Friday, November 30, 2007
curly toes
I sat in the guard office of the Mall, drinking coffee with Alec, the Mall Security Chief. We watched through the glass as hundreds of customers made their way down the hall to the restrooms scattered along its length.“When you first opened I thought that was the stupidest thing I have ever heard of; Private Mall Foot Massage," Alec said, leaning back and taking a sip of his cheap, 'guard house' coffee. "I gave you a month. Now look at you; have to dress in a security guard uniform to keep your identity secret. The whole ‘mystery man’ foot massage thing is brilliant. The women are lined up out the door of your place.”
“It’s relaxing and stimulating for the ladies," I said. "But also intimate; so I decided to stay hidden in the booth. It’s less threatening. I know some of the ladies like to fantasize about the man who is rubbing their feet, ankles and calves; so the ‘Mystery Man’ can be whomever they wish.”
“All I see is a crowd of women lined up to pay you two bucks a minute, in five or ten-minute increments. You should be ready to retire in a year. How do your hands take it?”Alec looked over at my hands, it didn’t bother me anymore when people stared. I have large hands, large by any standards and coke-can wrists to go with them. Genetics and farm work when I was growing up. That’s the only explanation I’ve ever settled on.“It’s not bad; I can do it all day. It’s relaxing.”“Wouldn’t relax me, I’ve seen some of those gals lined up. My God...”“I never look at any of my customers. All I see are their feet, ankles and calves.”“I don’t see how you do it, I love all women, all shapes and sizes; I just love women. But, some of those lining up are so beautiful they make my heart weep. You’re lucky you don’t see them.”“I’m even luckier they don’t see me. Well, thanks Alec, I appreciate you letting me hang out here. See you at lunch.”“I don’t mind buddy; I just wish you’d give up some details about those gals. I know they talk while you're rubbing them.”
“Come on Alec, they would not like it if I start revealing their secrets. It’s ‘Mystery Man Private Foot Massage’; the ‘private’ is part of my success.”I walked along the back service corridors of the Mall. They run the whole length of the structure, and the shoppers never see them. The back door to the stores can be found along their length. I wore a security guard uniform so no one would ever figure out ‘who was rubbing them, giving them pleasure, fueling their inner fires.Alec said I could have frolicked with a different lady every night. Some dreams should remain just dreams.I slipped in the back door to the foot massage salon. It led directly through a tunnel into my massage area. The front portion of the store was open, with a reception counter and dozens of plants. Real plants, replaced monthly by a plant service. They were always green, lush and colorful. The walls were delicate pastels whose restrained hues were broken by art chosen to set a mood. Mostly oils of men and women dancing. Tuxedo’s, flowing gowns and joyous movement. Nothing else for sale, a few comfortable leather couches and chairs, and my receptionist slash cashier. She kept my identity secret, though she’d been offered scandalous sums to reveal it.It was an open area; a ‘horrible waste of retail space’ I’d been told. A small glass cubicle sat in the middle, towards the back. A thickly cushioned recliner sat inside with an opening to slip your feet and lower legs into. A remote seat adjusting panel was mounted on a swing arm next to the recliner. It featured 30 different adjustments to get you into any comfortable position you desired. The sounds of a light rain meandered softly through the sound system. Once inside, the glass door was closed and you could hear none of the bustling mall activity going on just a few feet away.Back where I worked, was a computer monitor which showed the number of minutes the customer had paid for, a silent digital timer, lightly warmed scented oils and my chair which could be rolled around and out of the way for the finale. The customer saw a screen on which the days poem was frozen, they saw their legs disappear into a black hole, surrounded by soft woolen cushion and nothing else.A pair of feet entered through the opening into my domain, and I glanced at the screen. Fifteen minutes, a long time regular. I recognized her feet. When I had first opened, I had a twenty-minute option and a ten-minute option, but complaints rolled in like angry thunderclouds, and I printed a voting card. I allowed everyone to vote for the five and ten-minute option; or leave everything as-is. The vote finished nearly unanimous in favor of the shortened times. I allowed a couple of the long-time customers to have the fifteen-minute option; but I didn’t advertise it. They were among my first customers, and their feet had developed a special relationship with me.I dipped my hands in a bowl of warm jasmine scented oil and gently gripped her left foot. The foot’s owner gave a soft moan as I began working the oil between her toes.“Hello mystery man,” she said. “I dream about you. You know that. Just a hint, what do you look like?”“Who do you want me to look like?”“Let’s not do that again,” she said, letting out a soft moan as I rolled both thumbs along the underside of her foot. “I’ll give you whatever you want.”“You said you wanted me to look like Johnny Depp, and I told you; I have been mistaken for him. I have that same mischievous turn of the mouth.” I said this as I rubbed the warm oil along the underside of her calves, and my fingers worked it into the large calf muscle.
“It’s relaxing and stimulating for the ladies," I said. "But also intimate; so I decided to stay hidden in the booth. It’s less threatening. I know some of the ladies like to fantasize about the man who is rubbing their feet, ankles and calves; so the ‘Mystery Man’ can be whomever they wish.”
“All I see is a crowd of women lined up to pay you two bucks a minute, in five or ten-minute increments. You should be ready to retire in a year. How do your hands take it?”Alec looked over at my hands, it didn’t bother me anymore when people stared. I have large hands, large by any standards and coke-can wrists to go with them. Genetics and farm work when I was growing up. That’s the only explanation I’ve ever settled on.“It’s not bad; I can do it all day. It’s relaxing.”“Wouldn’t relax me, I’ve seen some of those gals lined up. My God...”“I never look at any of my customers. All I see are their feet, ankles and calves.”“I don’t see how you do it, I love all women, all shapes and sizes; I just love women. But, some of those lining up are so beautiful they make my heart weep. You’re lucky you don’t see them.”“I’m even luckier they don’t see me. Well, thanks Alec, I appreciate you letting me hang out here. See you at lunch.”“I don’t mind buddy; I just wish you’d give up some details about those gals. I know they talk while you're rubbing them.”
“Come on Alec, they would not like it if I start revealing their secrets. It’s ‘Mystery Man Private Foot Massage’; the ‘private’ is part of my success.”I walked along the back service corridors of the Mall. They run the whole length of the structure, and the shoppers never see them. The back door to the stores can be found along their length. I wore a security guard uniform so no one would ever figure out ‘who was rubbing them, giving them pleasure, fueling their inner fires.Alec said I could have frolicked with a different lady every night. Some dreams should remain just dreams.I slipped in the back door to the foot massage salon. It led directly through a tunnel into my massage area. The front portion of the store was open, with a reception counter and dozens of plants. Real plants, replaced monthly by a plant service. They were always green, lush and colorful. The walls were delicate pastels whose restrained hues were broken by art chosen to set a mood. Mostly oils of men and women dancing. Tuxedo’s, flowing gowns and joyous movement. Nothing else for sale, a few comfortable leather couches and chairs, and my receptionist slash cashier. She kept my identity secret, though she’d been offered scandalous sums to reveal it.It was an open area; a ‘horrible waste of retail space’ I’d been told. A small glass cubicle sat in the middle, towards the back. A thickly cushioned recliner sat inside with an opening to slip your feet and lower legs into. A remote seat adjusting panel was mounted on a swing arm next to the recliner. It featured 30 different adjustments to get you into any comfortable position you desired. The sounds of a light rain meandered softly through the sound system. Once inside, the glass door was closed and you could hear none of the bustling mall activity going on just a few feet away.Back where I worked, was a computer monitor which showed the number of minutes the customer had paid for, a silent digital timer, lightly warmed scented oils and my chair which could be rolled around and out of the way for the finale. The customer saw a screen on which the days poem was frozen, they saw their legs disappear into a black hole, surrounded by soft woolen cushion and nothing else.A pair of feet entered through the opening into my domain, and I glanced at the screen. Fifteen minutes, a long time regular. I recognized her feet. When I had first opened, I had a twenty-minute option and a ten-minute option, but complaints rolled in like angry thunderclouds, and I printed a voting card. I allowed everyone to vote for the five and ten-minute option; or leave everything as-is. The vote finished nearly unanimous in favor of the shortened times. I allowed a couple of the long-time customers to have the fifteen-minute option; but I didn’t advertise it. They were among my first customers, and their feet had developed a special relationship with me.I dipped my hands in a bowl of warm jasmine scented oil and gently gripped her left foot. The foot’s owner gave a soft moan as I began working the oil between her toes.“Hello mystery man,” she said. “I dream about you. You know that. Just a hint, what do you look like?”“Who do you want me to look like?”“Let’s not do that again,” she said, letting out a soft moan as I rolled both thumbs along the underside of her foot. “I’ll give you whatever you want.”“You said you wanted me to look like Johnny Depp, and I told you; I have been mistaken for him. I have that same mischievous turn of the mouth.” I said this as I rubbed the warm oil along the underside of her calves, and my fingers worked it into the large calf muscle.
Creation Love
This is not cold,
but a hot breathy kiss on my body and soul.
Melting my wits.
Preparing to soften and harden what fits.
This is not scorn,
but a trick of your mouth for my lust to be born.
Words of mock dirt,
which untie a secret and never do hurt.
This is not anger,
but a longing to fall from the heights of this rigor.
Wanting to drop,
into bliss on your skin and never to stop.
This is not pain,
but the rise of wet honey which runs through my veins.
A taste by your flesh,
and spilled by the push of the loveliest quest.
but a hot breathy kiss on my body and soul.
Melting my wits.
Preparing to soften and harden what fits.
This is not scorn,
but a trick of your mouth for my lust to be born.
Words of mock dirt,
which untie a secret and never do hurt.
This is not anger,
but a longing to fall from the heights of this rigor.
Wanting to drop,
into bliss on your skin and never to stop.
This is not pain,
but the rise of wet honey which runs through my veins.
A taste by your flesh,
and spilled by the push of the loveliest quest.
Encounter...
Unexpected destined meetingUnclothed option ocean shoreFathoms deep in foam between themPrince of passion, Mermaid whore
Black horizon fast approachingStorm without and storm within Tempest building, vessels swayingCold wind rippling lovers skin
Standing, facing, there before herNaked, reaching, growing sizeVisual licks, two points of focusStark impaling eager eyes
Winds approaching fever pitchRocking, ravished female formThunder crashing, bodies swayingTwo so hungry for the warm
Lightening flashing, illuminatingHidden chamber in the rocksSeeking shelter from the storm and toPandora's awaiting box
Bodies falling, tumbling, tanglingupon the grottos sandy floorPrince of passion, arms surroundingWarming flesh with thoughts of more
Viscous liquids, boiling, pressurefleshy heat, skin drenched with fireSeeking, restless, eager, upward As salmon swimming toward expire
Sounds of Eros, gasping, crying,Thunder crashing, rain, the windUnwritten symphony long awaitingLovers destined to begin
Black horizon fast approachingStorm without and storm within Tempest building, vessels swayingCold wind rippling lovers skin
Standing, facing, there before herNaked, reaching, growing sizeVisual licks, two points of focusStark impaling eager eyes
Winds approaching fever pitchRocking, ravished female formThunder crashing, bodies swayingTwo so hungry for the warm
Lightening flashing, illuminatingHidden chamber in the rocksSeeking shelter from the storm and toPandora's awaiting box
Bodies falling, tumbling, tanglingupon the grottos sandy floorPrince of passion, arms surroundingWarming flesh with thoughts of more
Viscous liquids, boiling, pressurefleshy heat, skin drenched with fireSeeking, restless, eager, upward As salmon swimming toward expire
Sounds of Eros, gasping, crying,Thunder crashing, rain, the windUnwritten symphony long awaitingLovers destined to begin
Poets
Black birds against a grey sky,
we gather.
The flutter of our words rustle
over pages
penned in pain.
We speak not of the horrors
to one another,
letting discovery occur
if one examines
a poem feather,
dropped from
the wings of our past.
we gather.
The flutter of our words rustle
over pages
penned in pain.
We speak not of the horrors
to one another,
letting discovery occur
if one examines
a poem feather,
dropped from
the wings of our past.
A Birthday Surprise
So it's official, I'm now completely without balls!
What other explanation can there possibly be for standing outside my girlfriend’s apartment while she and her ex are both inside, doing God only knows what?
How else can I explain the overriding impulse to slink guiltily away, before somebody notices me lurking like a peeping Tom in the pre-dawn shadows?
It wouldn’t be so bad if I hadn’t just felt the hood of his car; the cool surface providing evidence enough that it, and therefore he, have been here all night. I didn’t want to touch it; I knew I wouldn’t like the conclusiveness of my test, but still I looked on in helpless surprise as my arm reached out, hovered above and then came to rest on the metallic blue paintwork. I wish sometimes that we shared 99% of our DNA with ostriches rather than Chimps; it would make us more prone to bury our heads when faced with such unpalatable situations.
I think this whole debacle would hurt a little less if it weren’t her 24th birthday and, despite my meticulous forward planning, my chance of being the first person she sees today is now as deflated as my ego. But the worst thing of all? I’m standing here like a prize moron with a dozen roses in one hand and a shiny ‘Happy Birthday’ helium balloon in the other. I don’t think I could feel more vulnerable and stupid if I’d woken up to find I’d sleepwalked, naked, into the living room and the assembled ladies of my Mom’s book club. Again.
I’ve been planning Gina’s surprise breakfast in bed for weeks and this morning I woke at five a.m. to make sure everything went smoothly and my girl’s 25th year started off as I hoped it would continue, with me proving to her that I love her beyond measure. But this? This is an eventuality I hadn’t anticipated.
My stomach has been doing somersaults since I rounded the corner and saw his flashy little car parked in the street and now I’m shaking, too. The next thing I know I’ll start crying and, with the exception of growing a pair of pert 36 C’s, my transformation from ‘Danny’ to ‘Danielle’ will be complete. Although if I do grow some breasts they may prove useful, considering my luck with the ladies! I’m fairly certain that a man with his own boobs will never be bored. I don’t mean ‘man-boobs’ though, I mean proper girly-bumps. I can’t see ‘man-boobs’ generating more than a few days of fun.
What other explanation can there possibly be for standing outside my girlfriend’s apartment while she and her ex are both inside, doing God only knows what?
How else can I explain the overriding impulse to slink guiltily away, before somebody notices me lurking like a peeping Tom in the pre-dawn shadows?
It wouldn’t be so bad if I hadn’t just felt the hood of his car; the cool surface providing evidence enough that it, and therefore he, have been here all night. I didn’t want to touch it; I knew I wouldn’t like the conclusiveness of my test, but still I looked on in helpless surprise as my arm reached out, hovered above and then came to rest on the metallic blue paintwork. I wish sometimes that we shared 99% of our DNA with ostriches rather than Chimps; it would make us more prone to bury our heads when faced with such unpalatable situations.
I think this whole debacle would hurt a little less if it weren’t her 24th birthday and, despite my meticulous forward planning, my chance of being the first person she sees today is now as deflated as my ego. But the worst thing of all? I’m standing here like a prize moron with a dozen roses in one hand and a shiny ‘Happy Birthday’ helium balloon in the other. I don’t think I could feel more vulnerable and stupid if I’d woken up to find I’d sleepwalked, naked, into the living room and the assembled ladies of my Mom’s book club. Again.
I’ve been planning Gina’s surprise breakfast in bed for weeks and this morning I woke at five a.m. to make sure everything went smoothly and my girl’s 25th year started off as I hoped it would continue, with me proving to her that I love her beyond measure. But this? This is an eventuality I hadn’t anticipated.
My stomach has been doing somersaults since I rounded the corner and saw his flashy little car parked in the street and now I’m shaking, too. The next thing I know I’ll start crying and, with the exception of growing a pair of pert 36 C’s, my transformation from ‘Danny’ to ‘Danielle’ will be complete. Although if I do grow some breasts they may prove useful, considering my luck with the ladies! I’m fairly certain that a man with his own boobs will never be bored. I don’t mean ‘man-boobs’ though, I mean proper girly-bumps. I can’t see ‘man-boobs’ generating more than a few days of fun.
The Mirror of Soul
My mind's eye, mirror to the soul,closed to the world.
No more does it cast reflections.
Darkened images of the past come to haunt. Are they real? Does the world care?
I look to my heart trying to capture past feelings, finding only shattered fragments of my former self.
I rearrange to find the mirror still cracked, a pale image I no longer resemble. Will it ever heal? Do I care to even try?
The tears, now dried, forever staining the canvas of my face. The colors have run,beyond the edge of the frame.
No more does it cast reflections.
Darkened images of the past come to haunt. Are they real? Does the world care?
I look to my heart trying to capture past feelings, finding only shattered fragments of my former self.
I rearrange to find the mirror still cracked, a pale image I no longer resemble. Will it ever heal? Do I care to even try?
The tears, now dried, forever staining the canvas of my face. The colors have run,beyond the edge of the frame.
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