Unselfconscious

It is not terribly uncommon for older women to not give a single fuck about being naked in front of me. When asking for help in dressing rooms they'll unselfconsciously shuck off all their clothing and stand around waiting with old lady boobs right in my face. Sometimes younger women, but mostly older. I had one in today. She came in with a big poncho looking coat, and a huge purse. She wasn't actually that old, maybe her late forties. I let her poke around for a bit then came over to offer help. I realized immediately that she was the sort of person to ask questions and then interrupt before you fully answer. I also realized that the odd smell permeating the store was her. She smelled like a blend of mint and nag champa, two smells that should never be paired together. The sharp mint clashed with the earthy nag champa and it was a nearly instant headache.

She asked, "Are these the only corsets you have?" And I said, "ye-" "I'm looking for a corset, I'm a 38DD, what do you recommend?"  I gritted my teeth and gestured to the black corset she was holding, "Well, the one you have will be good for a larger cup, because it has-" "I really want one in green." I looked at the wall, which is all black corsets. "Well we have-" Her phone starts ringing and she assures me she has to take it. I breathe out slowly and retrieve our one green corset, and start unlacing them so she'll be able to try them on. I went over to where she was on the phone and held up the green one with a question in my eyebrows.

She nodded enthusiastically and I went away to hang them by the dressing room. After I enjoyed a respite from her smell and her restless questions she got off the phone. I smelled her before I saw her and turned with a smile. "Okay, so have you tried on corsets before?" She didn't even answer me, she just turned and started pawing through the lingerie racks, leaving destruction in her wake. "This is pretty, do you have it in other colors?" I trailed after her, my anger writhing around like an impotent snake in my chest, "Yes, in red." I went to show her but she'd already forgotten she'd asked. Clearly the most important thing to her was not the answer to questions, but the act of asking them, and always being the one talking, because she chattered away like a magpie. Finally she was ready to go into the fitting room. "Okay, so with the corsets, I'll help you with the laces, one has a zipper, the other has clasps on the front. I've undone the laces, so just fasten them on, and I'll pull them tight." She wasn't listening, she was getting undressed. "Should I leave a bra on?" I grimaced as her back was turned, "Well, it's-" but it was already off.

She picked the black corset first, the one with the zipper. She started trying to pull it over her head and I made a frustrated sound, then checked myself. "It has a zipper on the side, you just undo that, and then zip it up." She barely seemed to hear me, but did as I said. Her bust was in no way close to a 38DD, but women hate to hear that sort of thing, so I showed her in the mirror how to pull on the cords. She chattered and complained about the fit the whole time and when she was fully laced in declared immediately that it just wasn't what she wanted, and it was too loose on top. I showed her how her back fat was pulling together unattractively, and how it couldn't be tightened more, and she had the corset off in a flash as I was still bent to unlace it, her boobs swinging like pendulums under my nose. I took a step back, trying not to get hit in the face, trying to look away without seeming rude.

She had just as much difficulty with the next one, bidding me hover by the open door. Despite my wish to flee, there was no one else in the store to help, and she didn't even care that she was exposed with the door partially open. She complained and squirmed her way into the green corset, unable to understand the clasps. Like the first one, her bust wasn't big enough to fill it out, but I refrained from comment. Like the sound of angels descending from heaven the door rang, and I apologized and said to call me should she need me.

She prowled lingerie barefoot, leaving her parka and purse in a heap in the dressing room so I couldn't close the door, but I washed my hands of her and let her do as she pleased until she left, leaving nothing behind but a pile of lingerie to rehang and a lingering smell of mint-nag champa.