[Swagaholic420]

Originally Posted by swagaholic1

First let me say how grateful I am for all of you contributing so faithfully to a thread like this. I found this after a long history of searching precisely for the pictures like the ones posted here.

I’m glad interest in this thread never waned (at least from the few people who still post). I’m back— the guy who promised his stories so long ago— and I’m here to tell them.

Yes, I leave my zipper down and wide open in public for women to ogle. To give you an idea of what these spectacles are like, I’ve included pictures. As you can see, I managed to fold the interior flap of the fly backwards, out of view, making for a very large exposure on my crotch. This can be easily accomplished on any pair of pants (as far as I can tell) by cutting that short strip of stitching below of the zipper that secures it there. Once that’s gone, you can fold your fly flap freely all the way up to the waistband, where a fastened button can hold it in position (or out of position, so to speak) indefinitely. As you can see, a long and sizable sliver of my boxers is clearly visible while standing. Colorful red underwear make this even more noticeable. When I’m sitting, it gapes extraordinarily wide. I sometimes wonder if it looks blatantly intentional, but then again few would ever think that a man would do this on purpose. Despite its flagrant inappropriateness it probably appears innocent enough-- at least to unsuspecting onlookers. Let me know your impression because I’ve always wondered. That said, most women never tell me. I've collected data a while now: less than 5% of women I interact with bother, less the 1% of women in passing. Whether it’s because they fail to muster the courage, overcome their schadenfreude, or simply summon the decency, I can’t say. But the fact remains that it’s a rare occurrence, though they can’t help but notice. This is fine by me of course. I prefer for them to stare and wince and cruelly smirk at my ‘fashion faux pas’. To take pictures and to whisper about it out to their friends. To stare unashamedly in licentious fascination and leave me in ‘ignorance’. I’ve been at this for over 8 years now and I’ve seen it all. Without further ado, here’s one of my stories:

A while back I used to work at a large retail book store. Hell, I’ll say it— it was a Barnes and Noble (the only large retail bookstore left). At the time I found myself working with exclusively women coworkers and supervisors, and once on a blue moon I’d pull one of my signature stunts for them. One in particular stands out to me as the most arousing.

On a Wednesday night I was cashiering alone. A couple of hours before my shift ended I radioed my supervisor to let her know that I was going on a bathroom break. While in the bathroom, I unzipped my fly to drain the snake, tucked my penis back into my boxers, and then washed my hands and left the restroom, ‘carelessly’ omitting one crucial step. (See my picture with the blue sweater for reference). It takes some nerve to walk out in a public place like that, but having had plenty of experience previously I was able to play a cool hand and act as if nothing was amiss. Then I proceeded to cashier with my fly wide open and the crotch of my bright red boxers in clear view for all to see. If you’re wondering how visible I was behind the cashiers counter, the answer is: very. Our counters were low, coming up to about an inch below my crotch. Anybody that got checked out by me had a clear view of the goods— ample opportunity to check me out. There were only a handful of people during that interval who came through my line, most of them older women (the primary demographic of that store) and a few men who didn’t want to suffer the embarrassment of telling me. Watching women's darting eyes, double takes, and lingering stares is always a turn on, and I received plenty of gratification that first half hour. That isn’t the crux of my story however. Believe it or not, that was more or less a common occurrence for me, and nothing to write home about. It’s what happened next that really shot me to the moon.

My manager radioed to let me know that she would be coming to count the registers, as was custom at that hour. She was a short red-head in her mid 40’s who wore feminist glasses, and was stout like a New England bar maid. For confidentiality's sake, I’ll call her Suzy. Suzy was never married, probably because she was ingratiating and controlling, and still lived with her mother. You know the type. From the few personal conversations we shared it was evident that our world views were opposed, and, though she had to tolerate me as a manager because of my dependability, it was very apparent that she disliked me. I mention this because it provides some explanation for the events that follow. Anyways, when she reached the registers she noticed immediately that my fly was wide open. Suzy was visibly taken aback by the severity of it, though clearly intrigued. I played it cool, bracing myself for the obligatory ‘hey, you’re fly's down’. But it never came. She drank in the gaping spectacle for a few moments, failed to prevent herself from doing several double-takes, and then went on to count the registers as if all was well. I was a bit dumbstruck that my own manager didn’t think it prudent to say something (especially when she had me in a secluded spot)— surely someone like her would have reveled in the chance to point out such an embarrassing oversight to an underling. Nevertheless I was also grateful that she chose not to spoil the show. I leaned at flattering angles, looking off at browsing customers, and watched in my peripheral vision as she surrendered to her baser instincts and stared opportunistically.

A women suddenly arrived to buy some books, then two others cued behind her in rapid succession. Suzy immediately tensed-up, probably fearful that one of these ladies would muster the decency to tell me. With nothing left to do but truck on, I waved the first one over. She had a coy smirk during the whole transaction, and whenever we established eye-contact her eyes darted up to my face (implying that they were downcast beforehand). Suzy continued working diligently as I rambled through our sales spiel. It was the holidays, and at that time we had to ask every customer if they wanted to buy a kids book to donate to our county’s ‘library on wheels’. Popular children’s fiction was displayed against the wall behind me, and I would step back and gesture at them during my pitch to try and entice a sale. This night, it had the added effect of highlighting my gaping fly to those still waiting in line. The next women in the cue became particularly interested, and started to lean against the counter strategically to get a better look. This was right in front of Suzy, who was now noticeably anxious about all the attention her cruel silence had garnered me.

Just then, while I was still checking out my first customer, I noticed our custodian lady standing off to the side with trash bags in her hand. She had been making her rounds behind the counter and was waiting to change the bin just in front of me. She was also staring wide-eyed down at the obvious. Miss custodian was a petit hispanic woman, very attractive in my opinion, but always haggard looking and overly quiet. I stepped back to give her access to the trash as my customer was paying, and she promptly dropped to her knees to perform the task. This put her at eye-level mere inches from my crotch. My customer sported and amused grin at this odd scene while I bagged her books ‘obliviously’ and handed them over. Miss Custodian, meanwhile, took an abnormally long time changing out my trash bag, and I bid my first customer goodnight and beckoned the other over before she finally moved on.

Customer number 2 was the one who had noticed before while in line. She was a stocky middle-aged lady with straight blond hair, expertly applied makeup, and was wearing a professional blouse tucked into dark skinny jeans that complimented her pear-shaped figure nicely. I later learned that she was a house realtor looking to decorate her homes with some soulless, overpriced coffee-table books full of doctored photos and empty platitudes (something women of her demographic typically buy). This lady was far less discreet during our interaction than my last one had been, and she stared enthusiastically whenever my attention was taken by something else.

I stretched out the transaction as best I could, giving my eager audience ample opportunity to absorb it all. Suzy, still counting money off to the side, had evidently gotten over her initial apprehension and was back to ogling me too. At one point the two even exchanged a knowing glance to one another. After I went through my spiel and scanned all of her books, I announced the total price and waited for her to dig a card out of her purse. Instead she pulled her phone out and said ‘You know, I’m so sure I’m ready to buy these after all’. She asked if she could take pictures of her books on the counter in case she decided to come back and purchase them later. This was a highly unusual request (and a very obvious ploy to snap a candid picture of my spectacularly unzipped fly), but it wasn’t technically unreasonable, so I said ‘sure, no problem’ and stepped back slightly to let her frame her shot.

Suzy stood by, mouth agape (yet with the corners still curled in unmistakable glee), and stared in shock at this flagrant breach of civility. She couldn’t intervene without (in her mind) embarrassing/offending me— her hands were tied. She probably didn’t even want to. Hell, her shared fascination with the lady had probably encouraged it in the first place! The next woman in line was also party this shameless exploitation, as she definitely had a clear view of my photographers screen and the subject that warranted such treatment. With flash on and her phone at full volume, angled at the books on the counter (but really focused on my crotch further back) my customer proceeded to snap several photos of my yawning fly, her devilish smirk positively beaming. My heart was pounding at this, but I maintained my composure and acted as if she was actually taking pictures of her useless books. When she was satisfied, we exchanged parting pleasantries. Then I placed her items aside to make room for customer number three.

This last transaction was short, and my customer was not nearly as animated as her former cohorts. Her smile was a nervous one, and her replies to my spiel were curt and had undertones of pity. Her eyes still darted from my crotch to my face as we spoke, though not with the same excitement I had grown accustomed to. Suzy, however, was emanating an aura of pure and unbridled schadenfreude. The money from her register had scarcely been counted, because she was now obsessively watching my bulge through my wide open zipper. Before I finished my customer out, another lined up, then another. I went on to check out a few more women of various ages (luckily no men came through then), with my eager manager in attendance. Believe it or not, she clearly delighted in the public humiliation which she no doubt believed she had ‘orchestrated’ for me. I suppose, in a way, it was true. I’ve never seen her take so long to count the registers.

When there was finally a reprieve from my line, Suzy and I began to engage in idle chit chat, as coworkers tend to do. The subject of my open fly never came up. After a little while, I noticed her fingers start to thoughtfully stroke the phone in her hand— that shameless woman’s dastardly deed had clearly given her ideas, and she proceeded to lift her phone as if to check email or something. I carried on as if this was normal (under normal circumstances I probably wouldn’t realize it anyway), and slowly but surely she worked up the courage to slyly lift the camera lens to an more direct angle— obviously framing a photo. I casually put my hands in my pockets, causing my fly to game spectacularly, no doubt. Suzy couldn’t help but smile. She thankfully had the presence of mind to ensure that her flash was off and her phone was muted. I imagine she got several good shots of me in the end.

It was difficult to stifle an erection at this point, though I managed to keep it from reaching full-sail. Not being able to inspect myself without giving the whole thing away, its hard to say how lewd this scene appeared. From mirror-research I can say that the outward pressure of my semi-inflated cock probably made my fly gape more ‘firmly’, and my boxer-clad genital bulge was most definitely apparent through the splayed zipper gap. These developments have transpired more than a few times, but never incited any public scorn or even judgmental glares, so evidently it still appears to be an innocent (though catastrophically revealing) oversight. It’s still a dangerous game to play, because a full blown erection could easily slip out of my buttonless boxer fly under the right circumstances. I’ve never flashed anybody (to my knowledge) but I have a couple of stories where it may have gotten close.

Anyways, Suzy and I continued talking for a while longer while she finished counting the registers, and I managed to get my cock under control again before more customers started lining up. Without any more excuse to linger, my manager went on to attend to other things, abandoning me to my very public post. The last hour was slow, and the people who came through were all witness to my revealing spectacle. Suzy walked past a couple of times to straighten things near the check-out counters. Of course, she was really checking to see if I had ever discovered my embarrassing fashion faux pas-- her eyes were suspiciously downcast whenever she looked my way. Funnily enough, one good Samaritan actually did tell me during that hour, catching me when no one else was around. I just feigned embarrassment, hid behind the register and pretended to zip up, then resumed my act after they left the store. The show must go on, as they say.

After subjecting a few more customers to my cheeky show, it was finally quittin’ time, and one of my coworkers came to replace me at the register (under the direction of my conniving manager no doubt.) She was a tall girl, but very shy, about 19 or 20, and at a loss for words at the sight of my wide open zipper. With nothing much to say to each other except ‘see ya’, we exchanged curt nods and I went to clock out and collect my things from the break room. Before leaving through the back door, Suzy came up behind me and chided ‘heading out?’. I confirmed that I was and she beckoned me over to say something important. Of course she would want to witness my humiliating discovery— instigate it even. I braced myself for the inevitable.

“Your zipper’s down,” she whispered loudly.

Suzy had bided her time till the very end to tell me, waiting until there was no more opportunity to prolong my exhibition. It would have been easier not to say anything, but this dastardly lady disliked me so much that she even wanted to see my embarrassing realization. In actuality it turned me on like crazy, so I endeavored to put on a good show for her yet again. I spent a second looking down to take in what everyone else had seen for the past two hours, and uttered something along the lines of ‘Jesus! It’s wide open’. Then I hurriedly zipped up (not bothering to turn away) and acted very concerned, looking off into this distance as if in recollection. “Damn...” I muttered half to myself (but really for Suzy’s benefit), “Must’ve been down for a while. I wonder if anybody else noticed” She gave a grimacing smile at that, the one where you suck in through your teeth, and replied, “I actually noticed it about 10 or 15 minutes ago from across the floor, but I never got the chance to tell you until now.” It was a calculated line, enough to imply how bad it had really been for me, but not enough to reveal her part in it all. Three or four more agonizing seconds passed in silence between us as I looked off contemplatively into the distance again. Suzy had to purse her lips to stop from smiling— the masochistic b*tch was genuinely enjoying this. “Well thanks for telling me…” I said in defeat. “See you tomorrow.” At that we parted.

I consider this one of my best shows and I hope the reasons for it came across in the retelling. Suzy was a heck of a sport, and ironically we’re kindred spirits in a lot of ways. Had the roles been switched, I probably would have acted much the same way (though the dynamic between a male manager and female subordinate would make it slightly more prickly). It’s hard to say what the appeal of leaving my zipper wide open in public is, precisely. I love the exhibitionist side of things, obviously, but, as this story clearly indicated, I love the humiliation aspect of it too. Either way, I’ve written about this at great length to hear your feedback, so let me know what you think! I have many more experiences to share, and with the proper encouragement they’ll be as thoroughly retold as the one you just read. Thanks for reading and thanks for posting all those pictures on the main thread— I’m a regular lurker.