Picture the scene. Cambridge is currently in the middle of a heatwave and on Parker's Piece, the population is making full use of the green space. The place is heaving. Families have came along and three generations are playing frisbee together. Couple laze about together. Solitary individuals sleep or read. Kids run about playing games. But there is an anomaly. An anomic anomaly.
As a friend and I were sitting on the grass, a young man walked over - probably about my age - and he was wearing trainers, a t-shirt and some pretty short shorts. He was in our direct eye-line, so was pretty noticable to begin with. I mentioned to my friend that - yes - he has both his hands down his boxers. He was part of a group of around 7 or 8 men, ranging in age from him to probably about 30 - between them all, they were kicking a football about.
Being of the sociological inclination, my friend and I pounced on this and began to question it. I thought that maybe he was patting his genitals in a sort of 'comfort touching' way because he felt uncomfortable being around all these older masculinties. She thought there was something slightly homosexual about it. Both were pretty valid.
But he confounded these expectations with the rhythmical pumping of his right hand - slow at first, but gradually increasing in speed. My friend and I had nothing in our collaborative experience to account for this. Bright sunny day, public place, about 5pm - he's pumping fist.
There was more.
The football floated over to him and he ran to collect it and, in his haste to do so, his junk fell out of the now-unbuttoned front of his shorts.
"It's out Taz, his cock is out now!", I said to her, far too audibly. He span round, having kicked the ball and yes, to confirm, he had breached. Noticing, he just tucked himself back in and shouted over "It happen sometimes". So he had heard my exclamation but this was not enough to curb his enthusiasm and within a minute or so, he was once again shaking coconuts from the veiny love tree.
My friend and I spend an inordinate amount of our time people-watching and people-analysing, since we are among a small minority of students who can categorise that activity as being vaguely like revision. Usually, we have some analytic framework which we can apply to help explain what prompts an individual to behave in one way rather than another. Usually, from the way someone stands or from something in their accent, you can pick up some little hint about their background, some glimmer of experience which might help explain them.
Not this guy. This was more than the mildly well-known phenomena of the 'chav with hands down pants' as discussed here by our friends over at Scally Central. This wasn't some sort of laid-back masculine posturing and it wasn't directed for an audience. Admittedly, he walked over to a group of girls and asked for a cigarette, withdrawing one sweaty mitt only to prise the fag from her hand, but he also approached an Asian family with his hands plunged down there.
It was the pumping. Why would that be a desirable thing to do on the middle of Parker's Piece. He wasn't really that exhibitionistic about it - he wasn't looking for a reaction. He didn't seem to be doing it just for the pleasure.
There was some sort of code in his fist, but we weren't privy to it. Confused, we left the field and I cycled home.
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