Hooter's Waitress Humiliation

I could not help but catch the innuendo in "looking up" as their eyes were on mine.

"So, what would you like to drink?"

They ordered beer. And as I turned to go get their pitcher, for the first time in months, I thought about how much of my butt was exposed.

"Just get through it, Kim," I thought, "Big spenders, big tip, and forget them."

I walked back with the pitcher and set it on the table.

"Okay," I said, "Have you decided what you would like?"

If I had spent a hundred years guessing, I would never have been ready for what they said next.

"Actually," said the big guy leaning forward, "We have a business proposal for you. Hooters has a handbook right?"

"Yes," I said, wrinkling my brow.

"Well if you are in compliance with the dresscode, we want to buy part of your uniform."

"Uh, no!" I said dismissively. I really wanted to slap them, but instead I just smiled.

"Not the whole thing," he pressed. "Just your Peavy pantyhose and your bra. We will pay you and you wait on us otherwise still in uniform. How does a hundred dollars sound?"

"Sounds like you don't need anymore beer," I said "I'll let you think about the menu and I'll be back."

I was so angry I could barely stand it. Just the arrogance of them was too much. I stifled my outrage though, and walked back after ten minutes.

As I stepped up to the table, they smiled. "Tell you what," said the spokesman, "We'll make it five hundred."

I was stunned. I should have told them off. I should have called the manager. Instead I was too shocked. It was all the opening they needed. The third member of the group counted out five hundred dollars and set the money on the table.

"Come on," he said, "We know you have expenses. We are just having a little fun. Besides, we aren't going to see anything. We are just buying some old hose and a bra. You just take this five hundred dollars, go back in the dressing room and change. It's not like anyone else is here and nobody we would be telling."

I stared at the money. I had gotten used to the inflow of cash and with the sudden downturn in tips, I was in some trouble. It was late. Nobody was around. Still hating that in a way they were "winning" over my objections I said, "you are not serious!"

The fat guy pushed the stack of money to the edge of the table and said, "All we want is your bra and hose and you wait on us without them."

I could not look at them as I reached out and took the bunch of bills. To there credit they knew better than to celebrate. I think had any of them said anything, I would have balked. Instead I turned with the money and walked toward the dressing area. Inside something was screaming that it was a bad idea, but something else was sensing relief that I would be able to cover my expenses.

"Just give them this, Kim and forget you ever met them," I said to myself.

In the dressing room I slipped off my shoes and socks and took off my shorts and t shirt. I unclasped my bra and slipped it off to set it on the bench. Then I peeled down the pantyhose and dropped it into one of the cups of my bra. I pulled my shorts and t shirt back on quickly and sat down on the bench to get my shoes and socks. As my bottom hit the cool wood, I realized how much of my buns were outside my shorts. I felt a cold sensation both down there and in the pit of my tummy. I pulled on the socks and the tennis shoes and stood up.

I had not meant to look, but there in the mirror was me, in my uniform, sort of. You could see the outline of my areola and the knobby nipples in the center. I did not dare glance downstairs out of some protective sense of denial.

If I were really going to do this, I thought, I would have to make like pulling off a bandaid and just go. Grabbing the bra and hose, I marched out. If I had felt anatomically loose and jiggly before, I was all over the place now. Everything I had was bouncing and jiggling with each step. With a deep breath, like just before going off the high dive, I walked out into the serving area. I could not have been prepared for the response. They took one look at me walking toward them and exploded with laughter and salacious delight. It caused me to glance at my reflection in the dark windows, which given that it was night out were almost like mirrors. I saw immediately why they were acting the way they did. It was such an emotional shock to see myself in motion like that. The indirect light and the reflection made the outline, shape, detail and emphasis of even the most minor movements of my chest stand out ridiculously. It was also outrageously evident from the downward shift of the weight and heft of my breasts in the top, that I was ridiculously top-heavy. The rest of the walk to their table was the longest of my life. Their expressions were just emotionally crippling and they were looking me over like I was almost as naked as I felt. I took their order and turned to walk away, realizing the view they would undoubtedly get.

"Oh my God," I heard, "Check that out. I think I am going to change my order from wings to a little ham sandwich."

I didn't need to turn to know that they were staring at the expanse of buttock below the lower limits of my orange shorts. I was literally hanging out and the awareness of that and their delight just killed me. I tried to stay away from their table but they were having none of it. They called me back and they had me constantly coming and going for condiments, refills, silverware replacement, and finally when they had asked for about every item you could imagine, they started knocking stuff onto the floor "accidentally" so I would have to bend over and retrieve them. It went on and on. I was so embarrassed, but I just decided to grin and bear it. There was nothing else I could do.

At one point, the guy that had counted out the money said, "So, Miss Kim, are you a real blonde?"

I was shocked and infuriated. They were talking to me like I was some brainless bimbo. The sensitivity about "matching" hair color was not something I wanted to have to discuss with these guys, especially dressed like that. I decided to lie. Looking directly at them I said, "Of course."

There was a slight twinkle in his eye.

"Oh really? Well tell you what, I am willing to bet you aren't my little Kim, or should I call you CT?"

This brought an outburst of laughter and a kind of outraged groan from the guys. I inadvertently turned red.

"I am not taking any bet."

"Oh, come on. How about this, you don't have to do anything. If I can't prove it, I'll pay you a thousand dollars. It will be to your satisfaction, if I can't prove it so that you agree, you win. If I can prove it....you have to..."

He looked at his friends, who laughed.

"...you will agree to do a little entertaining at party for a very sick friend of ours. He loves Hooters, but he hasn't been able to get out much, and we think if you waitressed in your slightly modified uniform, that would be part of it, we would get to determine how modified, it would really cheer him up."

"What do you mean modified?" I asked.

Well, CT," he chuckled," I was thinking maybe you would wear...you white tennis shoes...."

The rest nodded and agreed.

"And definitely the white sox," he said.

"And?" I said crossing my arms.

"Well," he said grinning... "That would be it!"

They burst out laughing.

"Naked?" I said shocked.

"Uh huh...I mean what are you afraid of? You are telling the truth. There is no way I can prove it huh, CT?"

"What is with the CT thing," I asked.

He did not answer, just kept smiling.

I was not happy. They were such jerks and the thought of waitressing in my birthday suit was to humiliating to imagine. I knew there was no way I would admit that he would be able to prove anything. And I needed the money, but more attractive was the prospect of taking his money and restoring some of my dignity. I reaffirmed to myself that even though I knew he was right, there was no way he would have any proof that I could not deny.

"Well?" he said.

"Fine," I answered, cocking my hip.

At that, he held up the pantyhose and as felt my heart sink he plucked a black clipped pubic hair caught in the nylon. My jaw dropped and I turned scarlet as the group began howling and high-fiving each other.

"Well, CT, " he said when his laughter subsided, "care to deny that , cause we will have to have proof or...are we going to be getting to know you better soon?"

I couldn't say anything at first.

"Hey, look," he added, "it is for a great cause a sick guy and you did lose, and you will be still making a thousand dollars! Besides....either this little black hair is yours or...someone else's. So, which is it?"

I was trapped. I couldn't lie or the insinuation would be that I had sex and that was how the hair had gotten there."

"I..i...it is mine," I said almost sadly.

They laughed and said as if to be kind, "Well, CT, you are a woman of honor."

And then he added as he pointed at my shorts, "And the CT is for your little...camel toe there."

I could have died right there. I looked at my reflection and sure enough, without the pantyhose to smooth underneath, there was a very profound wedge in front and what was worse, the outline of the stubbly landing strip could be made out in the indirect light. I started to walk away, but it occurred to me that there was no real point. Soon enough they would be seeing it all anyway.