Just Out of Reach

This is sofrustrating. The sink-estate mistress’s sneakers and socks are just inches from my face, yet she will not present them to my humble head for kissing and licking. Instead, she just stands teasingly in front of me, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I am yearningto lip her sneakers and nose her socks! But they remain maddeningly just out of reach from my footlackey lips – even though they are close enough for me to be able to smell the mistress's dirty sneaker leather!

I mean – just look at them; they’re perfect! The mistress is perfect! Her white sneakers are street-soiled and grubby, so I would be able to taste where she has been (my only experience of life beyond this wall in which I am confined). And her short, black socks are just ripe for the nosing (well, ‘ripe’ at any rate, having no doubt been on her feet all day inside those hot and sweaty sneakers!). But sadly my menial mouth and inquisitive nose shall just have to wait until such time as the bright and chatty, young woman turns her attention away from her friend and towards my humble head; well, until she at least turns her sneakered and socked foot towards me!

But she shows no sign of so doing, so engrossed is she in her, admittedly somewhat inebriated, conversation with her interlocutor high above me. Speaking of whom, I would, of course, also very much like to pay my lip and nostril respect to the sneakers and socks of the beautiful black girl. She too is a goddess, and I am particularly enamoured by the creases and folds in her plain grey anklesocks along with the orange trim at the top of her predominantly grey sneakers. But it’s hard not to focus on an equally pretty, white sneaker and angular black sock when they are directly in front of your forlorn, footslave face!

Oh pray mistress! Oh pray! Your sneakers! Your socks! Oh pity pray!














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