Popshot Magazine – August 2019

I mean, what am I going to say at this point? Ask to take it slow? For a glass of wine?
This is not a date, although it could be the end of a very good one for how heated up I
am feeling. I ask for a glass of water, anyway. Just to take in my surroundings.
He seems put out. “ I have a meeting at five.”
So, he’s fitting me into his schedule. How typical. I watch him walk away to fetch
the water. I imagine him naked, of course. It’s only natural. By the time he returns,
I’m pretty aroused. He hands me the water and straightens his tie.
“Thanks.” I attempt a seductive expression. He sighs.
He lies down at the foot of the chair.
“Place your foot on my face.” I wince. I can actually smell my putrid foot. I start to
apologise. “I’m so sorry, maybe if I could use your bathroom I could freshen —"
He cuts me off. “Do it.”
I place the sole of my foot against his cheek and quickly withdraw. The sole of my
foot is ticklish, and if I’m not careful I might laugh. I bite my tongue hard and replace
the foot. I feel the course stubble on the thin skin of my arch, my toes feel around his
lips and he slips his tongue out to taste one. It’s slippery and warm, a contrast to the
cold white room.
Holy shit. I peek down, afraid to make eye contact. Remember, I am not supposed
to be participating. His eyes are closed, his brow creased in concentration. I watch
him turn his head slightly for a better angle to take the toe into his mouth. I can’t help
it: I moan. I peek again to find him staring up at me.
“Please don’t,” he says simply, then closes his eyes again. “Other foot.”
I swap out the feet, and again, he starts. He takes a whiff, a little lick, a taste, and
then one whole toe is in his mouth. I clamp a hand over my mouth, squirm in my
chair, need to cross my legs, do something to take the edge off.
He stops. I see him looking at me. Disappointed. Unimpressed. Bored.
“Okay, that’s enough,” he says. “You can go now.”
Devastation. He leads me briskly to the door, opens it, and hands me a fifty.
He thanks me with such comportment I am tempted to bow. Had I not been so
crestfallen. "I’m mythically rare!" I want to yell at him. To thrust the money back and
offer my feet for free! Forever! For whatever! I’ll control myself!
“Can I use your bathroom?” One perfect eye brow lifts skeptically. “Er, I’ll be very
quick. I have a long way to walk.” It’s true. Another sigh.
“Down the hall, on the left.” He doesn’t shut the door.
I won’t say too much about what happens in the bathroom, only that I don’t flush (I
hope he’ll find it alluring) and I do not wash my hands. When I return, he is already
outside smoking a cigarette. A black cigarette. The way he smokes it disturbs me. He
pulls on it so hard his cheeks hollow out. I imagine it’s my nipple. I have to get away.
“Later, then,” I say. I feel it’s best to come off casual. He doesn’t say anything, just
tilts his chin up at me and ashes his cigarette. I walk away mechanically.
I left the money in the bathroom.