Investigate the box

So facts:

1. I had developed a strange itch while wearing my clothes.

2. I had, through odd coincidence, wound up naked in front of my dad.

3. My dad seemed convinced that if I walked around buck-ass naked, it was perfectly normal.

4. I had just acquired a strange box of supposedly mind altering stickers.

Obviously, I rushed right over to the box, opened it up and pulled all the stickers out. And as I suspected, there was a missing sticker, one of the fig leaf stickers specifically. Three guesses what the fig leaf sticker did, and the first two don't count.

"Son of a bitch." I murmured under my breath. I set the sticker sheet down and started looking all over myself for any leaf shaped tattoo's I had mysteriously acquired. My full length mirror hanging from my door helped with this, I was able to look up and down my naked body for anything out of the ordinary.

The only thing I found was that my nipples were painfully hard from the cold and adrenaline, and my skin was prickled with goosebumps. It wasn't until I looked at my feet that I saw the culprit. A beautifully detailed fig leaf, etched into the heel of my foot.

I rolled my eyes, the sticker must've fallen off from my shower and I stepped on it without noticing. Well at least this problem was easily solved then. I ran a finger over it to peel the 'tattoo' off. Only for my fingers to brush against cold skin.

My heart stopped.

"No." I whispered, and tried again. Same result.

"No no no!" I hissed and scratched furiously at my foot. The tattoo remained firmly in place. No, that wasn't right, that wasn't in the directions! I put the sticker on, I should be able to take it off.

I ran back to the box and checked the instruction etched on the underside of the lid:

'When placed on a person's skin, it sinks in and becomes a tattoo that can only be removed by the person who placed it. Anyone other than the bearer or applier will believe that the bearer got the tattoo naturally.'

That's what I thought. So why wasn't the damn thing coming off since I put it on, even if it was by...by...

A terrible thought occurred to me. If I had stepped on the sticker, unaware of it, then technically no one put it on me. I was a bearer, but I was not an applier. My hands shook as I set the box down and settled into my chair. The fabric felt weird against the naked skin of my rear, oddly pronounced now. Was that a feeling I would have to get used to forever?

Was I forever condemned to a life of nudity?
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