2:14 pm Saturday - Amity
"…Except them, things that prove me wrong are exceptions; not the rule." Stop being cute, Grace, don't make this harder than it needs to be.
"I'll give you $10 to even walk in there." I am so conflicted. On one hand, Grace looks like she's about to throw in the towel. She looks under fed (more so than normal, so I've been purposely losing bets for money since she's too proud to just let me buy her stuff) and under slept, and if this opportunity to tease her with the bra shop didn't come up, I'd have suggested sitting in the food court instead (and let her spend some of the cash I've been handing out).
And on the other hand, I am sweating bullets. I am sure I've seen people literally checking me out, way more than I expected. And I swear I've felt someone's eyes on me the whole time Grace has been here (was it Grace? We'll never know...cause I won't ask her).
Maybe I was wrong before.
Maybe I really did just get lucky heading home during the end of the corporate rush hour yesterday. This has been a little bit more than I can deal with, and if Grace doesn't concede this will go on forever.
"Easy." Lady! This doesn't look easy! Don't be a hero. Just concede and we can go home and I will cook you food. Don't just walk in there like it's nothing.
…
Also!
Don't leave me out here like it's nothing.
The shop is cramped, dimly lit, and somehow everything had a red glow. This is what I expected a rich person's smoking room would look like. This shop doesn't even have a boyfriend seat I can sit you in so you can rest, Grace. The change rooms have a seat in them though, nice. Now to find a reason to make her go in there.
…I mean…this is a bra shop…and to use the change rooms you kinda need to put on a bra.
Am I imagining Grace wearing a bra? Yes. Is that something someone does about their friends? No. But! Grace and I are rivals. It's different. Rivals are allowed to get in one another's personal space and think about how vulnerable they are and how to make them more so.
"Since we're in here…" Okay. That's a faux pas: trying to sniff your rival. Gotta reign those instincts in buddy, I don't need intrusive thoughts saying to both sniff her and to imagine her in naught but her underwear. "…You might as well try a bra on." I hand Grace a purple, lacey thing that I hope is her size. It's totally normal to have worked out approximately what your rival's clothing sizes are. Totally normal.
She looks utterly flummoxed. I might win the bet and be able to get her to rest in a normal fashion and not while also trying to inflict psychic damage on her. If I sat down now, it'd be under duress that I got back up again.
"You're serious? Why would I do that?" Cause I want you to concede, Bestie!! How is that not obvious? Did she forget we're having a contest here? Do I need to make her regret this? I've been having fun outside of the being observed to exist stuff, do I make this worse or try to keep it casual?
"Well, one of us was forced by the honour of a friendly bet to wear a bra for a solid chunk of yesterday." Thank fuck, remembered to change clothes in the bushes outside my building yesterday, cause I don't know if I had a way to explain to Aaron what was going on if they saw me enter my apartment wearing this. Actually why am I still wearing the bra? I don't have to wear it today at all!! Will she notice if I slip into another change room and take this thing off?
Yeah, I just need to find a way to force her to go into the change room and struggle to put on a bra so I can have a chance to take this sports bra off.
"If you don't come back out and give me a peek of that bra strap under your clothes you're banned from Sunday dinners for the rest of the year." She can't turn that down. I'll apologise to her later for such a wildly serious bet. But I can't stop thinking about this bra, and the wall to wall mirrors in this part of the store aren't helping ignore it.
She gives me one last withering look and shuts herself into a change room.
Perfect, now to make sure no one is paying too much attention to me.
Fuck!
"Miss! Can I help you?" One of the staff totally snuck up on me. She's so tall (not as tall as Grace when she's well fed and stands at her full height, but enough that I might be blushing).
"I'm just waiting for my friend." Please just leave me alone beautiful stranger. I am eternally envious of your hair. Is it a requirement for this job to be pretty? I'm never coming back here.
"Do you mind me asking…" I do, please don't ask. I fear I've forgotten how to talk. My bones have calcified and I my brain is sludge. Why am I so bad with ladies? I've dated women before! "…your padding seems, how do I put this…unnatural? Do you mind if I just…"
She leads me into the change room I was eyeing off and cops a feel.
I am so glad these shorts are low cut jeans. Any weaker material would let my raging erection stand too proud to not cast a shadow and be obvious.
Note to self: awawawawawawawa
Hang on, brain. Please!
Note to self: learn what tucking actually is. I can't be betrayed by my own body in the future.
With no mercy for my delicate soul, the saleswoman slips a hand into my crop top (which offers literally no protection against this), under the waistband of my sports bra and expertly fishes out most of the pads from the right side that Grace had jammed in there (and I had left in there).
I stare into this woman's soul, cause everywhere else in this room is curtains and mirrors. I don't want to think about the outside world or what Grace thinks might be happening. And I don't want to see what I look like without the fake boobs. I didn't want to admit it, but I really really liked how I looked with the implication of boobs.
Fuck.
I totally have to find a discreet way to start HRT.
Guys are allowed to take estrogens just to see if they like them…or have negative reactions. Always good to check for allergies. Not for any other reasons…like…
If fake boobs make me feel that good, what would real ones do?
Yearning for the existence of my own boobs really makes me sound like a pervert. The raging boner isn't making a good argument for my case either.
I was too self absorbed and didn't stop the saleswoman from fishing the pads out from the other side of my bra. Before pulling on the bottom of my shirt and resetting it back where it started.
"You don't need to use several pads when one will do. Also sports bras won't give you a very good figure." Is she trying to sell me a bra? I've heard enough complaints, I'm never wearing anything with an underwire. Every bra I've handled except this sports bra had one, so that's a no from me captain. Wait…did I give Grace a bra with an underwire? "Instead…" Fuck, she's still going. "You should use something like this!"
My brain entirely stops. It's turned to such mush I could start a marshland with it.
This lady has just handed me a warm silicone packet.
That she got…out of her own bra.
Her boobs look really lopsided now.
I had no idea these things were so convincing!!
Hang on, D-…Amity. Amity. I really do love that name. Do kinda hate that Grace was able to think of such a good one when I couldn't. She just beats me at everything. It's emasculating to have a cis man be better at being trans and thinking about me than me.
What was I thinking about before? Why am I inches from this lady's boobs?
Taking a step back I look at the body warmed thing in my hand. It's like a perfectly smooth hand with no fingers. My brain kicks into gear and provides the a non-stop stream of what it would look like to grope my own boobs if they existed.
Thanks brain. That isn't helping.
The intrusive thoughts of sniffing this also aren't appreciated.
Actually…what am I supposed to do with this? Did she expect me to use it? I look back up at her questions failing to arrange themselves in my mouth.
"For me?"
Okay! As soon as I get out of here, I'm taking Grace to the food court and we're gonna call it a draw. I'm done, my brain is done, that's a wrap. That was clearly a crime. I just crimed. So I'm gonna give this back and head out and wait for Grace and kill myself.
The saleswoman takes the silicone filler and doesn't follow me out of the change room.
Wait…she still has all the pads from my bra. She can keep them. They can go in the bin, like the rest of me should go too.
"We do sell these here." LADY! YOU CANT SNEAK UP ON A MAN LIKE THAT! What if I hurt you? She points at a row of boxes behind the checkout, next to them are several designs of collars and other sexy accessories. Maybe I can stand to return another day.
But not any time soon. I need to rest and recover. And die. I should just die.
But once I'm done dying. I'll come back and buy a collar for Grace and win some challenge and make her wear it…for normal…rivalry reasons. I've seen anime. I know the protagonists wear them. I don't know why, but I've seen it. Don't need to examine why I want to think of Grace as the protagonist.
"So?"
Nope! That's the one person I can't have around with an erection.
I grab Grace's hand and lead her out of the shop.
I saw the saleswoman's smile as I left. I'm going to have all kinds of dreams about this shop for weeks.