OPTOMUFF
Last summer during the few days of brief sunshine we had in London, I was lounging in Regents Park, a few cans by my side cradled in a classy Tesco’s carrier bag, engaged in a heavy semi-professional-level session of sweaty gusset spotting. There’s nothing quite like laying on the warm grass on a beach towel, sipping a can of the cool wet fizzy stuff while you scan the delectable, nubile young ladies having a sunbath all round you. It’s a bit like being in a harem, or an up market beach resort for the young and beautiful, or a really expensive brothel. So, you scan the great expanse of parkland like a lion searching for a tasty gazelle, and you focus in on a girl wearing a short skirt or a bikini, laying on the ground, soaking up the sun who’s positioned in such a way in relation to yourself that you’ve got an excellent view of her clam through a thin layer of flimsy undergarment material. This is the OPTOMUFF view.

The Optimum Perv TO Minge Unadulterated Full Frontal view.

I swear, if I’d have looked any harder and intently at some of these barely-wrapped vag valleys my eye’s would’ve cooked from the inside and exploded in a cloud of boiling hot eye juice.

So, I’m quite happily gazing at a lovely lady’s love canyon (well, I assume she was lovely – fuck knows what her face looked like but she had a very attractive quim poking out from the sides of her yellow knickers), when I hear a voice.

“What are you views on the drinking ban on public transport, Sir?”

I looked up, squinted, some bloke in a suit holding a BBC microphone was leering down at me. (Radio, I think – so not really TV, well, not unless he had one of those invisible camera crews with him). He’d obviously seen I was sitting there getting quietly sizzled on beer and thought he’d ask my expert opinion. Freaked me out a bit, being called Sir. The last time I’d been called Sir was when I was paddling in Camden Lock and a copper advised it wasn’t a very good idea to do this unless I wanted to contract legionnaires disease.

Now, I was pissed, so as the microphone was lowered towards me I replied: “Jesus… would you just look at that arse?”

The fella with the microphone followed my gaze and gulped. His gaze lingered on the fine bikini-clad buttocks of the girl I was perving over, and I could tell he tended to agree. But he pressed on and asked me about having a few drinkies on the underground again.

I thought about it seriously for a bit. I was in ultra-relaxed mode twinned with a code red perv alert, fuelled by Tesco’s ten cans of Stella for under a tenner offer. So I gave this reporter the most incisive, most eloquent, most thought provoking response I could come up with at the time:

“Be a good man and fuck off will you?”
( SpankyHanky, Mon 15 Jun 2009, 10:25, 6 replies)

*clicks*
This is becoming habit forming Spanky.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Mon 15 Jun 2009, 10:47, closed)

Actually the Heath is a much better location for the ultimate OPTOMUFF
Bit more hilly - get yourself positioned at the bottom of one of those fuckers and its OPTOMUFF galore...
( SpankyHanky, Mon 15 Jun 2009, 10:48, closed)

f**k
... I misread that as Octomuff - but I'm sure you've a story or two about GGMILF tucked away in your sack tales!

**clicks**
(Biff..., Mon 15 Jun 2009, 14:56, closed)

My mum is angry with me
cause i laughed so hard at this story I woke her up.

Cheers mate!

*Clicky Clicky!*
(chopper_harris is giving you a reach-around on, Mon 15 Jun 2009, 23:13, closed)

Another corker
*click*
( chart cat has an itch, Tue 16 Jun 2009, 3:06, closed)

Always the same...
*clicks*

*applauds*

*takes notes for future summer days*
( TheMagicDwarf is back like ballroom dancing, Wed 17 Jun 2009, 13:30, closed)