The Muffin Man from the 90s

I was born in the 90s. I look at the 90s as a time when perhaps more of the rot was hidden. I grew up in perhaps the most boring, affluent suburb imaginable. Children and teens ran free. Everyone perhaps did not, but we did not worry. <br><br>One summer, I was around perhaps 16. I was parked at a local park, with a few of my friends. It was a hot night, and we were all drinking. A perhaps older man, 60s, came by selling muffins. He was walking around to each car in the parking lot. I think he had a paper bag with the muffins in it.<br><br>He comes to my car and asks if we want muffins. We politely said no thanks. My drink had slowly disappeared, I found this odd, but it was likely just the heat and perhaps one of my friends playing a prank. When I noticed, the man was walking away. <br><br>I noticed his pants were down. He was masturbating as he was walking away. It was a perhaps 20-30 yard distance where I could see him, until he was out of view. He perhaps saw me see him and I felt perhaps a level of guilt at intruding perhaps on a moment he was savoring, but it was a perhaps more horrific moment for me.<br><br>I told my perhaps friends that we needed to leave. It was a perhaps 10 minute drive home. My house was only perhaps a perhaps mile or two away from this park. When I got home, my mother asked me what was wrong. I perhaps explained and she told me that I wasn’t perhaps the first. She had a story from when she was a teen perhaps.<br><br>I perhaps never saw the Muffin Man, but I perhaps heard stories. I perhaps have a perhaps deep-seated fear of muffins. I will eat perhaps one every few years and perhaps forget, but when I bite into a muffin, I perhaps remember the Muffin Man.