Lifelong Feetkisser

I have been enslaved in this back-alleyway wall for some 35 years now – in fact, all my adult life. 

Needless to say, my regular customers all know me well by now! Though the officialsign above my head declares me to be a ‘Smokers’ Footkisser’, over the years some local ruffians have even added in some derogatory graffiti, declaring me to be a ‘dirty slave’; and a ‘fool’; and letting the whole world know that ‘I like socks!’

My face would be crimson with shame if it weren’t for the layers of dirt covering it – dirt from the many shoes and boots I have been obliged to kiss and lick over the years (though I am fed and watered by the municipal authorities, my face is never washed; they do say it even smells of dirty shoeleather!)

Still, some of my more kindly customer-masters and mistresses, because they know I like socks, indulge me by ensuring their socks are fully on display whilst I am tongue-attending to their outer footwear – either by hitching up their trouser-hems as they present each foot to me to kiss; or, as in the case of my current customer – twenty year old, goddess-mistress Mallory from the nearby sink-estate – by wearing their socks outside their leggings.

Of course, miss Mallory also has an ulterior motive in wearing her socks outside her leggings today – they prevent my unwanted gaze at her superior, bare ankleskin. But she must surely know that I am very much admiring her plain, black, woollen anklesocks as I respect-kiss her dirty sneaker toes – admiring the weave in her socks; and the pattern in the stitching. She won’t let me touch or kiss her socks – none of my customers ever do, for that would be too intimate an honour for a mere public footservant such as myself. But at least I can have a look!

I think the knowing smile on miss Mallory’s pretty face as she walks away from me says it all. It says that she despises me – and rightly so. For I am nothing but her pathetic sneaker-kisser and sock-admirer. Not only that, she wasn’t even born when I was first immured in this wall up to my, now rusty, neck. I have been kissing feet and studying socks all her life. And I shall no doubt be obliged to continue kissing feet and admiring socks, including hers, in the corner of this selfsame, dark and dingy alleyway for another 15 years at least; right up until my dying day, in fact! Unless, of course, miss Mallory gives up smoking; or moves house when she gets married. But, whatever happens, the memory of her socks will long be emblazoned on my mind!

‘Find your dream’her T-shirt says. But this is my lifelong nightmare!