Pertinent to my last post

So, I worked a night show with the arm gripper again.

Everything seemed cool til the debrief after the show, when my gloriously camp colleague said 'Loved the shots of you [boot] - beautiful in that dress. Loads of cleavage, very pretty.' When I looked at him wonderingly, he pointed to the camera overhead. I hadn't noticed it. There was genial laughter in the studio when it was wondered who was responsible for camera shots allowing the audience to gaze down on a straight trajectory between my breasts. It can't have been that stimulating, I'm not of remarkable size one way or another. The culprit confessed amidst the chuckles. It was him.

Flustered, I went and got ready to go home. It shouldn't be a big deal. Like I've said before, the place is full of adolescent lust. No actual adolescents you understand, just adults who should know better. After four years on gaffatape TV, I have learned to accept that to masturbate is human, to get a room is Evolution.

Then he walked in, and it occurred to me that everyone else was downstairs waiting for their taxi. He stared at me and asked if I was all right. 'You aren't mad about that, are you?' He said, 'It looked nice...not rude, just nice,' and he stepped towards me, and I didn't think before I moved. 'Why're you backing away from me?' he said. Long pause. 'You've got nothing to worry about, [Boot]' he said 'I'm just a bit pathetic. All right?' I didn't say anything. You may be wondering where all my vaunted wit went. I don't know either. I just watched him go out the door, listened to him walk down the stairwell. Then I went home.

It's still weird, but I think it will be OK. Not great but OK.

I think.