Pointing Percy At The Postman

Today I fear I have further embedded the idea in the postman's mind that I am a total pervert. A month ago I am convinced he'd thought - incorrectly, I might add - that he'd interrupted me during a private/solo exercising session. (http://tomsadler-rtbc.blogspot.com/2011/11/i-wasnt-wanking.html) Today, I seem to have gone one step closer by actually exposing myself to him.


Now, there is an honest and perfectly reasonable explanation to this.


I decided to take a late morning shower, having just been to the barbers. Because of being covered in a light dusting of trimmed hair I had put all of my clothes in the wash bin just outside the bathroom door as I'd gone in. See, all perfectly reasonable. Having finished my shower, I dried myself off and realised that all of my underwear was on the clothes airer downstairs. I decided that a short, naked jog downstairs to retrieve them was a perfectly fine thing to do, seeing as there was nobody else in. 


As I got to the bottom of the stairs, in front of the full-length frosted-glass panelled front door, I noticed that the weekly Advertiser had been popped through the door. I leant down to pick it up and, upon leaning back up again found myself staring face to face with the postman, who must have been just next door when I commenced my run. Not only did he catch me a few weeks ago in a state of, apparently, post-masturbatory exhaustion, but he has now seen my naked outline from behind frosted glass. He must think that when I'm at home I'm constantly engaged in some kind of perverted act. 


With any luck, the frosted glass protected him from seeing any kind of detail. I mean, it would be difficult not to see the 6ft outline of a man's naked body from only a few feet away, but with any luck he'd struggle to identify my penis in a line-up. In the instant I saw him I just kind of yelped and slunk away into the living room, and left him probably worried about sticking his hand in my letterbox in case I was hiding behind the door and waiting to shove something into his hand. 


In his eyes I am the naked, wanking, pervert from number 10. I honestly wonder what kind of perfectly innocent or mistimed act he might stumble upon me doing next and then, I suppose from his point of view given the evidence, make perfectly reasonable assumptions about my character.


I am nothing if not a constant victim of poor luck and bad timing. And inaccurate claims of perversion.