Reading Welshcakes's post reminded me of my first visit to a high class lingerie store.
Marilyn, a big busty blonde, ordered me into a cubicle and told me she’d come in with the tape when I was ready. I decided if she brought a whip as well I was off.
I pulled the curtain behind me and took off my jacket. I wasn't sure of the etiquette for bra measuring so was dithering over whether to remove my blouse when Marilyn appeared. ‘I can’t measure you through your blouse, madam,’ she sighed.
‘Sorry.’ I took it off.
Marilyn wielded her tape expertly. ‘What size bra are you wearing at the moment?’
‘I’m not exactly sure.’
‘You’re not sure?’
‘No, it’s my best one and I haven’t worn it for a while. I think it’s 36 or, maybe, 38 B.’
‘When will women ever learn?’ she sighed again. ‘The way they treat their most precious assets is nothing short of scandalous.’
She disappeared and returned a few moments later with a cream lace contraption with more metal supports than the Severn bridge.
‘Try this one on.’
I expected her to leave the cubicle but she stood behind me as I removed my bra to reveal dangling blotchy mammaries. I would not have been surprised if her drawn-on eyebrows had flown off her forehead. I tried to tell myself she had probably seen worse - on aged matrons. I turned the bra inside out and back to front to do up around my waist.
‘What are you doing?!’ she practically screeched.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, quickly undoing the bra and giving it back to her. ‘I thought I was meant to put it on. I’m very sorry.’
‘That’s not the way to put on a bra. Really, do mothers teach their daughters nothing these days? Lean forward.’
I did so.
‘Now let your breasts fall into the cups.’
No problem there, falling breasts I can do. I waited for the next instruction. At last the words, ‘Are you going to put your arms through?’ were exhaled through smoking nostrils.
I was beginning to sweat. She grabbed the back of the bra, yanking me up to a standing position, and fastened it.
I began to breathe again, then, ‘Eek!’
Marilyn had thrust her hand inside the right cup and was fiddling with my boob.
‘You have to get it into the right position,’ she said, before repeating the procedure with the left one.
‘There,’ she said, when she was satisfied, ‘see what a difference it makes.’
She ran her hand up from my ribcage to my nipple, ‘See how it lifts,’ and from nipple to cleavage to nipple, ‘and separates.’
I was beginning to suspect she enjoyed her job too much.