Rough Part Of Town
I am based in, what is admittedly, a rather rough part of town. But, just occasionally, in amongst the scruffy sneakers and cheap faux-sheepskin boots of my regular customers, all locals, my public tongue is required to lick a classy pair of female stilettos that have strayed here on business from elsewhere in the city. It is such an honour to lickshine such shoes!
That’s not to say, of course, that I don’t have equal respect for the feet and footwear of my regulars – for they are all my betters. Thus the fat girl with the bright blue hair who is shamelessly picking her nose; the lean black girl with the grubby, blue and yellow sneakers who is talking excessively loudly on her phone; and the drunken master-sir who is sockless inside his yellow and black sneakers can all expect my tongue to do its genuine utmost to clean the street grime and filth off their shoes, since their superior shoedirt belongs inside my inferior mouth.
But I might just tarry a while on these stilettos, for they are such a rare treat in these here parts!
