First, don’t be too hard on yourself. Our nipples have all been there. You, and your breast-toppers, are going to be okay.
We get it. The sales staff is so insufferable, those massage chairs are unbelievably comfortable, your bra so worn. It’s a recipe for disaster in the hands of a leather-bound God of shoulder-rubs.
So you sat down, sick to death of the salesman’s pitch to your companion’s iPad enclosure needs. “EH?!” he says, over and over again, leaning one arm on a shelf. “EH?! LEATHER? EH?!”
EH?! nevermore! you said, making a beeline for the open massage chairs. You thought about bacterial diseases you might catch and the lice laying in wait for a weary traveler, but you would not be stopped. You had been sore all day. You were drunk last night, you were active a great deal this week, you haven’t felt stress-free in ten years–the chair was a perfect solution. You closed your eyes and relaxed for a bit.
You allowed the masterful chair to auto-sense your shoulder’s position, and more oddly specifically, your butt’s location (it was on the seat, for clarity) and to work it went. It performed a strange maneuver where it folded you in half a couple of times, which didn’t feel awesome but you assumed it was part of the chair’s plan. Your worries were assuaged when it began percussion massaging your shoulders and also butt (in the seat, for clarity). Magical.
And then suddenly, it felt a bit…breezy. You were unaware that the chair came with such a specifically-placed fan, because only your right breast was feeling any cooler at the moment. It was unnerving, but the chair had already taken a large amount of time to feel where your ass was (in the seat, for clarity, where asses can often be found). You heard the loud in-and-out heaving of something in the chair, and that’s when the thought crossed your mind that you might not be in a chair at all–you might have just sat on a leather fetishist in a Brookstone in a strange discrimination-and-turnabout-sexual-assault situation.
You opened your eyes to the world and noticed that the loud heaving was a 12-year-old boy in Beats by Dre. You followed his gaze to your exposed right breast, and attempted to both leap out of the chair and shove your thrill-seeking tit back into its Target-brand home. At that moment, the chair decided to fold you in half again, trapping your tit-covering arm between your butt (in the seat, for clarity) and the armrest.
You were forced, by the chair, to bow to Brookstone with your right tit out.
Life is filled with magic and memories, but sometimes those magical times are dashed by broken, sexual assailant massage chairs in malls.
My Sunday didn’t go as planned.
Ever done something really embarrassing, or had something really embarrassing happen to you in public? If it helps, say it happened to a friend and we will all believe you.– Favorite Comment From The Last Post: From Dana The Biped: Dude, when the dancing cock is considered SFW but the Funny Bitch isn’t–well, it’s just crap that I have to wait until I get home. What am I supposed to waste my work time with now, Noa, huh?!