Lonely Towpath Footslave (ii)

Sometimes, my only human contact on the lonely toepath is with a man – by which I mean a proper man; a real man – not like me! Or, more accurately, I have contact with his footwear.

This stranger, for example, kindly stops his jog along the towpath in order to give me a taste of his running sneakers. Like women, he doesn’t talk to me, since I am beneath him.

A man, a stranger, jogs towards me

His sneakered footsteps get ever louder as they approach my humble, confined head

Pathetically (because I am a non-man) I'm hoping and praying the real man will stop in front of me

He does, and I am grateful, as I could do with the company!

Without saying anything, the man stretches forth his his left sneakered foot towards my menial mouth

I kiss it, of course, as befits a slave-man showing proper respect for a real man; a free man!

The master-sir switches feet in front of my face - several times

I kiss, and inhale, the outer aroma of his manly running sneaker

Again, he switches feet

My humbling view of the real man's SHOES and SOCKS as I kiss his feet

The SHOES and SOCKS of a god!

Then, all too soon for my humble liking, the SHOES and SOCKS turn their backs on me to leave

I am left staring in awe at the man's SHOE SOLES!

I dare not look up at his manly calf muscles, since I am just a slave!

And man slaves must show proper respect for their man masters

Although he is a stranger, and I shall likely never see him again, right now this MAN is my MASTER!

For he is better than me...

...and I have been obliged to kiss his feet and admire his SOCKS!
 

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