pointing at me, making the wanker sign, laugh and mock, while Wanker would be squirming in his seat, on the verge of spontaneous hands-free ecstasy, before bouncing up and down in his seat and pumping spunk into his pants. There’s nothing like spontaneous hands-free perv ecstasy, feeling the spunk gradually rising and all I’m doing is placing a load of dirty stained mag on display, open at pages where I’ve put my pervy captions and cartoons, knowing that unless I remove them in last-minute panic, the girls walking along a few yards from me will soon see them all, see this pervert all done up in his dirty mac on a warm evening, see him gawping at photos of bare girls in the most pervy fashion, and as they start to laugh and mock, spunk cums out my tip and into my pants all by itself. Delicious. How I love a group of girls calling me a wanker as I’m filling my underpants and trousers with cum, and they can see and know what I’m doing. I’m also aware that when I stand on a street corner in my dirty mac on a warm summer’s evening watching the skimpy-dressed girls going clubbing, a few girls will notice me and instantly recognise a pervert mac-wanker. It’s surprising how many people do not seem to see I’m there. Some girls play up to me, specially if they see me in the same spot hour after hour, which was usual on cold evenings where I might have to wait for hours for girls to come along without coats on, which some did. Two girls walked past once, obviously seeing me and laughing to themselves, and when they’d got a few feet up the road, stopped and skirt-raised, flashing their knix and making me instantly start to pump into my pants, making it as obvious as I could for their very amused entertainment. Another way to advertise the fact – pervert alert! This bloke is a mac-wanker!! – is to be seen going into or coming out of dirty bookshops. Walking along the high street to the shop meant I was in full view of the road, but I couldn’t see who saw me. Anyone who did would immediately associate me with the stereotype of your typical dirty old man – dirty rainmac, flat cap, heavy glasses, baggy soiled-looking trousers, furtively heading for a shop where they sold magazines which would be pored over by wankers seeking their source of sexual gratification. And that’s partially why I dressed like that, although a mac was essential to hide bulges, wet patches kaçak bahis siteleri and my hand jerking through the holes in my pockets. Baggy trousers allowed free rapid hand movements as well as instantaneous wet patches when I spunked my pants, which I loved when I attended Worship Sessions where I was allowed to keep my mac open for that reason. Emerging from the shop was more difficult, and I don’t mean because people saw all that but also the brown paper bag under my arm which of course would be full of dirty mags which the wanker was trying to hide from view, knowing that everyone would know he’s a wanker if they saw them. I wanted everyone to know that. It was just that I wanted to be seen by girls coming out of the shop like that, so it meant trying to hang around in the shop doorway for girls to come along. That worked a few times though, and I was treated to mirth and mockery on a number of occasions. I even tore the brown paper bag as I stood in the doorway so that when girls came along and I stepped out, leering at them pervily and clumsily holding my paper bag under my arm, the dirty mags spilled onto the pavement, causing lots of mocking laughter and comments about ‘pervert’, ‘wanker’ and so on. How I LOVE girls to know. A real opportunity was missed though when I experienced a ‘case failure’. Not satisfied with an ordinary briefcase due to the fact I couldn’t get all the mags in it that I wanted to, I got a case that was more like a suitcase, so there were so many dirty mags in it I could hardly carry it. I was frequenting a particular shop at that time and use to heave my case into the counter and open it to cram my new mags in that the lady had just sold me. I leaked a lot as I did, as She could see not only how many dirty mags I had – a fraction of my total collection – but would be wondering why I had to cart them around with me. It was just so She would see them of course, and also to open at Worship Sessions and feel the delicious humiliation of a Goddess saying “what a wanker you are, look at all your dirty books Graham, you big wanker!”As it turns out, the suitcase wasn’t up to the job and one day it gave way as I walked down the street, the lid flying open and exposing the treasure trove of pervert mags. Unfortunately there were no girls around to witness this and let me feel their derision, more’s the pity. Letting everyone know you’re a pervert is easy – just walk down the street in your perv gear. But there are places where it’s not so easy to turn up like that. For Worship Sessions, a couple of times I found a studio for the Session and then had to turn up in my perv gear to strange looks from the studio people. Much lovelier was one place where I arrived early as usual, and outside one of the other studios was a girl who looked like She might be a glamour model, and, well, the look She gave me – ‘what on earth is a pervert doing here?!’ One of my Goddesses arranged to use a camera club studio where I didn’t need to see anyone but Her – how lovely and thoughtful of Her – and then there was Miss Leigh’s studio. I had to turn up there for the first time of course in my perv outfit and She said “you must be Graham” (yeah obviously a wanker) but She would have been told by my Goddess beforehand. Even so, nice to have to go through that and the nervousness it caused me. But in the early days of desperation to see a girl pose for real, I went to a ‘city clickers’ amateur photo session, arranged by Tozerward, the people who published Peaches, Amazons and 50+ magazines. Somehow I’d convinced myself that there would be other pervs like me there and that I wouldn’t look too out of place. But of course I arrived very cautiously, poking my head round the door, tiptoeing into the reception area. A bloke walked past, turning to look at me but not reacting much, though to me he looked like what I imagined a professional-type photographer would, and I was thinking I was not in the place I wanted to be. I stuck my head round the door and there was the studio, with a few blokes congregated by a table, again all looking, well none of them like pervs. At that moment, behind a curtain at the back of the stage, I heard a girl’s voice talking to several men, all laughing, and suddenly had an image of Her arriving on the stage and throwing Her robe off so She was completely undressed for all the men to take photos of. I turned tail and dashed out of there. Stupid wanker. Finally, one of the things that gives the game away, when you can’t do all the openly pervy things – and I’m particularly thinking of work situations here – is to let it drip out that I don’t do any of the things that normal people do. People talk about their partners/husbands/wives – but not me. People talk about their social lives – but not me. I’m obviously uncomfortable in the presence of girls and all too ready to gawp, eyes wide when any loveliness is on display. Being seen by girls from work on the street corner in my dirty mac, or in the local newsagent buying dirty books helps. I found it very natural to be entranced by particular girls at work that were sexy and lovely and very comfortable wearing revealing things, such that I would pay them special attention as in being very deferential, always looking for opportunities to run errands for them, always at risk of becoming mesmerised by them when they were being particularly showy. Miss Jane always wore very short minidresses when that was the fashion, showing more legginess than I usually saw, and more like what was in my Spick & Span magazines, so it was no act when I struggled to stop myself going into a trance looking at Her (which normally ends up with me spunking my pants). She and the girl who shared Her desk would wind me up a bit, I’m sure that was deliberate, it’s not just me k**ding myself. I was torn between staying there and ogling as they said suggestive things, pretending to talk to each other as if I wasn’t there, until I had to wrench myself away and dash to the toilet for one or two jerks that instantly had me spurting spunk down the bog seat. ‘Pervert alert’?! They knew alright!

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