The Flasher

When I was around six or seven years old,one of our neighbours flashed me .It wasn't premeditated ,rather an opportunity taken is how I recall it.Anyway the incident,while not causing me any fear,has bubbled away in my head until this fell out.

       He shelters in a little wooden room
       His furniture clamped tight about him,
       Protecting him from prying eyes.

      He scuttles in the street
      He feels the hostile glances brush his flesh
      Their angry murmurs pain his head
      He worries to be home instead.

      His eyes are sly and womanwise.
      If needs be met he must be seen
      His parts displayed,
      To be admired,
       To be judged.
      Then home to wonder
      At the emotional upheavel in his breast.
      This?  
      His life reduced to this?