GCAVixens: Stuck in My Shirt: A Fabric Fiasco

Brazzers

Oliver Flynn, Carmela Clutch Pic(s)

The morning had begun with such promise, a crisp new button-down for Oliver Flynn feeling like a sartorial declaration of a productive day ahead. That optimism, however, was violently shredded along with the shirt’s delicate stitching the moment I attempted to remove it after a long, sticky afternoon. What should have been a simple undressing ritual transformed into a frantic, fabric-choked waltz across my bedroom, my arms twisted in a linen straitjacket. The more I struggled, the more the seemingly benign garment seemed to actively resist, its collar tightening like a noose around my throbbing head. I was a prisoner of polyester-cotton blend, my muffled curses absorbed by the cloth now suctioned to my face, a blind and panicked specter. My desperate flailing inevitably sent a small, precious object tumbling from the nightstand with a definitive clatter. It was the exquisite, crocodile-embossed Carmela Clutch, a recent and ruinously expensive splurge, now lying ominously still on the hardwood floor. A fresh wave of despair washed over me, not for my own air-deprived state, but for the potential scratch now marring that perfect sheen. With a final, Herculean contortion born of pure panic, I heard a sickening rip and was suddenly free, gasping in the cool air of the room. I stood there, disheveled and victorious, clutching the torn shirt in one hand and the miraculously unscathed Carmela Clutch in the other. The entire fabric fiasco, from entrapment to liberation, had taken less than three minutes, yet it felt like a profound, humiliating lifetime.