Who’s Boobs Are These?
(mid 1990s)

For many years I worked in the entertainment department of a theme park in Central Florida. It did not pay well at all, but it was great fun. My co-workers were all young adults, like me, all of us just wanting to have fun, while finding ourselves. The nature of our job allowed us to spend more time hanging out on break than actually working.

Our breakroom was a large trailer where there were usually about a dozen people hanging out most of the day, although who was around rotated, as we worked in shifts. Being young and energetic, we were always finding fun things to do. One day, I entered the trailer to find my friends gathered around the big table debating the rules of a game they had just devised. In the middle of the table was a small stack of papers, which I was told were photocopies of several girl’s breasts. About half of this group currently in the trailer was female. And apparently a hand full of the girls had gone into the office of the trailer and put their boobs on the photocopier, and the prints were now to be mixed up and pinned to the bulletin board for everyone to guess which girl belonged to which boobs. Several of the guys were aggressively trying to convince me to join.

I was still married to my first husband, and had spent the past few years successfully curtailing my exhibitionist desires. He was not into it, and I truly did my best to be good. But here in the trailer with my friends, I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to play. I went into the office, shut the door, lifted my shirt and bra, and pressed my boobs against the cold glass of the copy machine. I immediately knew I was in trouble. It had been so long since I did anything like this, and it was remarkably gratifying. I knew it would be so much harder now to keep my urges at bay.

I came out of the office and put my paper face down on the stack. The papers were then mixed up, and the one girl who didn’t want to play agreed to pin them to the board. I couldn’t see the copies as she posted them, but just as soon as they started going up, the whole room turned chaotic. I first thought a supervisor may have come in and we were in trouble. Everyone was going a little nuts, and I didn’t know why. But as soon as I saw the pictures, I understood. There were 6 pictures. But one of them was not like the others. 5 of the pictures featured a variety of breasts… in a variety of bras. Then there was my picture. It did not take long for everyone to figure out whose grainy photocopied bare breasts were hanging on the trailer wall. My embarrassment, if nothing else, gave me away. I did not know we were not supposed to take off our bras. I was not so much embarrassed for everyone to see my breasts in this way. That was part of the fun, which I expected going in. But I just felt so stupid.

Everyone was having a very good time at my expense, but the wiser of the group knew to take the pictures down before the wrong person came through the trailer. The copies were thrown away – or so I thought. Turns out, someone made many copies of my boobs, and for weeks after, I would find them everywhere; in my locker, on my windshield, in the refrigerator at work, etc. It was just as funny as it was embarrassing. But it got serious for me when I came home to find one on my kitchen counter – which my husband had put there. I did not tell him about the incident. But someone had used the picture on a party invitation. And, of course, we were invited. My husband did not work at the parks, but there was some overlap in our otherwise separate circles of friends.

At first, I did not know if he knew the picture was of me. But when we discussed the party, he didn’t bring up the invitation, and he wasn’t angry, so I realized I was in the clear – as long as he didn’t go to this party. To my relief, he wasn’t available the night of the party. So, I went alone. I knew the guy who threw the party and had made the invitation. We worked together regularly. I really gave him a piece of my mind in front of several people that night. I was not ready for everyone to know how much I was enjoying the attention. I knew I embarrassed him. And although that is fair for what he did, I felt bad and kind of apologized later. It was when I was leaving the party, walking through his front yard full of cars. He came out onto his porch and called over to me asking if I was okay, and if we were good. I didn’t know what to say, but I knew what to do. I lifted my shirt and bra and flashed him my boobs.

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I don’t have the photocopy, but as I like to set the scene from my stories, here are a couple of pictures of me at work (and a screenshot from a video of me not at work) from around the time of this story.