The Groping Groupie

Yes you heard right, woman gropes man. We have always heard about the perverts out there who get their jollies by copping a feel from some unsuspecting woman but what about when the shoe is on the other foot? Ever since I have embarked on this road of performing on the street I have had one bizarre incident after another. What was the latest debacle you ask? I'll tell you.

It happened just a few days ago. I was bound for my usual spot at the Northeast corner of the Energy Solutions Arena to play for the hordes of eager people pressing to attend the Jeff Dunham comedy show. After setting up my gratuitous advertising I set about tuning my pipes. The weather was a chilly 32 degrees and Llieam (That's the name of my bagpipe) did not want to sing.
"I'll no' lift my voice in such cold" he said with a twinge of malice in his tone.
"Ach, Ye'll play lad, and ye'll play now. Or would ya rather have yer drone reeds ripped oot?"
Their was a brief silence as the brash pipe mulled over his options, then in a contrite yet defiant voice, said,
"Oh all right. Ya've won this tame. I'll gie it a wee go, but no' because I am afraid of ye. The show's the thing!"
"Whatever!" I muttered as I proceeded to breath life into the unruly set of wood and cloth.
As if by magic, the cloth bag inflated until it was full. The tale-tale high pitched squeal signaled the onset of the pipes anticipated melody. At first the tones were brash and shrill, but soon they turned into the most melodic of strains, sending wonderful tones cascading across the landscape. Even in the bitter cold of January, Llieam's voice was heard and it bid all to come and partake in the joy of the luscious sound.
And come they did, by the hundreds. Soon the little orange suitcase began to fill with tiny paper bills and random change. I was so consumed with Llieam and his musical offering that I did not see the woman standing in front of me with her arms outstretched.

As I began to take notice of her presence she said,
"Can I have a hug?"
There was an awkward silence as I struggled for a response.
"Uh, sure I guess..." I answered hesitantly. The woman then proceeded to wrap her arms around me and squeeze. I suddenly found myself in the tightest bear hug imaginable, with no way to release the myself from the woman's grip. To my horror, she began kissing my sweater and saying,
"I'm kissing your boobs."
She followed the comment with a maniacal laugh that sent shivers down my spine.
"I'm from Ireland and I just love pipers!" she cackled.
That's when I felt it, the unmistakable feeling of someone grabbing your nether most region, it was a fanny fondle, a cheek check, the rear seat softener, you get the picture. There I was, locked in her pincer-like grip while she had her way with my manly seat cushion. Oh the humiliation, the agony. As if I might be unaware, she somehow felt the need to express her actions.
"Now I'm grabbing your butt!" she announced proudly.
"Ya, I'm here remember?"
Mercifully, she released her grip on me and ceased her unwanted molestation. As she began to leave she had an evil grin as she hissed,
"I'm Irish, I just can't help myself!"
I suddenly found myself rethinking my upcoming trip to Scotland. I had toyed with the Idea of making my way to Ireland to see the sights, now it seemed the furthest thing from my mind. No, I'll stay wi' me own folk on the great Isle of Scotland, Thank you very much. There must be some magical force when a man wears a kilt. I suppose it's that animal magnetism or that intense wave of testosterone that sweeps helpless women off their feet. At any rate, I suppose I can expect many more such encounters in the future. Let's just hope there isn't anyone with a video camera nearby when it happens. I'm not sure how tolerant my wife would be upon seeing such doings. Well, that's me then. Off to my next exciting adventure.