Beauty & The Public Beast
Grey
Drab
Concrete
Cold
Sneaker
Sock
Creases
Bold
Kissing
Licking
Trembling
Fear
Sniffing
Nosing
Nuzzling
Queer
Beauty
Power
Female
User
Ugly
Weak
Male
Loser
Walking
Haughty
Righteous
Winner
Static
Humbled
Dirty
Sinner
Let us examine this scene, and its accompanying poetry, in more detail:
It is a foggy night and the municipal footslave (also known as a ‘public humble head’) is alone with his rusty neck in the wall, awaiting his next customer. He is cold, tired and hungry, as his ‘minder’ mistress has, as often happens, omitted to feed him today. So all he has had to eat is the dirt and mud from his customers’ shoes and boots – a diet, to be fair, which is fit for a footslave!
Because the weather is so bad, he must spend hours staring at the shoe-soiled, empty concrete slab beneath his face before a kindly customer-mistress happens along, but suddenly, and unceremoniously, a familiar sneakered foot is plonked down onto the concrete footblock. He recognises the foot instantly from:
- The colours in the sneaker – red, white and blue
- The accompanying plain grey sock
- The shapeliness of the socked ankle
It is the sneakered and socked foot of regular customer-mistress and local girl, Ms Mukta madam. Her commanding, yet high-pitched, voice echoing through the emptiness confirms it:
‘Kiss my foot, slave!’
He is not permitted to answer her back, being a mere public footservant, but must simply obey her instantly. He knows, however, because she is a regular visitor to his concrete footblock, that when Ms Mukta orders him to ‘kiss’ her sneakered foot, she expects him to also lickshine it and to respectfully nose and nuzzle her sock. Not all customer-mistresses do, but Ms Mukta likes it that way. And what Ms Mukta likes, she gets – for a public footslave’s customer is always right!
And so he instantly lowers his mouth to her flaky, well-worn sneaker toe, making a mental note of her grey sock creases on the way down, since his nose shall be required to bury itself in them in due course. But the sneaker kissing must always come first – as a demonstration of the slave’s respect for his customer-mistress. It’s the law!
He is frightened of her, because of the power she has over him. She can hurt him, if she so desires, by either kicking him in the face, or arranging for the authorities to whip him behind the wall where his back is permanently naked. So his shivers are not just from the cold, but also from fear. Male fear of the superior, empowered female. Hence, having respectfully kissed her foot with quivering, puckered lips, he proceeds to gently nuzzle her soft sock, in a bid to elicit sweet feminine mercy and compassion in the wearer of the sock.
It is, as we have noted above, an ordinary, everyday sock. Nothing special – and plain grey to match the weather. But it is an ordinary, plain grey sock on an extraordinary, shapely female foot, and is thus worthy of his queer sock worship. What a contrast between the mistress and slave – she standing tall, proud and confident whilst she is being worshipped; he grovelling and cringing in the dirt. A loser being used by a winner; a goddess being served by a dork!
Eventually, in her own good time, she turns and walks away from him – in silence. No friendly words of well-wishing towards him as she departs; no polite thankyous for his feeble efforts on her sneakers and socks. She has nothing but contempt for him – and rightly so. For he is not her equal; nor her friend; nor even her acquaintance. He is just a ‘thing’ that licks feet; a dirty ‘thing’; a nothing and a nobody. Even though she has been using him for years, she does not even know his name. Not does she even care whether he has a name! To her, he’s just an anonymous footservant – her local, public humble head; and an ugly one at that!
She innately knows that she is better than him. They both do. And so, as she turns her pretty back on him and walks away into the mists of time, he hangs his head in shame; shame at having had the privilege of kissing and nosing her sneakers and socks – something he innately knows he is unworthy to do. He dare not even look her in the backs of her sneakers, but instead concentrates on the new dirt stains on the grey, concrete block beneath his feckless face.
He regrets that she has gone; but he knows that she will be back – tomorrow; or the next day. She’s nice like that, Ms Mukta; regular as clockwork. Indeed, without her regular portions of sneaker dirt he might starve. And the mere memory of her soft, grey anklesocks on his sock-nuzzling nose is enough to sustain his menial mind, until the next customer comes along – if, that is, he gets any more customers on this dank and dismal evening.
He has no choice but to live in hope, since he cannot go seeking out the shoes and boots of his betters. Self-evidently, he cannot move a muscle; only his humble head – in order to kiss and lick feet!
Haha, what a dumb dunderhead; a public feet-flunkey; a lickspittle loser. Let’s leave him to shiver and rot!
