I am a “People Watcher” and that is what brought on this whole thing. Whether I am at a mall, park, school, work, or even the bar, I can’t stop myself from observing people and then categorizing them by their behaviors. Not based on looks, but the things I watch them do and how they interact with their fellow human beings intrigues me greatly. I know, I know… this is why I attract weirdos…
My husband and I had joined some friends out at a local club/bar named Cowboy’s. It’s a wonderful place with an outside bar area that on occasion has a hot dog stand for those late night munchies. We had gone out with several of his buddies and their dates. I was the designated driver, and had bored of being inside the super loud building and wandered to the outdoor bartop. There I had the occasional conversation with everyone taking turns to visit me, or strangers or the bartenders.
At some point I realized there was a “new member” in the group, or at least someone hanging around with the group. They were over at a pool table not too far from me and I could not help but take-in this new addition. She was wearing a black dress, barely long enough to cover her butt cheeks and so low cut that it left the gap exposed between her huge breasts. As I continued watching her, I could not help but note that at all times she was touching one boob or the other; occasionally squeezing or pushing them upward.
I took out my cell phone, and started a timer. Yes… I was now intrigued by the quirkiness of her touching herself. As the minutes ticked by, I witnessed a double self-grope, then pushing them up she wiggled in the direction of one of my husband’s friends and then straightened herself to bounce slightly making her dough-balls jiggle in her palms. I could not grasp the reason why she insisted on still holding them. Speculations ran through my mind; Was she braless? Did they hang far lower and she’s hiding it? Is she addicted to touching themselves? Obviously she was inviting them to touch her boobs…I think?
Leaning back I glanced at my phone. We were nearing the ten minute mark and still no signs of boobage release. Knotting my brow I watched on. Now she was leaning down and picking up beers with them. Granted she still gripped her boobs… clearly they weren’t the sort to “hold the beer” without aid. Tapping my finger on my lips, she insisted for the husband’s friend to “reach in and reclaim his drink” and he laughed. She giggled as he retrieved his drink.. and looked at it like the plague had touched it.
Again, only one hand fell away while she used the other hand to bounce a boob. My cell phone was reaching fifteen minutes so I turned it off, satisfied that this particular person would never release her marshmallows.
One of his friends came over to order a new beer and shot, “Hey Val!”
“Hey there…” I must have had a confused look on my face, because he followed my line of sight and panicked.
“OH! She knows Justin’s married!” He made his exchange with teh bartender. “She’s after me, well now Lou…”
I laughed, she had swapped hands and was now bouncing the other boob, “Trust me, I’m not worried about Boob Juggler.”
He spewed his beer all over the ground, “Wh-what did you call her?!”
“Boob Juggler.” I grinned mischievously, “I gave up timing her when she didn’t stop touching them after fifteen minutes.”
Laughing, I flashed my phone. He leaned against the bar in tears. Seeing his friends’ outburst, my husband was curious. He met my eyes, pointed at his friend in tears of laughter and shrugged as if saying why? Skillfully I waited for the girl to shift where she couldn’t see my reply. Pointing to her, I then pointed to his friend and then pointed at my own breasts and then made a juggling motion.
Walking over he asked, “What?”
“He’s dying because I called her Boob Juggler.”
Grinning, he kissed me, “That’s my wife!”
Moral here is to be very aware of what you are doing with your hands while drunk.
Picture from Pixabay.com by “voltamax”: https://pixabay.com/en/circus-juggling-balls-hands-1415339/