nipple-twister
Today I went to The Museum to help The Little Red-Haired Girl paint. They are putting up a new exhibit, and whenever this happens the walls get a new color. I guess The Museum’s a small enough place that the curator and the assistant curator and her “friend” (that’s me) have to do the painting. I actually kind of like painting, it is soothing and mindless and I get to listen to Dawn and Drew. That’s not the point of my story.
For lunch we went and sat in The Park to eat our sandwiches. On the way back I saw an old man standing next to the pond. He had both hands on his man-breasts, rubbing intently in neat little circles. When I say “both hands on”, I don’t mean flat palms; he was cupping and rubbing. Anyway, I wanted The Little Red-Haired Girl to look, but she just smiled at me and kept walking. I guess I have cried wolf too many times about such juvenile sightings and she thought I was exaggerating. Well, I did not relent this time, and to my delight, by the time she finally turned to look, the man had turned toward us and was pinching and twisting both nipples just as methodically as he had treated his breasts.
It’s those small gifts from god that help get us through these long days. With any luck, you’ll be hearing from The Little Red-Haired Girl about censorship soon.