Huge Nipples Tied

Huge Nipples Tied
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I worked as an office manager once, and it was my job to open and sort all of the mail, including packages. It was a pretty boring job for the most part, but every now and then there would be a wave of excitement when my boss’s crazy ex-wife would come in and scream at him in front of all of his employees.
So I’m doing my mail duties when an odd looking package arrives for my boss, the CEO of the company. I open it as part of the standard office procedure. I pull out some packing materials, then an item wrapped in plastic wrap.
What is this? I think to myself. Oh, a leash. Must be a leash for his dog. What’s with the metal things? This is kind of weird, I think, so let’s pull out the invoice:
“Dog collar with attached nipple clamps.”
Dogs don’t need nipple clamps, so what the shit.
I throw everything back into the box as if *I’M* the one who has just committed some horrible sin against nature. I hop onto my computer and pull up messenger and message my boyfriend. “QUICK. I NEED TO KNOW HOW TO TAPE UP A PACKAGE AND MAKE IT LOOK LIKE IT WAS NEVER OPENED.”
Tons of totally rational and then totally fucked up explanations are going through my head. Halloween is coming up soon, maybe this is for a crazy party. Or maybe my boss is just seriously kinky and doesn’t have the foresight to send these types of packages TO HIS HOUSE. I got mental images, playbacks – not pretty.
I carefully tape up the box and pack it neatly. Voila! It looks as though it was never opened! No one will touch this stuff! I sneak it into his office and put it on his desk with the rest of his mail.
So for weeks, I can’t make eye contact with my boss, and at one point, I almost greeted him with a “Good Morning, Mr. Nipple Clamps” because that’s all that would go through my head when he walked in the door.
We go out on a business trip and at dinner, he tells us about how an old secretary is sending packages to his work and picking them up from his office, and he’s DYING to know what’s in them, but he never opens them.
Having had like 4 glasses of wine, I raise my hand.
“I know what’s in them,” I say, my face turning more purple than the merlot I’m drinking.
I have everyone’s attention now, and at this amazing restaurant in downtown Chicago, I blurt out, way too loudly, “NIPPLE CLAMPS!”
I tell them the story of the accidentally opened package. (We found out what the deal was weeks later because it turns out this lady who used to work for him was running a sex service behind her family’s back and making good money at it, but she couldn’t let her family know she was a dominatrix for hire so she had the boxes sent to her old work. How bad would that screw your teen daughter up, anyway?)
After I tell the table, including investors and business associates (glug glug glug) about how horrified I was and how deftly I re-taped the package to look as though it had never been tampered with, and how proud I was of my handiwork, the table falls silent.
So this one guy looks at my boss and says, “Your secretary has been walking around for weeks thinking you’re a sick pervy bastard! She must have been terrified to fly out here to Chicago with you!”
Hey man, sometimes I was paid in wine. Nipple clamps or no nipple clamps, that’s a good deal.
Design by Simon Fletcher . Powered by Tumblr .

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