Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Divine Secrets of the Yada-Yada Sisterhood

They say it takes a man with big ones to admit that he was wrong, especially when that admission casts doubt about his manhood.

Sometimes it takes a pair of large breasts for a man to admit that he's embarrassed, especially when he has been bagged staring at them.

Does it follow that it takes an honest and faithful man to admit that both of the preceding sentences are applicable to him, especially if he commits that admission to his blog for others to read?

Today I had one of those assignments that are less than desirable in my line of work. I had to report to the apartment of an elderly woman who had recently been sentenced to spend the rest of her life in a nursing home. I was to meet a relative of the woman at the apartment. That relative would be overseeing the process of packing the relics of the woman's life that were to be saved and the disposal of those things not wanted.

I have never met the woman who had lived there, and probably never will. For that reason alone, I cannot help but feel that I will in someway be violating her existence and legacy. I dare say that all of the baubles and trinkets, framed pictures, pretty dolls and whatnots, china and all the other souvenirs of her life, must have been very valuable and dear to her.

No, I don't consider assignments like this to be rewarding. I did take a little consolation in the fact that at least a relative would be making the decisions about the fate of the contents of that apartment. Bearing an 80-count box of large trash bags, I walked through the lobby of the building that houses many senior citizens as I made my way to the elevator.

I pressed the button for the fifth floor and held the door for two women wearing over-sized sunglasses to enter before the doors slid shut. The two of them appeared to be in their late 20s or early 30s I determined with a casual glance. I turned to them to offer a polite hello and to say 'good afternoon.'

Damn, if the trap hadn't been laid and I took the bait! ( Ladies, whether intentional or not you have the upper hand in situations such as this! ) The smallest of the women was wearing a loose baggy sweatshirt sans the arms and the rest of the shirt cut off to expose a bare midriff above a pair of tight low rider jeans. An equally bare breast presented itself when she raised her arm to brush a strand of hair from her face.

I quickly averted my eyes in the direction of the other woman. The cards were against me, the deck was truly stacked. ( Pardon the pun.) She was wearing a very tight blue tee shirt upon which was printed in large white letters: "Yes, They Are REAL!" They must have been double-D 38s! ( I was mentally comparing them to such assets I have seen before.) Unlike this woman, however, she would never venture out in public without a bra!

All of a sudden the elevator jolted to a halt! ( Those of you who are old enough will remember those cartoons with the song lyrics on the bottom of the screen and the little ball bouncing across the words to get you to sing along.) Need I really have to say that my eyes were following the bouncing....? I recovered quickly by turning my attention to the numbers above the elevator door. We had come to a stop between the third and fourth floors!

Seeing that there was no telephone box, I pressed the emergency call button without hesitation. One the girls spoke and said, "Damn! If I knew this was going to happen I would have brought some beer and some weed." She smiled and did she wink at me? The other girl laughed and said, "Hell yeah. We could be having a party." She looked at me and said, "You would party with us, wouldn't you?" She did wink and then she stretched her arms which of course made her "array" even more impressive.

I just smiled and tried to not excitedly nod my head like one of those bobble-head dolls. In a dream of fancy or if in a similar situation when I was much younger, I would have replied, "Hell yeah. Who needs beer and weed?" After about fifteen minutes it was getting more and more difficult to look at the floor, the walls, the door, or the floor numbers above.

The smaller girl started a conversation with her friend, "So how was your date with Tom last night?" The other said, "It was good. I don't think we got much more than an hour of sleep between us." I could feel their eyes on me but I found a screw on the wall and tried to keep my eyes fixed upon it. The first one said, "So tell me, is it true he's really hung?" The other laughed and answered, "Hell no! He was just ... normal like."

I tell you, it's not fair for a sixty-year-old man to be trapped on a elevator with two provocatively attired young women probably half his age talking loosely about a certain male appendage. My situation was starting to read like a dog-eared page in one of those adult bedside paperback books. In such a book, that small enclosed elevator car would have been turned into a steamy boudoir of tangled bodies. It wasn't going to happen in that reality-based elevator though.

The sweatshirt girl then said, "Do you think our silent friend there has more to offer?" I turned my head and I could feel my face flush red. Blue Shirt giggled, "Aw, you're embarrassed, aren't you?" Sweatshirt said, "Aw, we're sorry. We're just joking around. But I'll bet you do!" ( That's it, the knife is in my chest - keep twisting it!)

The next moment I was thinking about Jello and St. Nick's belly shaking like a bowl full of jelly when the elevator suddenly lurched. Yeah, I was looking at Blue Shirt and was following the bouncing "ball" again when the car bounced as it starting moving. Instead of continuing upward, the elevator began to descend.

When the door opened to the lobby I stepped out. One of the women said, "Aren't you going up?" I turned and and answered, "I'm going to grab a Coke from the vending machine first." Then I hurried across the lobby. The same voice called out, "You need a cold drink, don't you?"

Damn straight! I needed to cool off! I stepped outside of the building into the cold drizzling weather and lit up a cigarette. I think it was probably the first time I'd ever had the obligatory smoke after sexual innuendos! After the puffing on the cigarette and securing a can of Coke Classic I returned to the elevator.

Relaxed, I pondered my 'adventure' in the elevator earlier. I was able to grin and even chuckle a little about it. I had mixed thoughts too. I knew the two young women were teasing me. (Weren't they? ) Also, my ego felt somewhat boosted. Even though I had maintained my cool and had tried to act like a gentleman, I was a bit chagrined at myself for being visibly embarrassed. Did that embarrassment cast doubt about my manhood in their minds? Did I even care, and if so what did it matter?

I knocked on the door of apartment of 501. It was time to do what I was sent to that address to do in the first place. I'll bet I looked like I'd seen a ghost when the door swung open. There stood Blue Shirt and behind her was Sweatshirt! "You're Mike from the agency?" Blueshirt said. It was her turn to blush. "Oh dear, I'm so sorry about the way we acted." She extended her hand and said, "I'm Marianne, the daughter."

I shook her hand and said, "Glad to meet you, Marianne. The elevator ... don't worry about it." Sweatshirt approached and offered her hand and said, "I'm Joey. Marianne is my best friend." I shook her hand and said, "Joey?" Marianne spoke, "It's short for Josephine. She hates her name." They led me into the small three-room apartment. Boxes, piles of old newspapers and the old woman's belongings littered the floor and every available flat surface.

Blueshirt said, "We've been sorting mother's stuff for the last three days. The stuff here in the living room we are going to keep and pack in the boxes. Everything in the other two rooms is going to the dumpster out back. Joey and I will wrap and pack the boxes in here. Would you mind filling the trash bags in the other rooms?"

I agreed and headed for the back two rooms. She called out to me, "We're really sorry for our risque talk and suggestions earlier." I nodded and said, "No problem. We're all adults here. Feel free to talk to each other like you always do." I started to turn and as an afterthought I said, "Look, I'll admit I was a little embarrassed. Trapped on a elevator with two...attractive young women is the stuff dreams are made of for men, me included, but I'm old enough to be your father. It was fun, looking back on it." (Now why did I go there anyway?)

I was scheduled to be there for four hours with a possible two additional hours allotted for tomorrow if necessary. As I was throwing the woman's belongings into the trash bags my thoughts drifted away from carnal innuendos. Instead, my concentration turned to those objects that must have been valued treasures to the woman who had called that apartment home for the past ten years. I could only assume that the daughter had already gone through the soon to be trash I was bagging. I worked on the assumption that it was all dumpster-bound and of no apparent value to the former resident's family.

While I was working in my rooms I could not help but hear the constant chatter of the two women in the next room. While their conversations seem to return to suggestive sex-related topics for the most part, their talk ran the gamut from politics to sports to TV shows, movies and music and seemingly everything in between.

At one point Sweatshirt called to me, "Mike, it's getting awfully hot in here. I'm taking off my sweatshirt. Now don't you go peeking." I was going to ignore her but decided to play her game, "I won't peek. I'll just walk right in there." She laughed, "HA! HA!" I was getting bolder at that point, "Is it off yet?" There was no answer that time. I went back to work. Was she bluffing? Did she think I was bluffing? Then she called again, "Ooh, Mike. Marianne just took off her shirt too!"

Whether they had removed their shirts or not, I didn't know, but I was determined that if I needed to leave the back rooms I was going to announce the fact. They continued their chatter. After awhile their words were sounding like so much prattle. I began to hear "natter-natter," and strings of "yada-yada-yada-yada." I was glad too, I didn't need to hear anymore suggestions of removed articles of their clothing.

The four hours actually passed pretty fast. I had used nearly all of the trash bags I'd brought with me. I looked around and was relieved that I hadn't missed anything. Two rooms of the woman's life was stuffed into trash bags. All that was left was the furniture, which was to be picked up the next day by Marianne's brother and a friend of his with a truck.

I stood by my earlier vow to myself and shouted to the other room, "I'm finished in here. My four hours are up! I'm coming out there!" There was no answer so I made my announcement again. Finally Joey answered, "Okay."

I rounded the corner and turned two shades; first white in shock and then red. The two of them stood there - topless! I turned around and said, "Sorry. I warned you I was coming." Joey giggled and said, "And I said okay."

One of them tapped me on the shoulder and I almost hit the ceiling. When I didn't turn, Marianne walked around and stood in front of me. She was holding an envelope and it was strategically positioned between her breasts. I was still trying to turn my eyes away but then Joey was in my line of sight.

Joey was laughing, "If we were worried about you seeing our boobs we would have put our shirts back on. We wanted you to see them. We want you to look at them."

I shrugged my shoulders in voluntary defeat and gave my undivided attention to Marianne's very big boobs. I grinned and said, "Would you get that damned envelope out of the way? Your, obstructing the view." She giggled and placed it in my hand. "It's a little thank you for all the hard work and for being such a good sport."

Joey moved next to her and said, "Hey, I know her boobs are bigger. Look at mine too." I couldn't help but think that I had fallen asleep and I was dreaming. I think my grin was probably more of a leer when I said to Joey, "My goodness, they are beautiful just the same."

Marianne then said to me, "I want to apologize to you, Mike. Joey and I made a bet with each other." I was taken aback and said, "What do you mean - a bet? What kind of a bet?"

"Well," she said, "Joey and I were talking about how guys always look at women's boobs. They try to be sneaky so we won't know what they are doing. But we know. So we wondered what would happen if we went up to a man we didn't know and told him to stare at our boobs. We decided we would make it impossible for him not to look at them. I bet that the man would take advantage of the offer, obey the order and stare at them long and hard."

Joey joined in and said, "I said the man would be embarrassed and would try not to look at them. Sure, he would sneak glances but he would not be able to take a long look at them." She purposely wiggled her chest and said, "It looks like I won, Marianne. Mike tried to be a gentleman by looking away even though he wanted to look."

Marianne then wiggled her chest which set off a near perfect example of perpetual motion. "I knew who you were on the elevator. You had that box of trash bags under your arm. We weren't going to use you for the object of our bet at first. Then when the elevator got stuck we decided to tease you a bit to see how you would react. Our playful antics and how you reacted when the elevator stopped made us change our minds."

I shook my head, "The predictable pigs we men are, huh? I took your bait and swallowed it hook, line and sinker, didn't I?" Joey shook her head, "Yes, and we took advantage of you. I'm sorry."

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a pair of glasses, which I only need for reading. "Well, I have to live up to my male reputation, don't I?" I think I caught them by surprise when I donned them and bent my head down to within inches of Marianne's chest. I looked at the left one and counted to ten and then repeated that with the right one. I then turned to Joey and repeated the process.

"Okay, I tried not looking at them and then I gave your boobs a long and close up look. If I may, I want to say 'thank you very much!'"

I swear, I caught a noticeable blush that came to both of their cheeks.

We shook hands and said our goodbyes. I left the building with mixed emotions. Who was the victim? Who was the perpetrator? You know, I think those roles shifted. At some point they were the perpetrators and I the victim. Then the roles were reversed and I became the perpetrator and they the victims.

Later I opened the envelope to find $50! That was some tip, especially when all things are considered. Was I tipped fifty bucks to be made a sucker of and to be exposed as a chauvinistic pig? Or ... Was I just rewarded for gazing upon some naked breasts, an action I would have taken for no compensation anyway?

Reader, you be the judge! Yada-Yada!

Believe it or not, the first thing I did when I got home was to hop in the shower - first with cold water! When I'm sleeping tonight, I doubt very much that it will be visions of sugarplums dancing in my head!



Skunkfeathers said...

LOL and a tad envious, even tho' had I found myself in your shoes -- depending on the foot size -- my poker faced demeanor would have been stiffly challenged (pun intended?).

Sadly, such situations (or opportunities) haven't crossed my radar screen in years...

Hale McKay said...


Nothing like this has crossed my radar in over thirty years, until yesterday.

In hind sight, it was interesting, fun, but interesting. If possible, I'm both proud of how I conducted myself and embarrassed.

Even at 60 years of age, it did feel good to have my ego stroked.

Nankin said...

You did good. Most men would have tried to touch and all you did was look. LOL

Hale McKay said...


Oh - but was I tempted!

Jack K. said...

Damn, damn, damn, damn. I thought I had left a comment to this post when first it appeared. I am crestfallen that it got lost in cyberspace.

As I remember it, it was quite good. I did mention something to the effect that there were neither perpetrators nor victims. There were three folks who decided it would be fun to invite their inner child come out and play. (I am sure there is enough information here for a really lousy pun.)

I think I mentioned something about the validity of taking the time to carefully inspect the bodies of the young nubile lasses.

There was also a comment about the pain of getting rid of mom's things that may have added to the frivolities for Marianne.

You did humanity a service.

Later on, I got to thinking of the posting. I then remembered how skilled you are at writing fiction. Either way, you do good work.

Here's hoping this comment gets through.

Jack K. said...

Yeah!! It appears to have made it.