Aged to Perfection

13. The Fetishist

THIRTEEN

The Fetishist

Friday, 26 April, 5.30pm

Looking forward to going to Ace’s gig tonight but not to seeing cheating Jude. Or should that be Judas?

Saturday, 27 April, 10.30am

Leila, Jude, and I met up in Soho yesterday to see Ace and his new band. The club on Dean Street had lots of red velvet, dimmed lighting, and black and white photos of bands. Same look as Cinema Man One’s film club but without the menace and sleaze.

While Jude was at the bar, I told Leila the gory details about the Bus Stop Boys, and we were giggling in a huddle when he came back.

‘What’s so funny?’ Jude asked.

We both said, ‘Nothing,’ and burst into laughter again. He looked annoyed and asked me to shuffle across, so he could wedge himself between us. Then he turned his back to me and was all over Leila, doing his best to make me feel like a spare part. I couldn’t bear to look at him acting like a loving husband.

When Leila went to the loo, I decided to confront him.

‘Did you really not remember Izzy the other night?’ I asked.

‘Who’s Izzy?’ He’s a good liar.

‘You know, my friend at the singles party, that you had a one-night stand with and then ghosted?’

‘She must have me mixed up with someone else. I’m a married man, you know.’

‘Yes, an important detail that you conveniently forgot to mention, Mark. It’s no use pretending, Jude. I know what happened.’ My heart was thumping in my chest.

He shrugged his shoulders, peered around, then turned to me. ‘What are you going to do about it?’ he hissed.

I don’t know what I was expecting but I certainly didn’t think he’d admit it so quickly.

‘You have to tell Leila. Or I will.’

We both clocked Leila walking back towards us. He smiled, leaned close, and hissed into my ear again, ‘You do that, and you’ll never see her again. I’ll tell her you’ve been throwing yourself at me and I’ve been rejecting you. Who do you think she’ll believe? Sad old single Sophia or her loving husband?’

Leila came back and wedged herself between us. He pulled her in close and kissed her, giving me a menacing look over her shoulder. I faced away from them and picked up my drink, but my hand was shaking.

Sad single Sophia. I didn’t know alliteration could be so cutting.

The band came on then and we whooped and whistled. Ace was cool and casual in the new setting and in his element. After a while, Leila said, ‘Don’t look but the cute guy two tables to the left is checking you out.’

I was still feeling rattled, but I played along. I didn’t want her seeing I was upset and asking questions. I waited a minute, then casually glanced over and caught the guy’s eye. Yes indeedy, he was cute. Sitting alone, his long legs sticking way out from under the table and only a tiny hint of a middle-age spread. With his chiselled jaw, close-cropped hair and sharp clothes, he reminded me of Jamie Foxx. And yes, he was a fox.

He nodded at me, and a few minutes later walked over, crouched next to me, and introduced himself. ‘If your friends can spare you, would you join me for a glass of champagne?’ he asked in an American accent, pointing at the ice bucket on his table. ‘It’s too much for one person but it’s a special occasion,’ he said. I hesitated.

‘Please, it would make the evening complete to share a birthday drink with a beautiful woman. And if you don’t mind me saying, it looks like your friends want to be alone.’ I looked at Leila and Jude, who were absorbed in each other again and thought, what the hell? I moved over to his table, and after getting me a glass, we toasted his fifty-seventh birthday. The band went off for a break then.

‘Are you here for work or pleasure?’ I asked. The pleasure was all mine.

‘I’m visiting from Florida and thought I’d check out this place. I’m a professor of philosophy at Miami University. I’m giving a series of lectures at UCL on the meaning of modern love.’ Of course he was.

A babe with brains. Basically, my ideal man. He was charming and complimentary about my blue silk dress and gold sandals.

‘Would you mind if I eat? I had so many students talking to me in between lectures that I had no time for lunch today,’ he said as the waiter arrived with his food.

‘How’s your steak?’ I asked after a few minutes.

‘It’s OK, a little tough,’ he replied as he struggled to cut a piece off. As he did so, his knife slipped, and the contents of his plate went flying off the table, with most of the buttery crushed potatoes ending up on my foot. He apologised profusely and before I could protest, he got down on the floor and used his napkin to clean my foot.

Then he looked up at me and said, ‘I could lick it completely clean if you like.’

Gulp. My first thought was, how dare you? Then, why not? I nodded.

It was dark and he was partially covered by the tablecloth so I couldn’t see what he was doing. My eyes popped as I felt his warm wet mouth envelope my big toe and his lively tongue swirl around it. It was an odd experience but not without pleasure.

Leila mouthed ‘WTF?’

‘I think I got it all off and there’s no damage to your sandals,’ he said as he got up and sat back in his seat. ‘You have delicious feet,’ he said, smiling.

My feet are on the, let’s say, plump side, wide, and a nightmare to fit into the average shoe. In a warm club, wearing sandals, my toes were like trussed-up sausages trying to break free by sizzling against their shackles. The small toe had managed to escape and poke out triumphantly between the straps. Why did he think my feet were nice? Usually, it’s my chest area that attracts the most attention, which is lucky, as I have a fractious relationship with my legs, they not having grown as long as I’d expected and wanted.

The band were back on, and we settled down to listen. But I couldn’t help thinking about the lovely sensation I’d felt on my toe. Was he a foot fetishist? Did he get his kicks from sucking toes? That was something I’d never tried before, and quite fancied experiencing. So halfway through the set, purely for research purposes, and ever so gently, I knocked over my glass in the direction of my feet and a stream of red wine rushed over the table and poured onto my toes which just happened to be right under it.

‘Oops,’ I said, acting mock coy with my hand on my cheek and locking eyes with him. He narrowed his eyes at first, then a gleeful smile.

‘Oh dear, let me wipe that for you. And your beautiful gold sandals are covered in red wine,’ he said, getting down on his knees.

Once again, I couldn’t see what he was doing, and then, there it was, hot and moist. My big toe had entered his mouth, and he sucked it freely and luxuriously. It was quite a turn-on and I wanted more of it. When he’d finished, he sat back in his chair, and I nodded with approval.

‘I wonder, are you prepared for your lecture tomorrow?’ I asked.

‘Yes, I think so, why?’ He narrowed his eyes again.

‘In my opinion, you haven’t practised enough. You need someone to help you rehearse it. You know, help you lick it into shape?’ I couldn’t believe what was coming out of my mouth.

‘Yes, I think you could be right. My speech is back at my hotel if you’d be kind enough to let me … practise on you.’ My toes were tingling. ‘You could kick off your sandals and relax while I perform it for you.’ OMG, so sexy.

He paid the bill while I sipped my wine and anticipated the pleasure to come. I felt guilty about not waiting for Ace and Leila and just managed to text them to say I didn’t feel too good and had to go home, before grabbing and kissing him as the taxi arrived at his hotel. Once inside his room, I draped myself on the sofa and wriggled my toes. He took off my shoes, handling my feet like precious works of art. I squirmed with pleasure as he worked his magic.

A light lick, kiss and delicate touch all over my right foot first, becoming more passionate as he saw my delight. He licked across the top of all my toes, which tickled and tantalised in equal measure. Then he took in all of my big toe and sucked in a rhythmic movement. I didn’t know feet could be quite so erotic. My other toes got the same action, one after the other, each being cherished and pleasured with equal enthusiasm. He kissed my ankles and licked slowly down to the top of my toes, then teased me as he traced his tongue between each one.

I was already ecstatic and wanting to move onto the rest of our bodies, but like a pro, he did the same to my left foot. That was the most epic foreplay ever. The Bus Stop Boys should take note. It whetted my appetite and drenched me in lust. I grabbed and pulled him up towards me and kissed his mouth. The sex afterwards was probably average technique-wise, but the starter was so amazing it elevated the main delicious course.

I didn’t even care that my feet weren’t freshly washed and nor did he. I’m glad I went with the flow and invited myself to his room. I’d like to do it again, though I have a feeling I’ve already experienced the master, and anyone else would be a poor second.

In the morning, I had to leave for an early meeting. Pity he was catching a flight home after the lecture. I would have liked to experience him again. He’s clever and erudite, good-looking with a hot bod, and has superb tongue skills. But Florida is too far. I’ll have to think of the experience as an initiation gift that could keep on giving.

Ooh I’m glad I met a foot fetishist

I didn’t know toe sucking was on my fantasy list

I knew we were both in the flirty zone

But I wasn’t expecting to have my toes blown

I was shocked that soon after saying hello

You got down and intimate with my big toe

But our desires were soon aligned

And I wanted contact of the footsy kind

You said your steak and potatoes were nutritious

But you thought my toes were more delicious

As you did what you do best, my eyes were shut

I fantasised you’d eat steak off my butt

I admired your skills as a philosopher and ethicist

But I mostly enjoyed you being a foot fetishist

You were so erudite, sexy and just my type

Should we try long distance sex on Skype?

P.S. Been Googling foot fetishism. Yes, he was an expert.

12.30pm

I texted Ace to apologise again for leaving early and he asked how I was feeling. I’m a liar, liar, liar. I’m the CEO of Pants on Fire. And I’m ashamed.

I was pleased to hear the gig had gone well and they’d been asked to play there again. I’ll send him a congratulations card.

Haven’t heard from Leila. If she’d seen me leaving with the Fetishist, she’d have texted by now for the gory details.

And fucking Jude. He was the model loving husband last night. Does he love her and still sleep with other women?

11.00pm

The Fetishist texted me before his flight to say how much he’d enjoyed last night and that I should look him up if I’m ever in Florida. Nice idea but unlikely to happen.

I’ve put the finishing touches on Mum’s birthday speech. Fingers crossed it’ll be a hoot. Early night tonight. Driving to Harpenden in the morning to help with the party.

P.S. I’ve booked a pedicure for next week.

Sunday, 28 April, 11.30pm

Oh. My. God. The party started as The Betty Appreciation Society and ended in high drama. When I arrived at Mum and Dad’s this morning, Dot was icing Mum’s birthday cake. Why oh, why? Let’s just say, lovely friend as she is, Dot can be a bit airheaded, and baking is not her forte. I expect she volunteered, and Mum didn’t have the heart to say no.

‘My granddaughter Maddison did a lot of the work. Didn’t you, Maddie?’ Dot asked the surly-looking teenager in Doc Martens hiding behind a curtain of dark hair and staring at her phone. Maddie raised her head, rolled her eyes, grunted, and went back to her mobile.

‘Yes, she’s been such a help. She even popped to the shops because I’d forgotten the tamarind for the cake,’ Dot said in a showy loud voice. Then she turned to me and whispered, ‘She’s fourteen, and a bit, you know, introverted. My daughter thought it might help if she mixes with other people. All she’s done is go to the shops but as soon as she was back, she went straight to the sofa and her phone. I had to rifle through her bag to find the tamarind, and she didn’t even buy the right amount.’

Maddison stood up like a meerkat surveying her surroundings, bit her lip and darted around searching for her bag. She rummaged through it several times and, not finding whatever it was she was looking for, sat down and mumbled ‘shit’ under her breath.

Then the birthday girl made her entrance looking fabulous in an elegant emerald-green 1950s dress, à la Roland Mouret, her shiny white hair in a loose bun. She hasn’t passed those tall willowy genes onto me. Dot and I clapped. Maddie glanced over for a second. I’m furious Sara couldn’t (or wouldn’t?) come to her own mum’s birthday party. She said she had to cover for the out-of-hours service at work, and I think Mum believed her, but I’m sure she just didn’t want to make the effort to talk to Mum’s friends. I don’t know many of them either but that’s not the point. We’d be there to support Mum, not worry about the guest list. It’s not about us but about Mum and what would make her happy. Sara should have at least tried to put her feelings aside for just one afternoon for Mum’s sake. I’m trying to be sympathetic, but she can be such a selfish cow.

‘Have fun,’ Dad said as we were leaving, then winked at me. Usually, he’s happy to be left in peace with his sudoku, but he was perky today. I winked back. When I was little, he was always playing tricks on Mum and winking at me to let me in on it, and I’d wink back just like today. I forget he was only eighteen when they had me.

The hall twinkled with the decorations I’d arranged, and there were flower displays and sheer curtains cordoning off the ball pit and hamster tube in the nursery playing area. Dot’s cake took pride of place at the end of the buffet table. I hoped it tasted better than it looked. Mum had invited forty of her ‘closest friends’ for a girls’ party and floated around greeting them and being adored by her gushing fans.

I wonder if I’ll have so many people coming to my eightieth birthday. I might have to up my game to reach Betty’s popularity levels. The chatter and giggling got louder as more women, in their forties to eighties, arrived. It quietened down a little as the guests did their best to make a dent in the huge buffet. In the meantime, my hot flushes were becoming turbo-charged, what with the excitement of the surprise and feeling anxious about my speech. Then it was time.

‘Ladies, ladies,’ I shouted and waited for hush. ‘Mum, I have a surprise for you.’ I nodded to Maddison, who rolled her eyes and pressed play on ‘Leave Your Hat On’. Dad appeared at the entrance wearing his old army uniform and cap, carrying a baton, and still looking dapper at seventy-eight. The guests went wild and started clapping and whooping. He did a sort of shuffling swagger into the hall, rolled his hips, and did a Rod Stewart-style dance bouncing at the knee, holding his arms aloft and shaking his baton suggestively. He looked down at himself, then at the audience and back, licked his index finger and sizzled it on his chest, just like I’d shown him in the Chippendales videos. Then he started to undress, pausing for effect at each item of clothing. Off came the belt, which he thrashed on the floor before giving it to a lady near him, then kissing her hand as she blushed. He lassoed his tie over his head and threw it to the audience. A few ladies elbowed each other to catch it. He slipped off the jacket and put it over Mum’s shoulders before the trousers were whisked off in one move, tearing the Velcro apart.

The women were beside themselves, laughing and screaming as each discarded piece of clothing was thrown their way. He took off his shirt, still bouncing from one foot to the other and was left wearing just his cap and a khaki romper suit with Property of Betty emblazoned on the front. Everyone was clapping and screaming ‘Henry, Henry, Henry’.

I was so proud of him. OK, so it wasn’t so much a Chippendale strip but more like dad-dancing, but I was glad the show had gone to plan. I was about to thank him, but he went over to Mum, put his cap on her head, took her hand to stand up and tried to lift her, to gasps of delight from the audience. That was not in our script. It was so romantic for a second, the two of them staring into each other’s eyes. Eat your heart out, Richard Gere. Then he started wobbling and losing his balance, this time to gasps of horror. It was the quick thinking of the dishy hall manager who rushed over, caught Dad’s back, and steadied him that saved the day. Phew. What a hero.

We served tea and cake to calm things down, then it was going to be my turn. Dad was a hard act to follow, and I wished I’d gone before him. I told myself it was a friendly audience, so I’d be fine. After about forty minutes or so, I girded my loins and went for it.

‘I want to say a few words about Mum to mark this important birthday. She’s eighty today. We think. She stopped celebrating her birthdays around the age of thirty-two. Mum, that’s forty-eight birthday presents you could have had.’ I laughed. A few people smiled politely. Wasn’t as funny as I thought then.

‘She may be eighty, but she certainly has more energy and determination than the rest of us. Her long shopping days are legendary. She won’t come home until she’s seen every piece of clothing at House of Fraser,’ I carried on to mildly amused faces. ‘She’s always the first to arrive and last to leave a party.’ A few titters. They were warming up. ‘For her seventieth birthday, she persuaded me to go for a skydive with her. Mum did a great jump, but my bum somehow got glued to the seat and the only jump I did was from the plane’s steps to the tarmac. She’s a braver woman than most.’ Some people were giggling. That bit wasn’t meant to be funny.

‘She loves her garden and has some happy feathered friends. Her favourite is a robin called Christopher’—tittering was getting louder—‘apparently, he’s been coming for food every day for about thirty years’—shrieks of laughter this time. ‘She has her own unique way of looking at the world, and always encouraged me and Sara to be uncompromising in how we lived.’ There was howling laughter and chatter by then. WTF? Why was that so funny?

I persevered and told a few more anecdotes about her eccentricities. ‘Elastic bands from chickens to tie your hair anyone?’ I asked. They were laughing so much I couldn’t hear myself. It was hard to keep going over the din. I thought I’d stop while I was on a high and ended with, ‘She’s the kindest and most forgiving person I know, always lending a helping hand to anyone in need. That’s why we all love her, and she has so many friends like all of you who are here today.’ I was expecting clapping for my finale, but they were all laughing and ignoring me, so I slipped away to the kitchen where the dishy hall manager was trying to talk to Dot.

‘We need to start clearing up,’ he said.

‘Clearing up?’ Dot mumbled, struggling to keep her eyes open.

‘What’s going on here?’ I asked. ‘Did someone put vodka in the tea or something? They all look out of it.’

‘We don’t keep alcohol on the premises, so unless you brought it…’ he trailed off.

No, we hadn’t brought any.

‘Maddison, you’ve been in the kitchen the whole time. Do you know anything about alcohol being served?’ I asked. Maddison stared at her Doc Martens.

‘It wasn’t my fault,’ she whined.

‘Come on, Maddison, what have you done? Spill,’ I said, starting to panic, wondering how they were all going to get home.

‘I bought the tamarind for the cake … and Granny didn’t give me a chance to give it to her. She took it out of my bag. Only she took the wrong packet. She has no clue.’ She rolled her eyes.

‘Come on, spit it out,’ I said.

‘It was hash.’

They were all high. I didn’t know whether to be angry, worried or to laugh. Dot was snoozing draped over a table by then, and back in the hall, it was slow motion mayhem. Three people were floating on top of the multi-coloured balls in the ball pit, staring blankly at nothing. I could see others struggling to get through the transparent hamster tube. Two women were on rocking horses, each lifting a giant sponge hand with great effort to land slowly on the other’s head, bursting into high-pitched giggles on impact. One woman was crying while being consoled, and at least three people were dozing across chairs. It was an enactment of a hippie student party, but by elderly people in a children’s nursery. Apart from Mum and Dad, that is, who were quietly canoodling in the corner.

Maddison, the hall manager, and I were the only ones who hadn’t eaten the cake.

‘What can we do?’ the dishy hall manager asked.

‘Just have to sit it out,’ Maddison said and shrugged her shoulders.

‘Maybe some water?’ I suggested.

‘I’m not throwing water over a load of pensioners,’ he said. He was cute but a bit dim.

‘To drink,’ I said. Doh.

Maddison went round with jugs of water, and I started clearing up the mess, including grabbing a plate off a woman who’d helped herself to more cake, while the hall manager coaxed out the sleeping women in the hamster tube. Luckily, the buffet was still plentiful and got eaten up once they all got the munchies. After a while, people started sobering up and looking bewildered. One woman asked jokingly if we’d put vodka in the tea. So many said they’d had the best time. I was relieved there were no injuries.

‘Thank you, Sophia Lovely, for that hilarious speech. I’ve had a fantastic time. It’s been a day to remember. And the cake was so unusual. I must ask Dot for the recipe,’ Mum said, as she floated away with Dad on her arm.

I thanked Dot for her help as she and Maddison left. Then Maddison ran back.

‘Can I have the money for the hash?’

‘I’m sorry, you must have mistaken me for someone who buys drugs from a fourteen-year-old dealer,’ I said. She stomped off.

The dishy hall manager was clearing up and looked as exhausted as I felt, but still quite attractive. I was about to go over when I spotted a glint of gold on his left hand.

P.S. I bet Sara will regret not coming.

Monday, 29 April, 7.30am

Ha, ha yesterday!

7.35am

Can’t stop laughing.

11.30pm

Mum’s birthday party was fantastic. She was proud of me, and Dad was proud of himself. I’m so happy.

P.S. I’ve started getting targeted ads for foot fetishism. ‘Buy foot fetish shoes at toe-riffically low prices, from ￡3’. Foot fetishism is surprisingly affordable.

Tuesday, 30 April, 7.30pm

Called Sara to tell her about Mum’s eightieth and asked if she’d spoken to her and Dad since the party, which she hadn’t.

‘So how did it go then?’ she asked reluctantly.

‘It was fabulous. Everyone laughed at my speech, we had hash cake, got stoned and the stripper snogged Mum.’ Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

‘For God’s sake,’ she said and rung off.

11.30pm

Got a message from a man I’d liked on Ladybird a few days ago. He has long hair and was wearing a loud red shirt in his photo so I’m hoping he’ll be a bit unusual or maverick. Will text him tomorrow.

P.S. No word from The Guru. Has he changed his mind?