The Foot Rub
The Foot Rub
I was perusing through my notes, planning the fourth Planet Hyman book when I came across an out-take from Rebel Without Bra.
I brushed, tweaked and revised it, and now for your eyes only, a wee snippet into the lives of a shed worker, a footman and the possibilities of what Legless will get up to.
DBO was sitting in the shed having her "feet sorted" by a footman young enough to sit in a squatting fashion without hurting his bunions. She was 23 with no idea about sex, one-night stands or massages and as the footman rubbed her feet she looked on with confusion.
She had been told by many that touching was barbaric...
Her feet had never been discussed, touched or even looked at before and here she was having them caressed, washed and talked about by a footman with papery thin skin, loose folds about his neck and hands as soft as tofu butter….
'Tough spot mam.'
'Could do with a little moisture.'
'A better fitting shoe wouldn't go astray.'
The footman it seemed had a lot to say about feet.
DBO smiled as he got stuck into her heel. "Bit more,' she finally muttered.
"Mam, we have another twenty minutes left, do you really want me to remain in one spot?"
'Twenty minutes, I don't understand?'
'Time limit,' he muttered, 'there is only so much pleasure a woman can take...'
She wondered, "Do you do ankles?"
'Ankles are permitted as are calves and knees especially the back of them.'
No one told her about that back of things... then she wondered what else had she not been told about.
'Yes, Mam there is the back of things and the front,' the footman muttered under his limp mustache. 'We see them all but are not permitted to comment.'
When the footman first entered the shed DBO's nerves hit a new height and she wondered if her goose, all be it tofu was cooked. The only time a footman walked anywhere near the shed was to spy.
DBO had been hiding under the stairs at the time, contemplating her next course of action when she heard a muffled scuffle. She spied the footman clumsily squeezing through the vent, knocking the rota clipboard of its peg. She watched as he squeezed himself in, pulled himself up.
She had no idea what to say as she had never been alone with a footman before, but she knew she had to do something. He was heading for her hiding place.
She coughed as his hand poised over the clipboard.
He started, slid the clipboard back on its peg.
'Foot rub mam,' he said.
She was totally thrown. 'Rub? What is that?'
'What's good for the goose is good for the gander' he muttered with no reference to tofu. Then, before she had a chance to ask what a gander had to do with things, he laid her leg onto his knee, slipped off her shoe and pulled out a tube of lubricant.
The scent of hemp mingled with the smell of damp knocked her off guard.
She looked at the top of the footman's bald head as lubricant squelched through her toes. Feet had never been discussed in the past, no one ever mentions the joy of a foot rub. The only thing she knew about foot massage was her granny spa foot bath which bubbled over the sided making a mess, and a scrapper which once engaged caused so much pain that DBO never mentioned calluses again-even in jest.
The footman moved to the other foot and began with her big toe he twirled it around and then ran his fingers along the joint. His hands were warm and oily, she sighed.
'Why have we never heard of this?' she said.
'Those higher up' said the footman, working his way along her arch.
'The Voted in, they banned it- for all except for themselves; apparently sitting about a big table is hard on one's feet.'
DBO detected a smirk...was that a hint of sarcasm?
She sighed, he found that spot again … releasing feelings she had no idea she had.
Focus….Focus….Remember there are spies everywhere.
"This Legless,' she finally said, 'have you heard of him'.
'Everyone has heard of him.'
'Did you meet him?'
'I rowed a stationary beside him, never seen anyone peddle like him. That man was a genius-with so little work he achieved so much, apparently it was all in the push.'
'Ooh rub that a little bit harder...go on'
'All us men took riding a stationary for granted back then, it seemed easy, just a matter of peddling, but somehow Legless took it to a new level, according to him it was the quality of the push mattered.'
DBO knew nothing about stationaries except they were old fashion energy providers model on the outdated bike, which thanks to the lack of dirt track upkeep were as useful as a shed without a door.
She like all shed workers had a moped, which was also as useless at the door-less shed. Starting it took peddling on a grand scale and getting it to stop required jumping off. In fact, her moped hadn't been used since she jumped off it in front of the shed and it continued, knocking through the front door, smashing the only window the shed had, and disrupting the 'so-called' beverage corner.
It took her all day to sort that mess out.
'Pushing,' said the footman. 'Is beyond the realms of language and is not as easy as it looks.'
'I have been told that all men say that.'
'And when was the last time you rode a stationary?'
'I drive a moped ever tried one of those?'
'No mam they are too mechanical for the like of us men- requiring multi-tasking- a talent we are apparently not qualified for…although I have heard starting one is a nightmare.'
She wondered if he was taking the proverbial. 'You sure you're not a robot?'
'You talk like one,' she was about to say more when she noted something in his pocket, she looked closer-what was it?
Words from, DBO gran flashed back to her 'real footmen are silent beware of those that speak...'
DBO stared at the footman "what is that in your pocket?"
He sat back from her foot, pulling a lace hanky from his pocket a note fluttered out.
DBO picked it up, read it then looked at the footman, 'I thought Legless was dead.'
'That's what they all say."
DBO looked at him.
'Those higher up, which is pretty much everyone in your case.'
DBO slipped on her shoes 'it says here that he is not only alive and kicking but has a plan?
"That is the gist of it Mam.'
She stood up her toes slid down to the front of shoes, she pulled a face.
"Did warn Mam about the quality of one's shoe." said the footman.
"Quality of my shoes? I work in a shed on pay so low its laughable I can't afford shampoo let alone shoes, I had wait about the recycle bins to get these."
The footman looked at her with a 'yeah right' look and sniffed. 'Best to wait for the lubricant to be absorbed,' he looked at her, "beside Legless hasn't finished sorting your moped yet.'