Night Mocker
Sometimes, when she can’t sleep, regular customer-mistress Ms Arabella madam pops out of her flat on the nearby sink-estate for a quick fag and a nocturnal lickshine of her shoes. At such times she is invariably in a bad mood – through lack of sleep, I guess – and so she is inclined to mock and cajole me most mercilessly!
Tonight, for example (it’s 3 AM), she explains that she had got up in the middle of the night to ease her bowels (or to ‘have a shit’ as she herself so indelicately puts it) and then couldn’t get back to sleep so she just had to go for a stroll and a fag. She asks me how I am liking it, having to lickshine a girl’s shoes in the middle of the night, and wouldn’t I much rather be ‘tucked up in bed, fast asleep?' (She knows full well, of course, that this is my bed, and that my pillow is the dirty wooden footblock on which her right foot is now so arrogantly outstretched!)
Because I am obliged by law to be nice to my customers, and to flatter them, I most humbly reply to arrogant Ms Arabella madam that it is, in fact, an honour for me to be lickshining her shoes in the wee small hours of the morning, and that if I were not doing so I would most probably be dreaming of her socks and shoes since they are the nicest socks and shoes I ever get to encounter on my footslave stand (mind you, I say that to all my customers!).
She laughs (at me) and there then ensues a conversation of unequals about the provenance of her plain grey socks. It transpires that they were a present from her boyfriend, master George sir, and I, of course, praise and bless the absentee master-sir for buying her such a nice pair of socks, describing him as a magnificent man who is a much better man than me (master George sir is in his early fifties, fat and balding – but Ms Arabella madam clearly loves him, so I must respect him too).
Ms Arabella madam is clearly missing master George sir, whom, she kindly explains, is working tonight (he’s some sort of factory worker), as she goes on to indicate that she could really do with a ‘shag’ right now! Needless to say, the conversation then turns to Ms Arabella madam contrasting the virility and potency of her boyfriend with my footslavish impotence, and I am obliged to admit to her that my male member, hidden behind the wall, is tiny and insignificant compared to master George sir’s doubtless enormous appendage! I am also obliged, by law, to apologise to Ms Arabella madam for not being able to satisfy her sexually, but she just laughs at me and informs me that she finds me sexually repulsive in any case. She then orders me to ‘shut the f*ck up and get on with lickshining her shoes’, which I promptly do.
As I taste where she has been walking, I contemplate my lowly position in life. Here I am, licking an arrogant, but beautiful, young woman’s dirty shoes in the middle of the night – a young woman with stale, smoker’s breath who has recently defecated – having just been obliged to sing the praises of her absentee boyfriend, a much older man than me, not just because he is her chosen sexual partner, but because, pathetically, I admire the plain, grey anklesocks he has bought for his girlfriend, socks which now adorn her feet in front of my shoelicking face. Truly I am at the bottom of the Gynarchy food chain, having to survive on a girl’s shoedirt in the middle of the night like some inner-city rodent. How she must despise me, and is it any wonder she has come to mock me?
I am nothing but an impotent, footlicking fool. And she is a glorious sink-estate goddess! I am not worthy to be in her presence.
