But it might be more than it, let's break it down:
The aforementioned "Boss" is actually my Boss's Boss. (From now on, we'll call my Boss's Boss "The Boss" and my Boss "Julian.") The Boss is someone I really respect as an artist. I decided to work for him because of that. Julian, who is my direct boss, is his assistant. Quite frankly, I could do without working for Julian (he's a bit of a nut sometimes) but I've honestly worked with more difficult people, so whatever. Anywho, I started working for The Boss because of what he does. He has an entire office dedicated to making his work happen; another example of an office like this would be like Steven Spielburg's company or something: people want to work for him because he's Steven Spielburg.
So I've been working for The Boss for awhile now, and the other day it was my duty to bring him into a meeting. I waited as he said goodbye to his girlfriend, and walked him into the building. We stepped into a mirrored elevator, and he turned and smiled at me.
"You have lovely breasts." The Boss said. "May I stare at them in the mirror?"
Now The Boss is an odd guy, I won't lie. But what artist really isn't? Creative minds are always a bit weird, and generally socially awkward.
"Sure." I smiled. No harm in staring at my breasts.
He touched me between the shoulderblades: "They don't hurt your back?"
Without missing a beat, I replied "Nah. I've had them for awhile." I'm hilarious, I know.
Then we exited the elevator and walked into the meeting where we met up with Julian. Things were as usual.
Today things got weirder. The Boss was in a really odd mood for most of the day (grumpy and tired.) Today was a day full of things he doesn't like to do, and I'm sure if he could, he'd pay someone else to do it, but would kill you if you did it wrong. (Again, artists = weird excentrics.) Anywho, day becomes night, and I call The Boss a limo to go home, which is a standard practice in my field. I wait at the front door and hold it open for him, he stops and smiles at me (the first smile I've seen today.)
"May I punch your breasts?" He asks.
What?
"Uh. I guess?"
He punches my right boob three times. Like a punching bag.
I stop him. "Get in the car..." I shoo him off. Julian appears soon after, following The Boss into the limo.
Had Julian seen the transaction that had just taken place, it is guaranteed I'd be fired.
I admit, the line has been crossed, and I'm partially responsible. However, did my first action sanction the second, and if so, should I blame myself, or the fact that I value developing a personal relationship with The Boss above my job and my dignity. I am by no means interested in him sexually, and his fascination with me is purely about my amazing breasts. (Sure, they're awesome.)
It's just a weird situation to be in. I get to be alone with an artist that people would kill to have a conversation with. Instead, all he sees is my breasts and not my mind. Secretly, I prayed to be noticed, but not like this.
We'll see where this goes.
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