amazing feets of strength

i love being back in Sydney and the wide variety of freaks… oops, i mean, clients… that you get. each day is a new adventure. who knows if you'l get a cuddlier, a stinky breath-monster, a chode, a talker or who knows what. that's the great thing about this work. it's rarely ever boring*

(*relative to other occupations)

today it was a fancy hotel over looking Darling Harbour. this guy was a bit of a talker. from Paris, this was first time in the country and here for work. as with most european visitors, he was impressed by somethings and not by others. "the man here in Sydney are spectacular. like you, not too pretty. very rugged. manly," i blushed into my whiskey. i imagine when most people get told they aren't pretty would see it as an insult. i don't. i don't aspire to be pretty. "the women here… eh, not so much. they have a lot of, how you say, cellulite. no one is very stylish but it is too hot to wear nice clothes all the time."

it was nice of him to say, but i assured him "trust me, even if it was cool, no one in Sydney or anywhere in Australia, would be wearing nice stylish clothes."

after a little more complaining about the hotel, Darling Harbour, the weather and the food in the tourist district we eventually retired to the bedroom. i don't mind the complaining. you get used to it. people here for work have to be nice and charming and respectful on business trips. so to them the friendly neighbourhood gigolo is the only outlet for them to be honest. it turns out he didn't really want to do much, it was mostly company, a few drinks and… then my feet

he loved my beard and hairy thighs, but nowhere as much as my feet. as he raised one one of my feet high in the air and i ungraciously had no choice but to lay back. finally i get to be the woman. it would have been nice to kick back if he didn't start stroking, kissing and caressing my foot. "are you okay with this?"

"uh-huh!" i lie. on the outside i'm smiling and nodding my head. on the inside i'm screaming like a chainsaw is grinding through my shin bone. i'm ticklish. so ticklish. normally it's not too bad but today  it's fucking killing me!

"you have such pretty feet," he says. he's a little shocked but enthralled all the same. "all of you is so many. so… uh… hugh jackman. like, you know, with the claws," he grins, his voice raising much higher in excitement. he rubs my shiny blonde wolverine fur, "but you're feet are so pretty!" there's that word again

i may look like wolverine to him, but on the inside with all this tickling going on i feel like the little mermaid. not the jolly Disney little mermaid who just gave up her beautiful singing voice, i mean the original nasty Hans Christian Anderson little mermaid who not only gave up her voice but in submitting her fish tail for a pair of feet so she could walk on the land and find her prince came with a harsh price - every step she took on land was like "a thousand knives" stabbing into the soles of her feet. 

to get my mind off the feet i decided to swim under the sea of question, "so... err... you like feet. yeah?"

"yes. i design shoes. all shoe designers are foot fetishists." he says it like i must be somewhat stupid for not knowing that. clearly it much be common knowledge so to get myself through the rest of this horrendous accidental ticklefest i start to wonder, do those that excel in their work have  a secret fetish for it?

not just shoe designers but people who work in shoe stores have a string liking for feet?

are chefs sploshers?

do policemen love the restriction of the uniform?

would someone who designs toilet bowls a scatman? and not the skipped-ooh,bada-bud-a-bup kind, but love thinking about new ways to complement the poop of the masses?

does a vet take care of your pets with a little extra love and care? 

does mortician ever think about making the corpse so lifelike for any other reason?

some of these questions and more a fucking obvious. but it gets my mind of the agony until he blows a couple of hours later. i tell him the decent parts of the city he will like, what restaurants to eat at and we make plans to meet at one later in the week. as i walk away with a hefty tip, with each step i can feel nothing but the merciless thud of my dirty work boots against my sensitive feet. ahh, bliss