Aaron Mansey [Perversion Parasite]

It first started when I was doing the laundry one Saturday noon.

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Whirr.

"Mooommma."

"No."

"But moommma!"

I looked up from the spiral of near indistinguishable, mish-mashed clothes, my reflection mirroring me and my drab person through the transparent glass shield as my eyes shifted to a pair just entering the laundromat. The woman was wearing a set of green shorts and a white tanktop, on her hip a basket of clothes. Tugging at said shorts was a little girl, bouncing on either foot restlessly.

"Pleeeeeaaase?"

The mother sighed. Kneeling down, she set the basket on the floor with a bit more **** than she anticipated, causing a wrinkled tee and some plain-colored cotton underwear to fly out, splaying themselves on the floor. Hastily, she nabbed them and tucked them back into the basket before drawing out a few quarters from her loose pockets, while I tried not to make my staring obvious. Thankfully, she didn't bother to even acknowledge my existence. "Don't drop anything, okay Leslie?" She gave a testy, but not unkind, look to the child while handing her the money.

After a cheery ''kay', the girl scuttled off. I careened my neck to see an ice cream truck parked just by the sidewalk. The mother turned back at that moment, and our eyes quickly, for a split second, intersected. On instinct, I quickly averted my own.

"Ah!"

I let out a steaming hiss. Something sharp must've been on the ground, because my finger was jolted by a sudden sting. Raising my pointer up to my face, I narrowed my eyes.

A small, strangely multi-colored leech-like bug was attached to it. Its legs resembled a fitful of small hairs, which was always pleasant to have on your anatomy, and softly tickled the calloused side of my finger. It wriggled a bit, almost like it was stuck and trying to get out. "No worries, little guy," I whispered under my breath. Why, my brain gave me a proverbial whack, are you talking to an insect?

"Just hold... still..." I, Aaron the Insect Whisperer, continued.

A second later, it was successfully flicked away. I gave my hand a flap. That bugger had a nasty bite! I brought the appendage to my eyes again to see a slit of blood peeking back. It was indistinguishable from a papercut.

While all of this was happening, the young mom four washers down from me had already activated the water and sprinkling her choice of cleaning product over its running viscosity, when suddenly, her elbow must have moved at a tad too strong an angle -- concurrently, I felt a brief but jarring jolt of pain from my little leech-bite wound thing as her basket of clothes toppled over the side of the adjacent drying machine, her head snapping back just in time to see her clothes accumulate more lovely bacteria, spread out as they were over the aisle.

"Oh heck, for crying out--" She sighed, shook her head, and squatted down, resorting to a resigned mumble. "--loud...."

It was funny; okay, creepy was the correct word. But even so, as a hot-blooded, just-graduated-high-school, meandering young man, I found myself naturally drawn to something that, incidentally, was displayed quite conveniently thanks to the young mom's current position.

She had squatted down facing in my direction, which caused both her shorts to hike up her thighs and show off a pair of nicely muscled, smooth-enough flesh as it contracted against the weight of her descending upper body, and, believe it or not, a peek inside.

A bit of dry air crawled into my throat as I, in my own squatted position in front of my selected parttime drum machine, realized, at that moment, what exactly I was being exposed to.

Holy--

Dude, she ain't wearing any PANTIES man!

What? Don't judge me. She wasn't, honest!

I was literally watching as this cute young mom squatted down and, in perfect tandem, revealed to me her VAG!

In public, you saw all kinds of things. You can be lucky just by taking a few laps around the local Target store.

Today was such a lucky day.

I gulped, eyes locked on to the target, necessitating a few double-takes, then a few re-evaluations, before concluding that no, yeah, I was right the first time, holy crap.

...and her pussy's right there, holy shit! A bit of a bush on her, too.

Her shorts weren't an intensely tight fit, so it allowed for a little bit of droop. What was spectacularly convenient was the way she was squatted; perhaps it was just the length of her slender legs, but she had positioned herself into an even more vertical stance than normal. Effectively, it resulted in her thighs being practically parallel to her lower legs, which in turn caused her shorts to ride up to practically either cheek of her ass -- the underfolds of which, I just then realized, were also nicely visible. She was slim, but had a decent amount of baby-fat, at least where it counted.

Breaking my mesmerized state was a flash of fabric. With half interest, my eyes watched her throw what appeared to be a lacy, small-sized thong back into the basket, and so, my interest was re-stoked.

Oh man. So she DOES have some more flashy stuff in her closet! Beats the rest of the granny panties she's washing.

Then, another flash of fabric, this time in the form of a very low-cut top. Then another came, revealing a super thin, yellow G-string bikini bottom. The next article was a see-through mesh top, that had to be hard on the abdomen. And was that a shirt with an 'ahegao' face?!

I dropped my eyes down. To my surprise, the majority of the clothing was actually handily risque, which was funny, because from the purely one-hundred percent innocent glimpse I was granted earlier, I didn't recall seeing any such articles. Nothing like those, anyway.

Teenaged daughter, I mentally snapped my fingers. Yeah, that was it. There was no way she wore those. She said 'heck' when they'd spilled over for pete's sake! That's at least a 'damn it'. Or a 'shit'. Maybe a 'damn it shit', if you also just found out you were getting cut off welfare earlier that morning.

But 'heck'?

Yeah. Definitely teenaged daughter.

After collecting her last bit of clothing, which was just a normal button-up blouse, she draped a strand of hair over her eye, raising her line of vision up, of which I was not only the center, but the only occupant. In an instance of deja-vu, hastily, I looked away, back to my own coin-operated machine. Apparently, my clothes had been sitting hot for a good minute already. With the usual muscle memory, I breezily began removing the laundry, stuffing them into my hamper, and made my exit. I felt my finger throb again slightly, eliciting another hiss from me as the little girl from earlier skipped past. From the corner of my eye, I caught a glob of vanilla-white dropping onto the tiled floor, and then, just barely in earshot, the succeeding exchange via my own two ear-holes.

"Shit--Leslie, I told you!"

"Sorry momma..."

"Never mind. Just sit down over there. I'll clean this up..."