It's quiet. It's only me, and this elderly man down the other end. He's in what has to be a London Fog overcoat, and a very expensive Homburg. From far away, he resembles the Mr. Chips logo on the package of cookies.
Rochelle comes out. She looks beyond tired. Beyond caring. "Hi, sweetie."
"Hi, milady."
"Glad you're here."
"Well, hey, I'm glad I'm here, too." The satellite feed's playing Justin Timberlake, and one of his late ones, 'What Goes Around Comes Around'. I think it's supposed to be Justin Timberlake. It's not crucial, anyway.
"I'm so tired, it hurts."
"I felt that way myself when I got home from work yesterday."
I look at the menu. I notice that Rochelle seems to want to ask me something, but doesn't seem to know how. I push the matter along. "What's the matter?"
"George, do you remember that night we sat over there..."
"Yes?"
"And you gave me that foot rub?"
I thought about it for a moment. I did what? Oh yeah! Right! "Yeah, I remember, a little thing we did." I never gave her a real one, of course, just a little one with the shoes on. She wore soft sneakers, it was easy.
"I'm so tired, and I'm in so much pain. I'm going on break in a few. Could you come in back and give me a real one?"
I just look at her. I have to admit, this was a strange request. "I know I'd suprise you with that, but, are you my friend?"
"Of course I'm your friend!"
"Then, you'll do it for me?"
Pause. "Yeah, sure."
"Coffee?"
"Always."
She retrieves me a cup of coffee. I sweeten it, as she takes off her apron, and hands the place over to Alayna, a very, very part time waitress who usually does part time on the dinner shift. She beckons me back to a private office that leads into the Spanish Room. In there, there are two chairs in front of adjoining desks. I sit in one, and Rochelle sits in the other. She leans back, and rests her feet in my lap.
"Lotion works best, you know."
She reaches back, fumbles about behind her, and hands me a bottle of Jurgens.
"Okay. What I'd like you to do, is relax."
I could see her eyes closing. She's also hyperventilating, just a bit.
"Why are you in so much pain?" I ask.
"Because I never, ever sit! I'm always standing and walking and whatever."
I pull off both of her sneakers. She's wearing baby blue ankle socks. She moans from the freedom.
"Okay. That's a good start. There's a bit of musk, which can be dealt with..."
"You shut up," she says with a giggle. "My feet are fine, they're well taken care of."
"Which is why you're asking for my help."
She gently hammers her heel on my kneecap. I then remove the right sock, and then the left one. Her toenails reveal a very short, white French tip. Well manicured. They are well taken care of. "See? They're fine."
"Yes, they are." Like the rest of her, these size elevens are indeed full-sized. "Oh, by the way, I was wondering, before I start, if there are sensitivity issues?"
Rochelle stares quizzically. "Huh?"
"Sensitivity issues."
"Um, I don't know..."
I then gently dig and scrape her right sole with all five of the fingers of my right hand. She jerks back, cackling with laughter, before kicking my right knee. "Sensitivity issues."
"Yes! Don't tickle me, be nice!"
"That's what I meant, of course."
"Yes, they're sensitive, they're ticklish, just get started."
I put some Jurgens in my hands, and begin to rub them into her soles, and between her toes. "Ooh, that's cool. They were on fire."
"Yeah, I see."
I begin by taking both of my thumbs, as they both touch each other, on the heel, and pressing firmly in an upwardly direction. The left thumb moves upward to the other toe, while the right one moves upward to the inner, biggest toe. This woman's beginning to moan.
"Oh my God, that's incredible!"
I then take my thumbs, and start doing the same thing, again, with both thumbs traveling to the second inner toes on each side. I continue doing this, until both thumbs meet up top, and then the process starts again. Rochelle's moaning with each movement. I truly hope no one's listening outside the door. It would indeed sound embarrassing.
"The other one, please," she says softly.
I begin the same routine on the other foot. Rochelle's still moaning from this very small pleasure, but her body's becoming very loose; all the tension's leaving it, as heat and humidity can be pushed out by a cold front. I rest both feet apart, on both of my knees, and gently dig my knuckles into the soles, rotating in a circular motion. Rochelle gives a deep sigh, and a soft moan. "Where the hell did you learn how to do this?"
"On a Bazooka Joe wrapper."
"No, no, I mean, did you go to school?"
"No, but I'd like to, someday. Carolyn wants me to. I have to rearrange my life in order to do so."
"You do that." After the knuckle rotations, I then take her right ankle, and softly rotate her foot in a circular motion. After a minute, I do this to the left one, too. Finally, there's a big sigh on her end.
"That was incredible. Please tell me you'll do this again."
"If you like, I will. This is what friends do."
She sits up, and begins putting on her socks and sneakers. I go over to a slop sink, in the corner, and run my hands under hot water. If you're not trained to do this professionally, your hands can hurt after a while.
"Guess what?" Rochelle comes over, and softly rubs my shoulders. "The meal's on me. Order what you want."
"Thank you."
"No, thank you. I feel much better now. I think I can carry on till Tuesday now."
"That's good." I open the door to the office; my fears subside when I see no one on the other side of the door. "That's what friends do for each other, Rochelle."
"I'm glad I found such a good one."
|
|
| Views: 54
