Failed Human

The failed human can only stare at the young woman’s white bootsock-top as she embraces a proper man high above him.

Don’t get me wrong – the slave is under no illusions that he could ever get to embrace a bright and intelligent, young woman such as this in the way that a lover would. He knows he is a hopeless loser and a thing to be despised. But he does¸ somewhat foolishly, have aspirations of embracing the socks of such a beautiful and attractive, young woman – of nosing or even nuzzling them – since they are the socks of greatness; the socks of a local, Gynarchy goddess.

Ha! Ha! What an idiot! He’s delusional! Even this young woman’s socks are too good for him, imbued as they are with her precious footsweat DNA. No, as she turns to walk away from him, arm in arm with her manly boyfriend, he shall just have to make do with the occasional glimpse of her white bootsocks, and hope against hope that she and her boyfriend will come here regularly for a quick kiss and a cuddle. For, unlike her socks, this head-in-the-wall footslave is not going anywhere – and he is therefore reliant on this young woman’s boots and socks visiting him in this dark and dingy alleyway! 












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