We had dinner with the kids at a nice restaurant last night in the high end shopping mall in northwest San Antonio. We were seated in a booth next to a window that allowed us to people watch all the passers by. Our booth was butted up against the wait station and across from the bar.
Not long after we had our drinks and appetizer served a couple came in with their probably college aged son and took the last three seats at the bar. Moments later, a young lady I assumed to be his girlfriend showed up, so the young man gave up his stool and she sat while he stood between her and his father.
The girl was blonde, blue eyed, cute, and a very petite body. She was wearing a floor length, very thin dress with a slit that exposed the entire length of her leg when it fell away, which happened several time over the course of our dinner.
Because I was sitting at the end of the booth and my granddaughter was in a child seat at the same end, it gave me ample reason to look in the direction of this family at the bar without it being obvious I was being a dirty old man.
Dinner arrived and as we ate, the girl in the long dress and the mother in the group excused themselves to the restroom. The young man took the seat at the end and when the ladies returned, his girlfriend chose to remain standing with her beautiful ass facing me.
I am a sucker for panties. I love the visual and the naughtiness of being able to see panties through a sheer dress. Because her dress was so clingy, I not only could see the actual design on her panties, I could see a very distracting bump formed by either a hugely obnoxious tag that had not been removed, or honestly, for a moment I wondered if she had tucked something in the back of her panties in the same way a gangster might tuck a gun in the back of his pants.
When she would turn one way or another, I got the occasional view of her nicely tanned and very smooth leg. That was great, but I kept finding myself trying to figure out what the heck that bump in the back of her panties was.
For the briefest of moments, I considered pointing it out to my daughter so perhaps she could help me understand what it was, but then I recalled the time(s) my daughter busted my chops for checking out the college cheerleaders at a football game. It is no fun having your daughter call you a creeper.
In the end, I never figured out the mystery and can only assume it was some super obnoxious tag on her panties. But, it made for a nice view.