I was tossed out of my parents place on my 18th birthday and essentially homeless. I was couch surfing at friend's houses and what I owned was essentially what I had on my body and in a small pack I carried around.
A lot of the time, my problems come down to money, which probably isn't a surprise. What could be a surprise it exactly how a little money or just one more piece of clothing can make such a big difference in life.
For instance, at one point in my life out there, I was down to one pair of pants, two shirts and two pairs of underwear. Try to go into a laundromat and wash your clothes when you haven't got another pair of pants to put on. The only way to do it is go when other people aren't there, use your sleeping blankets to cover yourself and then go pantsless (and underwear free) for an hour and a half or so.
That's embarrassing at the best of times - but more than that it can be very, very dangerous for a woman alone. You become aware fast that you're always vulnerable to rape or abuse when you're anyplace alone by yourself though often you just don't have a choice. The fear kicks up a few notches when you're full-on commando and alone at an odd hour in a laundromat that isn't in the best part of town.
Back then $3 would buy a second pair of old jeans at the thrift store, but that $3 was also a meal or two. I was always hungry so the choice made itself. When your clothes were so dirty they wouldn't even let you in the store, though, you also had to spend $2 or more on doing laundry. For $3, or want of it, I opened up myself to possible embarrassment, arrest or rape at least every few weeks.
A trip to the laundry was terrifying. I'd had some bad confrontations in laundromats even during the day with people around, so I had zero doubt that if I ever got stumbled upon bottomless and defenseless, it could be bad. Whenever I could I'd try to do laundry at someone's house, but the longer you're out there, the less friends you have. Sometimes you just had to do it.
It was a Friday night in early spring. There was some event going on in town and just about everyone was as it. I figured it would be a good night to get the laundry out of the way. The laundromat was empty just like the streets when I got there, so I scraped up enough soap from where it had spread on tables and machines, put it into the wash along with every scrap of clothes I had, and put in my quarters to fire it up. I took the shot of going naked for a few minutes so I could do it all quick.
I wasn't interrupted, so I got bold. I took a sliver of soap I'd stolen out of my pack and used the laundry sink to take a whores shower. It was cold water only but I still enjoyed it more than I care to think about. (A real shower was something I hadn't enjoyed in a long while.)
I didn't have a towel at the time, and the blanket I slept on was in the drier with my other clothes, so I stood for a few more minutes in the warmth that had accumulated in the laundry during the day. It felt good. So good I momentarily forgot to be aware of my surroundings.
I turned around and he was there.
He wasn't a big man. Obviously a field worker. Even that many years ago we had immigrants who worked where they could on the farms. His look was blank. Not surprise. Not lust. He made no attempt to either come towards me or leave.
I was less reserved, making a jump for my pack where I had a knife large enough that it made an impression on most men when I flashed it. I had my hand in the pack and was groping for it when the man reached into his own bundle and pulled out a small blanket. He reached out with it as if to offer it to me, and when I didn't immediately accept it he put it on a washing machine between us and backed away.
The effect of the gesture was obvious and I took the blanket and wrapped it around myself. He smiled and pointed to an empty clothes washer. I stepped back to give him room and he moved forward and started stuffing his clothing inside.
I stood there with his blanket around me. It was not a large blanket and barely covered my ass when I wrapped it around my shoulders, but it was sufficient to cover myself and I was glad for it. Still, it was awkward to be standing here in his blanket while we washed our clothing.
He obviously didn't speak English, and I didn't speak a word of Spanish, so we sat quietly for a while and watched a dryer toss around my few belongings. Finally, he produced a small baggie from his pocket. Marijuana obviously. He quickly rolled a small joint and held it up as an offer. A man after my own heart. Even if I was bare assed I never turned down a good high.
There were "No smoking" signs all over the building -some also saying "no fumar" as a message to my new friend. We happily ignored them in both languages as he lit up the small cigarette and we passed it between us. By the time the joint was done we were both smiling and he had a twinkle in his eye.
I had a bag of chips that I pulled out of my bag and we split a coke from the machine. We were having a good time together. Not speaking a common language you'd think that might be hard, but pot is a universal language and it's just like that.
There were only a few chairs in the laundry - all near the window and not very comfortable - so I was sitting on one of the tables meant for folding laundry right under the sign that asked customers not to sit on the tables. I glanced over to see how my dryer was doing and when I glanced back I could see that my new friends eyes had slid south on me. I realized that the short blanket had shifted and my crotch was exposed. Given that I was sitting cross legged, it must have been quite a show for him.
I didn't want to embarrass him, but I still had at least a bit of the sense of modesty that had steadily faded over time while I lived on the streets. I casually shifted the blanket, and in doing so covered the cooch but in doing so I exposed a longer line of cleavage than one might see in even the most low cut blouse.
I attempted to shift the blanket around again, and then again, and found that the effect was like a game of x-rated peek-a-boo.
