** Tomorrow, I will have some exciting news to share with you in celebration of what will be my 500th post. Make sure to check back tomorrow/Tuesday so you don't miss out! **
Last Friday, I shared with you Part I of The Nipple Story. If you haven't had an opportunity to read it yet, you'll want to click on the above link and do so now.
It's okay … I'll wait.
… … …
All right then?
When I left off last Friday, I had just watched Average Joe (who wouldn't stop staring at my rack) leave the PT building. I walked across the room to see what The Torturer wanted me to do next.
To my surprise, The Torturer informed me he was putting me in a Game Ready. A Game Ready is a (very, very!) cold type of therapy. It's an ice machine that inflates to squeeze the injured part of your body (compression) and continually circulates ice cold water around the injured body part at the same time. It is extremely cold! The Torturer hadn't used a Game Ready on me for nearly a year, but I had just completed some new activities and he wanted to minimize my swelling/pain/inflammation. He thought the Game Ready would be more effective than my usual ice packs.
This is what the Game Ready for a shoulder/arm injury like mine looks like:
You see where this is going, don't you?
When I'm in a Game Ready I keep my t-shirt on, unlike the man shown in the photo above. Not that it really makes any difference, because the damn thing gets cold enough to make me gasp. The initial shock of cold water on my chest, literally, takes my breath away.
A year ago, when I last used a Game Ready, I had not yet had my breast reduction. I had my same, very nice, cute, nipples, but they were not bionic. I distinctly remember telling The Torturer (pre-bionic nipples) that he was freezing my tits off. He laughed and ignored me, as he always frequently does.
I might have been high on pain meds at the time, but nonetheless, I spoke the truth.
So there I sat, last week, for quite some time with the Game Ready strapped to my bodacious boobs. (Twenty minutes? Thirty minutes? I lost all sense of time.)
I frantically texted one of my girlfriends saying, "The Torturer is freezing my nips off!! SERIOUSLY!"
As I sat there with my icy, tightly-bound tits, The Torturer left to work with another patient. When my time on the Game Ready was finally over, one of the techs unstrapped me and informed me I was done for the day and could leave.
I got in my car, and I drove about two minutes across the street to the post office.
If I had bothered to even momentarily glance down at my breasticles I would have gone straight home instead of out in public.
My nipple-erections were protruding so far out of my chest, they would have put any well-endowed man to shame.
But I'm getting ahead of myself (*ahem*), because I didn't realize the condition of my hooters at the time.
I parked my car and then tossed a bundle of bills in the big blue mailbox outside of the post office door. At the same time, I realized I was hungry, in fact starving. By now it was 1 p.m. and I'd had little more than my morning coffee the entire day.
There's a sandwich shop right next to the post office. I decided to run in and order something to go. I ordered a turkey sandwich, on wheat, no mayo. (That's really not important, but I thought you might be curious.)
While my sandwich was being made, I decided to make a quick trip to the restroom. I walked down a little hallway. As I did so, two men exited the men's bathroom. The first man was talking to the man behind him and not looking where he was going. He collided right into me.
Have I ever mentioned how graceful I am?
There was some water on the floor (which was tile) and when he collided with me, I … sort of went flying.
Really, what happened next is just a blur. I was flying and then it seemed like there were arms all over the place … and I never really landed. I suppose you could say, I was caught in mid-air.
When time finally stopped, my feet were on the ground and Average Joe was standing there with his hands holding my boobs. My peaks were in the valleys of his hands.
My peaks were very peaked.
He had broken my fall, caught me mid-air, by my knockers.
In fact, one of his thumbs was right there on top of my very turgid nipple … in the deli … at just a few minutes after 1 p.m. in the afternoon.
It all happened so quickly, I was momentarily too stunned to take it in.
Was I supposed to thank him for breaking my fall? Curse him for running into me? Slap him for grabbing my golden globes?
Average Joe's hands lingered longer than they should have and damn if he didn't give a little squeeze before he let go of my boobs. His thumb rubbed my nipple as if he couldn't help himself and he licked his lips before he moved away.
I was so flabbergasted by the whole sequence of events, I couldn't utter a single word.
I was shocked into silence and if you know me at all, you know silence on my part is not something that happens ever very often.
It was probably only a few seconds, but it seemed like an hour before his eyes left my breasts and he actually looked at my face. Recognition washed over him and he, at least, had the decency to act flustered.
He asked me if I was all right.
I managed to stammer, "I'm fine."
"I'm glad you're okay," he said. Then he added, "Well, I'm sure I'll be seeing you again at physical therapy soon."
Then, just like that, he departed with his friend.
I walked into the women's restroom.
I was greeted by a full length mirror and a vision reflecting back at me of my twin protruding princesses.
I wanted to die. Or, at least, hide in the bathroom for a year or two.
I know it's only a matter of time (a few days?) until I run into Average Joe at PT again. Maybe now that he's actually felt my boobs, he won't stare at them so much?
I'm blushing at the very thought.
© Twenty Four At Heart