Routine Humiliations
It’s the beginning of another day. It’s still dark even, but already beautiful, Romany, regular customer-mistress miss Florica, from the local sink-estate, is out and about and eager to gloat over me yet again.
Indeed, she spends some time just looking down on me, glorying in both my utter, maleslave helplessness and in her absolute female power over me, before presenting me with her outstretched, scruffy, black and white converse sneaker to be lickshined. I notice too that she has chosen to wear thick, grey and white bootsocks inside her high-top sneakers this morning, as is her perfect right.
Equally she has every right to look suitably smug as I strain to see her beautiful, bare, Romanian legflesh through the open stitches of her thick, woolly socks. Oh how I wish I could be one of those superior socks – just to be able to touch her bare, Romany legskin! And she knows it! Indeed, that's precisely why she is wearing her cheap tracksuit bottoms at half mast - so that I can observe, and envy, her socks!
She eventually leaves me with the humiliating taste of her Romany-girl sneaker mud lingering in my mouth, whilst her freshly-licked sneakers splash nonchalantly through the puddles of muddy, overnight rainwater – thereby making a mockery of my sincere, early-morning sneaker cleaning efforts . And as if to add ignominious insult to injury, some of the dirty water from the backs of her Romany sneaker heels even splashes up onto my confined and lowly face.
But I guess it’s just the beginning of another day full of such routine humiliations. I must get used to them, for I am merely a municipal footslave – fair game for everyone to humiliate.
