My nipples found themselves in the most embarrassing situation the other day.
If you've been reading here for any length of time, you already know I went in for breast reduction surgery last June and came out with bionic, hyper-sensitive, constantly alert, nipples. As time has passed, I've learned how to live with my new Bionic Nipples. I try not to ever, accidentally, brush up against strangers in public (or private, for that matter.) I've found bras which do a pretty good job of concealing my nipples most of the time, etc.
It's not as easy as you might think – having Bionic Nipples.
It's changed my whole way of life.
Well … sorta.
In any case, the other day I was at PT (as usual) and The Torturer had me doing some stuff out in the "gym" area. It's basically a big room with lots of tables for patients and lots of equipment to help people get their bodies healthy again. It was a pretty normal PT day. The Torturer and I had already spent some one-on-one time in a back room.
Wait a minute … that last sentence sounds so wrong.
And it shouldn't.
There are different rooms for different things …
And it was time for the gym.
As soon as I entered the gym, I noticed a man staring at me. He stared, and he stared, and he would not stop staring at me.
He was just an average forty-something Money Town man. He wasn't particularly good or bad looking. Let's just call him Average Joe.
Now it would be really nice if I were twenty again (instead of 24), and super hot, and stare-worthy. I, however, have been 24 for several years now. I still get occasional looks from men, but men don't often ever find themselves unable to look away for hours on end.
Things change a lot between the ages of 20 and 24. It's sad what time does to the body, isn't it?
When I realized Average Joe would not stop staring, I became a little self conscious. First, I glanced at The Torturer to see if he was staring at me too. The Torturer smiled at me with his terrifying, evil, grin, in the exact same way he always does. He didn't tell me I had spinach in my teeth or anything. (And trust me, if I did, he wouldn't hesitate to tell me so.)
Next, I gave myself a quick once-over in one of the wall mirrors to make sure there was nothing obvious glaring back at me. My shirt was on, my pants were zipped … there was nothing readily apparent staring back at me.
I shrugged it off. I thought, Maybe Average Joe has an obsession with blondes or something.
As I went about my gym activities, with The Torturer issuing constant orders to me, I frequently looked up to find Average Joe staring at me. I tried really hard not to look in his direction. You know how that goes … the harder you try not to look at someone, the more you do. Every single time I glanced in his direction, Average Joe was staring at me.
Pretty soon I realized Average Joe wasn't really staring at me; he was staring at my tits.
I really dislike men like Average Joe. Why is it, some men can't look at anything else if there's a set of (bionic, perky) jugs in the room?
I wanted to say, "Hey, Average Joe, there are other women with boobs in the room. You can take your eyes off of mine for a few minutes and get some variety in your life."
But I didn't.
Because basically, I'm very shy. (Even though I write words like nipples and boobs and tits and jugs on a fairly regular basis.)
A few minutes later, as I was finishing up my PT exercises for the day, Average Joe was leaving.
"Good riddance," I thought as he walked out the door.
Right then, I heard The Torturer call my name and I turned and walked over to stand by his side.
I didn't realize at the time, my nipples and I hadn't seen the last of Average Joe after all.
** Part II of The Nipple Story, the conclusion, will post on Monday. I will try to have one or two short posts up this weekend if the Computer Gods are willing. **
© Twenty Four At Heart