Noone knows I exist.
It's not that I'm invisible, or not JUST that I'm invisible. People don't realize I'm there even if I stand on a table buck naked singing the Hokey Pokey at the top of my lungs. Believe me, I've tried it. They might sing along to themselves or turn up their headphones, but no matter how hard I try, my presence just doesn't consciously register.
The key word there is "consciously". Some primal part of their minds seems to hear me loud and clear, and therein lies my consolation prize.
You see, that part of the brain doesn't just hear me, it LISTENS to me. When I tell people things, they go along with them, and If I tried to take your phone your grip on it would loosen. People act like they're in a play and I'm the director; they'll follow any instruction that doesn't require them to recognise my presence.
Maybe it's something to do with post-hypnotic suggestion.
I don't know, I'm not a psych major.
Despite all this power, I'd still gladly trade it all away for people to look me in the eye, to say "hi!" when I pass them on the street, to recognize that I exist.
So I try to take as much advantage as possible of my consolation prize. Taking things I like the look of, sleeping in people's beds, and just generally having fun with people, often in ways that might imply sleeping in someone's bed. It's one of the lattermost cases that I'm going to be sharing here.
I was in a girls' dormitory, lying in wait, reading a history textbook, when a pair of girls, one taller and blonde with reasonably sized tits and freckles, one shorter with chestnut skin, an afro and not much going on in the chest area, entered. The blonde was wearing a button-up and a skirt, with knee high socks, while her friend wore a band t-shirt and jeans. They were talking animatedly about the lecture they'd just attended.
"-the inherent symbolism of the sea." the blonde girl said as she sat down on her bed and kicked off her shoes.
"Yeah, but is it really inherent? Does every culture share these symbols, or is it a purely western construct?" the brown girl replied, following suit.
"Take off your shirt." I instructed the blonde as she launched into a response. She didn't stop talking to listen to me.
"The nature of" she began unbuttoning while she spoke "the metaphor is, I think, unaffected by whether it is truly universal or merely commonplace. Your question seems irrelevant to the discussion at hand. Also I" she has finished unbuttoning, and now cast it off "don't know."
The shirt now lay on the bed next to the two girls, pale blue against pale pink sheets. I could now see her freckles were not limited to her face, they were present on her shoulders and breasts as well. Her breasts were pert and round, beautiful and perfect, and tantalizingly close to being revealed in their full glory, now obscured only by a pushup bra.
"Man, those are some nice tits, I wish I could get a closer look." I thought aloud as their conversation continued.
"You could have just opened with that" the brown girl said, punching her friend lightly in the arm "you'd sound way less pretentious."
The blonde giggled lightly, not noticing that since "with that" the other girl had been stealing perhaps-unconscious glances at her boobs. She was looking at them herself, her head bowed in a gesture of playful surrender.
"All right, all right, I'll keep that in mind." she said.
"You know, if you're not wearing a shirt, there's not much point in wearing a bra, is there? It can't be doing anything but making you uncomfortable." the brown girl said, her hands propping her up on the bed.
"I was actually thinking the same thing." said the blonde, already undoing her bra.
It appeared that the suggestion of my undirected musing had taken root in both girls' minds. Intriguing.
Her breasts were now fully revealed, and they did not disappoint. Buoyant hemispheres of flesh, scattered with freckles and topped with dainty pink nipples, they were just begging to be poked, prodded, and played with.
But not by me.
