Consume Me, Part 2

15 Mar

I follow Katie, the small brown headed woman in charge of the study, down the hall. She leads me to an office, glass doors and walls of which have been covered by a series of black and blue tarps.

“Looks like a scary circus tent,” I say. Katie laughs.

“I assure you, there’s nothing scary in here.”

She opens the door and gestures for me to enter. I do. Inside the room there is a table and on that table there are four undershirts and four pairs of men’s underwear.

They tell me that I have to try on each undershirt and pair of underwear and then write down how I feel about each based on comfort, support, the feel of the fabric, etc.

“So just put them on, walk around, see how you feel in them. We had a guy earlier that said he sat down and stood up with them on to see how they’d move. Just move around so you know how they’ll feel in real life.”

I scan the underwear and undershirts, my brow furrowed. Without looking at either of the women, I ask “Can we clear the hallway, please?”

They look at each other. The blonde says “We assure you, Mr. Irion, you are totally unseen in here. It’s private. No one can see in.”

“Or see out,” I respond, my voice gravelly. I turn and glare at each of them. They don’t know what to do with this statement and neither do I.

“Why do you need the hallway cleared?” Katie asks.

“Sprints,” I say. “I do those from time to time, in my life.”

“Oh, you work out?” the blonde viper says, her tone suggestive and dripping with suggestiveness, as if to suggest something to me.

“I occasionally run very quickly to and from places,” I respond. “And that’s all I’ll say on the matter.”

The yellow-haired woman continues to look at me. Things are getting tense and I’m moments from bolting for the door when Katie interrupts.

“Okay, so we’ll leave and let you get to work.”

They leave and I get to work on the underwear and undershirts. I try on each shirt and each wear and move about the room slowly, gracefully. I jump around and hoot and scream and I trip the table over and throw myself against the walls. All the items hold up well. Several knocks by the women go unanswered, as I am working and cannot be disturbed.

The underwear for the most part, support my genitals well. There is only one incident in which my lunch meat rodent slips from a fold in a pair of GAP briefs and I am momentarily chilled. While doing a hand stand, a fight breaks out between my scrotum and taint but I quickly squash the conflict when I squash my scrotum and taint, sending myself into a frenzy of pained moans (meows).

Finally, I walk out of the room. I am wearing every pair of underwear and every undershirt under my regular clothes. I look buff and also like I’m wearing a diaper.

“Kyle, where are the–” Katie scans my frame. “You aren’t supposed to wear them like that. We need them out. We were going to go over each pair individually.”

“There were no underwear in that room,” I say, my nose in the air. Katie sighs.

“If you don’t take those off we can’t pay you. Can you go back in there, remove the underwear and shirts and come back out?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” I say.

I go back into the room. I shut the door. It’s wonewy. 😦

[Editor’s Note: It’s what?]

I remove all the clothes, piece by piece, get dressed and bring the underwear and undershirts in a pile cradled in my arms, into the interview room. I toss them on the table. Katie begins to pick through them.

“Okay, what did you think of these?” she looks down at a clipboard and then to the briefs and then to me.

“I liked them. I just wish they weren’t white. I felt silly putting those on.”

“Why is that?”

“Because they’re white and only children and the fat and indolent wear white briefs.”

The blonde one and Katie both scribble on their notebooks.

Katie begins to pick through some more until–

“What are these?” she asks, lifting a pair of underwear from the pile. They are yellow and have the phrase “Don’t go there!” embroidered on the crotch and “Wanna hear a secret?” embroidered on the rear.

“Oops!” I say, leaning forward, snatching them from her hand then violently tucking them into the front of my jeans. “Those were my underwear.”

“You put your underwear in with the rest?” the blonde wretch says. “I thought I smelled something strong,” she looks at me again with suggestion.

“Please stop,” I whisper.

“So I think we’re done,” Katie says. “If you want to go head on to the front desk, we’ll get your gift cards.”

They got me my gift cards and told me thanks for coming. The blonde one shook my hand and then tried to make me spin her like in ball room dancing. I pulled my hand free, pushed her to the ground, and ran for the elevator.

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