For whatever reason, having an exceptionally mature woman’s breasts draped across my arm makes me indescribably, and unexplainably, sleepy. I have no idea why this phenomenon occurs, but it happened all of the time in high school. Mrs. Kendall would bend over to check my work and I’d fall into a catatonic state. Somewhere, between the hum of the complex’s air-conditioning, the smell of lavender perfume that older women seem to always wear and the fluffy mounds resting on me was total peace of mind. It’s like I’m that bear in all of those fabric softener commercials. All you want to do is shut your eyes and fall back into a pile of the happiest dreams. In a fraction of a second, you’re given a lifetime of knowledge that you are safe and nothing can ever hurt you.
Now, I should clarify that I’m not some sort of pervert that goes around looking for sketchy breast opportunities. In fact, I had completely forgot just how sleepy a billowy chest can make me until I had a close encounter a few days ago. I was rattling off sixty words a second when a senior woman reached across me as I typed. Contact. I could probably make the argument that I was lightly sexually harassed, but there was really nothing sexual about it. The mammary glands hit me in the shoulder and the world flickered and dimmed. It probably has more to do with some basal instinct from infancy than anything. I couldn’t tell you if she excused herself for reaching or asked if it was alright or if there was an air horn going off inches from my face. I immediately began to slip away as if I were laying on a million heating ducts simultaneously. She moved back for a moment and I was provided a few moments of clarity in which to try and dodge the second approach, but I failed. I don’t know if any of you have been drugged for a serious operation, but this is the closet thing I could relate it to. It could have lasted a couple of seconds or several hours but, when she left, I wandered around in a comfortable haze. It was as if the volume had been turned down on the entire universe. The ground felt softer under my feet and all stress had dissipated. My new reality was sublime and I was content to quietly drift through it in a gentle confusion.
I told a few friends about it and only one really understood. The rest just laughed at the story and marveled at my peculiarity. I couldn’t blame them. There are things about all of us that, frankly, don’t seem natural. For instance, I eat gum. If it’s the right flavor and I’m in the right mood, I can probably go through a whole pack in just a few minutes. I have had people actually beg me not to do it and then act like I had committed some horrific crime against nature after I did it anyway, but it’s who I am. I’m a gum eater and I’m not ashamed.