Lately, my nipples have become advanced. They’re like Vera’s nipples 2.0! They seem to have evolved and gotten technologically, environmentally, emotionally, crazily in tune with the higher powers of Nipple-o-city. In other words, they have become very sensitive to everything, and I don’t know why. Sometimes, I don’t even know what everything means.
Naturally, these nipples get hard when the temperature drops around them — like when I step outside and it’s cold, like when the air conditioner stays on longer than it should, or like when I hang around the ice cream aisle too long. Sometimes, a chilling story can have the same effect on them — like when I heard the story about the burnt-face man who was blessed with a gorgeous wife, but for whatever reason, could not (still cannot) control his libido around other women. That’s a chilling story, no?
Lately, however, my nipples have gone buck wild. They no longer get hard during these isolated times. They seem to get hard every time. I don’t even know what compels them anymore. Whether it’s hot or cold, they are hard. Whether I’m hearing a chilling story or watching a political ad campaign, they still get hard. In the comfort of my bedroom and in the congregation of my church, they get hard. Under a polyester bra and under a thick padded bra, they get hard … and still manage to poke through my layers of clothes.
It has now become a matter of embarrassment. Those that know about my condition are constantly watching out for their hardness – which naturally, happens at the most inappropriate places and at the most inappropriate times. It’s only when I see the strange stares or hear the muffled giggles that I realize my two puppies are out there, sending a message that I have not told them to send.
And, of course, I sometimes get the subjective question, “But Vera, what are you thinking about?” No matter what I say in response to this question, I am already guilty in the eyes of my asker, which is always evident by the smile on his/her face and the rapid up-and-down movement of his/her eyebrows. It’s almost a rhetorical question because the asker swears he/she already knows what is on my mind. There’s apparently no thought on the face of the earth that would make a girl’s nipples hard — apart from thoughts of sex. Or thoughts of him – whoever he may be. He just may be Jesus, but no one would believe that anyway.
I could keep doing what I have been doing to reduce my embarrassment: crossing my arms across my chest. But I can only sit or stand in this position for so long. So what’s a girl to do? Putting a picture up would have been splendid, I’m sure, but we’re trying to reduce my humiliation here.