Nipple Letdown

I. AM. WEARING. NIPPLE. ENHANCERS! My guts shout as I thump loudly down the street. A woman stops me and says, “Smile, you’re beautiful.” Her boyfriend nods in agreement. I want to scowl at them. I want to scream, “I’ve already done an article on swinging, this is about nipples. Notice. My. Nipples!” But instead I oblige and smile.

With my head resting on the filmy streetcar window I wonder if it’s me, or if it’s my nipples?

I’d been thinking about trying this for years. Ever since I saw Lori Barghini on the Montel Williams Show talking about how rich she’d become selling silicone nipple enhancers.

I was curious to know if they’d really work? And if they did, what sort of attention would I get? Would it be positive or negative?

Body Perks are not meant for breast cancer patients. They are sold in lingerie and adult stores, and are intended to be used as a woman would use high heel shoes, make up or hair spray. For nothing more than a little extra splash of sex appeal.

Lori calls her nipple enhancers Body Perks. She believes that “if you want to be sexy and get somebody’s attention that this is the way to do it.” You just slip the flesh coloured silicone nipples under your shirt and the free drinks are supposed to start pouring in. “It’s like having a boob job, but its only $20,” she explained.

The secret of erect nipples was discovered while Lori and four friends were partying in Las Vegas for the weekend. The five women hit the strip with hotel sized shampoo caps in their bras as a group dare.

The attention they got was overwhelming. They didn’t know what to do first. Decline another marriage proposal or accept another drink!

An Argentine man was so smitten with one of the women that after he kissed her hand he said “For you, my paycheck for the rest of my life.”

It wasn’t long before the producers of Sex and the City caught wind of this miracle product and a whole episode was written on the magic spell Body Perks cast on men.

It was too much for me to resist. I knew that one day I would have to try this out for myself.

On one of the first hot days of the summer I nervously walked into LoveCraft in Yorkville. Being afraid to make an ass of myself, my first instinct was to sneak into the aisles and find what I’d come in for. But I decided that asking would be much faster.

I was disappointed to learn that their supply of Body Perks was out of stock. The only store in Toronto selling them, and they were gone. Then I heard it, that magic “But,” followed by a “we do have another brand.”

The brand they had in stock was called “The Natural”A 100% Polyethylene foam nipple enhancer. Her final but was less disappointing; “We only have them in black.”

I shrugged my shoulders and told the girl, “No one’s going to see them anyway.” I paid the $9.99 plus tax and skipped out of the store. What fun my firm friends and I were going to have together.

The first place I tested them was at a yard sale we were having. I thought it would be fun to see the reaction of sober people first, only it didn’t happen. No one really showed up for the yard sale. It wasn’t the nipple’s fault.

After a quick nap I head out for a night of Karaoke. I abandoned the tight fitting baby-T I had on earlier and am now dawning a slutty business skirt and slightly see-through, wrinkly green tank.

I find dressing with a little extra flare is very important for Karaoke. If you sing poorly, the drunker men will usually applaud simply because you’re showing a little extra skin. I’m extra excited about wearing the nipple enhancers here. If they won’t clap for my singing (which is unlikely), at the very least they’ll clap for my erect nipples.

The night is only half over when I decide to confess to my friends. No one has noticed my enhancers at all, and if they have, they haven’t said anything. Once I let the cat out of the bag my friends laugh and suggest it was the puckers in my shirt that were thwarting my fun.

So I bring my nipples out again that Tuesday night. I’m promoting a single’s party at Insomnia Café on Bathurst. I’m proudly sitting at the table where guests are checking in. I’ve worn a light green halter-top with some pretty lace around the cleavage. I figured the lace would draw attention to the right spot.

By the end of the night I count ten compliments to my hair and not one single word about my nipples. Is this a conspiracy?

Now I’m very frustrated. What was so different about five ladies in Vegas with severe nipplitis and me in Toronto? It occurred to me that people in Vegas are in a different frame of mind than Torontonians. The sexual freedom there is endless. They didn’t come up with the slogan “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.” for no reason, did they?

I decide to take my plan in the Las Vegas direction on Friday night.

Toronto was in the middle of its first summer heat wave and I was strutting down the street in my highest heels. My dress, black, plunged to the breast bone and was slit up the side, just a little higher than mid-thigh. It hugged my body showing off my curves the way a woman’s curves should be flattered.

I paid a little more attention this time to the people around me. Cars drove by as I waited for my street car and heads were turning. Some men were smiling, others were leering. My favourite was the guy who yelled out his car window, “Thank you!” Sadly, I suspect, I owe all the success to this part of my experiment to my little black dress and not the nipple enhancers.

This was the only night that drinks were purchased for me. The first at the Black Bull where friends were playing at the North by North East Festival. The only reason I even got that drink was because I was introduced to the guy as he was ordering a beer for my friend. I think he was being polite.

Later that night at Velvet Underground, two more drinks where offered my way. The first from the bartender, the second from the D.J., both friends. Sigh.

I wasn’t in a good mood when I left the Velvet. I was feeling tired and disillusioned. Where was the magic? Where was the attention? Where were the free drinks?!

Resting my head against the filmy streetcar window, I fight drifting off and begin to wonder was it me, or was in the nipples? Could it really have been the fault of my clothes the whole time? Or are Canadians too polite to say, “Love your nipples Babe, how’s about I buy you a good time tonight?”

Of course the women in Vegas were traveling in a pack, and all of them had hard nipples. Here, I was the only one playing the game. Then there’s my clothes, maybe I wasn’t wearing the right thing? Maybe the people who sell these things should include an outfit or at least a list of do’s and don’ts while dressing.

Mostly I think the Vegas ladies were in an oversexed environment where the men were looking for their very own showgirls to help them play the part of ‘Big Spender.’ Where as the men that I encountered may have noticed my nipples but chose to look me in the eyes when they spoke to me. So why should I complain that the men who did approach me through this whole experiment seemed to be sincere and didn’t just want to get with the chick with the hard nipples.

Circa 2005