[Trist6]

As an undergraduate, I lived about two blocks from one of the few pubs in town. It was a popular destination for my peers. As such, a fairly steady stream of other college kids passed my place on weekend evenings.

I didn’t care for their destination in the slightest. But, being a social fellow, I often felt compelled to meander over, make an appearance, see some people, and then return to my apartment.

One evening, just after stepping out my door, I saw a girl fifty feet ahead of me. Apparently drunk and wearing high-heels, she was struggling heroically to navigate over even the minor contours of the sidewalk.

She was also gabbing loudly into her cell phone. She didn’t seem to even notice me.

I kept an eye on her as we walked. I had a hunch she might be past due for a private place to squat. Sure enough—and much to my guilty pleasure—she soon ended the phone conversation and hurried around the far end of a roadside wall.

I took a tentative glance around the opposite end.

And there she was, leaning against the wall with her knees nearly together and her feet far apart. Her tights were pulled halfway down her thin thighs.

She must have gone quickly. Already, she stood over a glistening puddle. She hung her head; her long hair fell around her face and her gaze lingered between her legs. For a brief moment she seemed to consider the condition of her exposed thighs and her presumably dripping vulva.

Then it was over. She pulled up her tights and stumbled on into the night.