The Mirror Ch. 01

Chapter 1: James just can't help himself -- he's a sucker for girls' and women's feet.

Twenty-one-year-old James Noble was happily spending his evening where he spent most of his evenings: over at Debbie's, his twenty-year-old girlfriend.

The couple had been going steady for almost three months now. Well, reasonably steady ... considering James's all-consuming passion: his foot fetish.

Not that Debbie was complaining -- because she certainly wasn't. Debbie loved it that James loved her feet. She loved the foot rubs ... and much, much more. She loved it that she could so easily stir him up so much, with her foot teasing. That she could so easily ... light his fire.

But James's uncontrollable obsession -- that went back as far as he could remember, he'd told Debbie -- was prone to landing him in hot water. Sometimes, resulting in a highly unpleasant experience, not only for himself, but also for anyone else who might be with him at the time ... latterly, Debbie.

James and Debbie were in the living room, sitting on the sofa and watching a TV show.

Debbie was sitting to James's left and, her back comfortably supported with cushions, she had kicked off her comfy flats -- her pair of black, years'-old, extremely well-worn and supple ones that she only wore about the house now -- and was sitting length-wise, with her bare feet in James's ever accommodating lap. James was repeatedly tracing his fingertips along the bare sole of Debbie's right foot; from the bottom of her heel, to the ball of her foot, to the bottom of her heel ... over and over. Debbie had told him she found his various attentions, his ... ministrations, both pleasant and relaxing.

Also in the living room, was Debbie's thirty-six-year-old mum, Doris.

Doris owned the 3-bedroom, semi-detached house in south-west London, not far from Wimbledon. And her daughter, who was struggling, on her modest salary as a pharmacy assistant to save up enough money for a deposit on a flat, was still living with her.

Doris was very fond of James. She thought he was a nice boy, and he certainly seemed devoted to her Debbie. In fact, he and Debbie seemed to be made for each other; had hit it off, right from the get-go. And he certainly wouldn't do a runner, as Debbie's father had, as soon as Doris had told him she was pregnant. No -- Doris knew that James would be thrilled to pieces. But ... why did there always have to be a fly in the ointment? she thought.

Doris was of the opinion that James's ... predilection for girls' and women's feet, was way out of hand. And that he should do something about it -- and soon, before he had a real disaster. Doris said that James's "problem" was probably all down to some faulty gene, or something like that. A glitch in his biological circuitry.

But, she'd said, where there is a will, there is a way. Maybe James's GP could refer him to some sort of counsellor. Or even to a hypnotist, as outlandish as that might sound. Or, as a last resort, maybe put him on some sort of medication, some kind of ... mind-altering substance.

Trouble was: James didn't have the will.

And anyway, Debbie wouldn't hear of it, either. She'd kicked each of her mum's well-intentioned suggestions right into the long grass.

Debbie thought she'd found the perfect man -- her Mr Right. Debbie was a very sexy, and sex-loving young woman. She loved all of the feet-based foreplay ... and the hot and passionate sex that invariably resulted from it; resulted from her saucily ratcheting up James's desire to fever-pitch levels, making him crazy for her. And she didn't want to go jeopardising all of that, by having her James put on some sort of medication, as her mum kept on suggesting. Some kind of ... inhibitor.

Debbie understood, that James's foot fetish was ingrained. Understood, that it was too inherent; too much a part of who he was, to go meddling with the balance of his psychological make-up. Understood, that it was ... intrinsic.

Debbie and her mum, with their blue eyes and blonde hair, were strikingly similar in appearance. In fact, when James had first met Doris, he'd assumed that she was Debbie's older sister -- her eyes, just as sparkling, her hair, just as lustrous, her figure, just as (well, almost) well-toned -- until Debbie had revealed the amazing truth, when she'd introduced Doris as her mum.

What was almost as amazing, to James, was that Doris was still a single mum. But this was because, when the sixteen-year-old Doris had told Debbie's father that she was pregnant, he'd made a sharp exit, disappearing faster than fumes from an exhaust pipe, never to be seen or heard of again. And after that, even though she'd received several offers of marriage, Doris had declined each of her besotted suitors' proposals, choosing instead to remain single.

On TV, was the 'Domestic Goddess', Nigella Lawson. She was in her kitchen, creating yet another of her to-die-for, awesome chocolaty confections -- and looking good enough to eat, herself.

But James wasn't paying much attention to Nigella's cookery programme. And it was no wonder ... What, with the highly agreeable distraction of Debbie's bare feet in his lap: watching the lovely long toes of her right foot, scrunching and splaying in response to his fingertip strokes; and feeling the toe pads of her left foot repeatedly stroking his sensitive inner thigh, sending wave after wave of sensual shivers through his whole body ... how could he?

Also diminishing James's ability to concentrate on the sultry Domestic Goddess's culinary pronouncements, was Debbie's look-alike mum, Doris. Just beside James, Doris was sitting in the armchair to the right of the sofa and, with her feet propped up on her squishy dark red leather footstool, ankles crossed, one of her mule slippers was slap-slap-slapping against the bottom of her bare heel.

Upon her noticing James's ... divided attentions, Debbie raised her right leg, and gently placed the ball of her bare foot upon James's left cheek, firmly pressing her toe pads against the side of his forehead. And, to James, Debbie's toe pads were like five electrodes, connecting directly to ultra sensitive receptors in his brain. Plugged into his neural pathways, her toe pads seemed to emit a mild, regulated charge, that was like a gently pulsating, 'brainwashing' electric current. James closed his eyes, in ecstasy at the exquisite sensation.

And, just as Debbie knew he would, James turned his face to his left, facing towards her ... and facing the sole of her bewitching bare foot.

With her toe pads, Debbie played with James's lips; pressing and probing, and pulling and tugging, before finally cupping his nose in her long toes.

And, just as Debbie knew he would, James moaned softly, in his lustful pleasure at inhaling her intoxicating, in-between-the-toes foot scent.

"Ah, Debbie, Debbie," moaned James, quickly getting carried away. "I'm ... oh god, oh god, I'm ... I'm—"

"Er ... I hear you are in trouble again at work, James," said Doris, breaking the spell, and snapping James back into the here and now. "I don't suppose you've mentioned it to Deborah though, have you? Julia was telling me all about it. Haven't you got any control over yourself at all, James? I mean ... really!"

Julia, was Julia Carson. She was a long-time friend of Doris, and their friendship went back to their high school days.

And she was Julia Carson, of Julia Carson & Associates. A small firm of south London insurance brokers, at which James was the only male member of staff.

And, a little over two months ago, it was only as a special, for-old-times'-sake favour to Doris, that Julia had taken the then unemployed James on as a junior member of staff -- he knew about as much about insurance, as the Man in the Moon.

In fact, Julia Carson had created a new, minimum-wage (she couldn't justify paying more -- at least, not as a starting salary), menial position to accommodate James on her staff. James's duties would entail performing the simplest and most mundane of office chores. And to make the tea, keep the office clean and tidy, and to run errands for Julia and her office girls. In other words: to be at the beck and call of all of his female colleagues -- their general dogsbody and gopher. James would earn his corn, by freeing up some of Julia's office girls' valuable time, thereby increasing their productivity ... At least, that had been Julia Carson's thinking.

But Miss Carson had already given James numerous 'final warnings', and she was now fast approaching the absolute limit of her tolerance with him. And the only reason that James was still hanging on to his job by the skin of his teeth, was because she was loath to risk upsetting her long and valued friendship with Doris ... by sacking her old friend's daughter's boyfriend. But the clock was ticking, for James.

James's problem was that he was too easily distracted, in the open-plan office. He found his work as dull as dishwater. But nonetheless, he spent far too much time, watching the absentminded, under-the-seat shoe-playing antics of his black leather office pump, dark pantyhose wearing, female colleagues ... and far too little time, getting any work done.

The slightest of under-the-seat movements, would attract James's ever-alert eyes, and the faintest ruffle of dark pantyhose feet, toying with leather pumps, would reach his finely tuned ears.

Debbie was very grateful to her mum, for managing to wangle an unlikely job for her boyfriend at Julia Carson & Associates. Really, she was. But she didn't want to hear it, not now -- not again!

"Aw, Mum! Leave James alone. I'll -- I'll talk to him, okay?" said Debbie, removing her teasing bare foot (unplugging her five electrodes) from James's face, and returning it to his (now steeply-tented) lap.

"Oh, you'll talk to him. You'll talk to him, will you? And what good, Deborah, do you think that will do -- when you are always encouraging him? Look! Even now, you're still ..."

"Oh! Come on, James," said Debbie, swinging her feet to the floor. "Let's go to the pub. I need a drink!"

"You might need a drink. But it's treatment, that James needs, Deborah. Treatment!"

Debbie slipped her bare feet into a newish pair of flats, and grabbed her handbag. "We won't need our coats, James -- it's warm out," she said.

"Debbie, couldn't you ask Mr Marsden, at work, if he knows of any ... nullifying drug, that might help James? I mean, he's a pharmacist, so maybe—"

"I'll see you later, Mum," said Debbie, as she leaned over the back of Doris's armchair and gave her an affectionate peck on the cheek. "I won't be late, Mum."

"Er ... I'll maybe see you tomorrow then, Mrs Morris," said James. He still couldn't bring himself to call her Doris ... he wouldn't dare.

"All right, James. See you tomorrow, love," replied Doris.

"Come on then, James," said Debbie, taking hold of his elbow, and steering him towards the door.

Out on the street, walking to the pub, James said, "How come you were so keen to go out, Debs? We could have stayed in, and had a glass of wine with your mum."

"Because I wanted a chance to talk to you, about Mum ... about her birthday, in two weeks' time? And we could hardly talk about that, right in front of her, could we?"

* * *

It was Friday night, and the Cock and Bull was busy. Debbie and James were lucky though -- another young couple were vacating a table just as they were coming in. Debbie sent James to the bar, and she sat at the circular-shaped table, waiting for him. The young couple who'd just vacated the table had left a copy of the local newspaper behind, and Debbie picked it up, turning to the classified advertisements pages.

The bar counter was crowded with Friday-night drinkers; the end-of-the-working-week crowd, either propping up the bar, or sitting upon the high, chrome, red leather topped bar stools.

James spotted a small gap, between two young women perched upon bar stools, and he squeezed himself into it. On the bar counter in front of the two young women were half-pint glasses of lager, almost empty. They were both stunning, Beauty-Queen gorgeous, thought James, when they both turned to ... assess him, as he invaded the small space between them.

The two beauties were a couple of years or so older than him, thought James, at maybe twenty-four or twenty-five. And they both had blue eyes, and blonde, shoulder-length hair, that was of a similar shade to that of Debbie and Doris's. Added to that, they both had the beautifully tanned, curvy, gym-toned figures of glamour models, that he'd found hard to look away from as he'd approached the small gap at the bar between them ... especially, as they were both wearing flip flops. James then felt himself blushing furiously, under their combined, frank regard. Under their ... appraisal.

James, with a £10 note in his hand, vied to catch the eye of the rushed-off-her-feet, brunette, and busty barmaid ... who then gave him a don't-hold-your-breath look on her way to the row of optics with two glasses, her flip flops slap-slap-slapping against her bare heels in a busy-busy-busy sounding rhythm, en route.

The stunning blonde to James's right -- her friend and herself having now finished their drinks -- then took a £10 note from her handbag ... but she made no attempt to attract the barmaid's attention.

And then James's eyes almost popped out of his head, when the barmaid, who James thought couldn't be any taller than about 5' 4", reached right up on tiptoes to push the rims of the two glasses into the adjacent vodka and dark rum optics. It was a lovely sight: the skin of the barmaid's arches, stretched taut and smooth; her heels, round and prominent.

As the vodka and dark rum were being dispensed into the two glasses, the barmaid looked over her shoulder ... and then frowned, upon her seeing where James's avid gaze was being directed. And then, upon her noticing that the stunning blonde to James's right was holding out a £10 note, she distractedly acknowledged her, "I'll -- I'll be with you ... in a sec, Sharon."

"Don't worry, Joan. There's no rush, sweetie," replied Sharon.

After she'd served the drinks and put the takings in the till, Joan the barmaid came over and, after giving James a funny look, said, "Same again, Shaz -- two halves of Stella?"

"Make it two Bacardi and Cokes, please, Joan," replied Sharon. "Oh, and grab us a couple of bags of crisps, too. Cheese and onion flavour, for Jennifer, and prawn cocktail flavour for—"

"Um ... I think I was first," interrupted James ... And then wished he'd kept his mouth shut.

Joan the barmaid, who James thought was maybe twenty-five, gave James a bleak look, and the stunning blondes on either side of him -- Jennifer and Sharon -- turned their gazes on him again ... and they didn't look very happy with him, either. And as Joan the barmaid walked over to the Bacardi optic, to James's ear, the slap-slap-slapping sound of her flip flops against her bare heels now seemed to have an ... angry, quality to it.

When Joan the barmaid had served the two Bacardi & Cokes, put Sharon's £10 note in the till and given her her change, neutral-voiced, she then addressed James. "Right then, what can I get you?"

"A pint of Stella, and a glass of dry white wine, please," replied James.

At hearing the dry white wine part of James's drinks order, Jennifer and Sharon half-spun around on their bar stools to see who the glass of wine was for, and they saw Debbie, sitting with her back to them, and engrossed in reading something in the left-behind local newspaper.

Joan the barmaid reached up, and grabbed a wineglass from the overhead rack, and then reached down, and grabbed a bottle of dry white House wine from the under-the-counter chiller cabinet. She poured out the glass of dry white wine, and placed it on the bar counter in front of James. Then, when she was pouring James's pint of Stella, the stunning blonde to his right, Sharon, said, "So ... what's with the flip flops tonight, Joan? What happened to your new shoes, those awesome red pumps?"

Joan the barmaid's face contorted, as though at painfully remembered, fresh-in-the-mind agonies, and she stopped pouring James's Stella, mid-pint. She slipped her right foot from her flip flop, and raised her leg up behind her, displaying her rather angry-red looking bare sole. "See here, Shaz, Jen," she said, pointing to the back of her heel, "they've been rubbing the hell out of my heels ... And, see here, and here," she said, pointing to the ball of her foot, and to the bottom of her heel, that were also the same sore-looking, pinkish-red colour, "they've been crippling me," she complained. "And it certainly doesn't help, that Janice has been off sick."

Sharon and Jennifer tut-tutted, and made the appropriate sympathetic noises.

"My other foot's the same, look ... I'll wear the red pumps again, on a quieter night," she said, as she resumed pouring James's pint of lager.

Well! That was certainly an unexpected treat, thought James. Joan the barmaid certainly had a lovely pair of shapely, dainty feet ... And he'd certainly love to rub lotion into her hard-working, tired and achy soles, after one of her hard night slogs behind the busy Cock & Bull's bar, he thought, as he brought the drinks over to the table where Debbie was waiting for him. He took a seat opposite her, facing towards the bar.

"You took your sweet time. Where have you been, James -- to Bordeaux, to press the grapes? Ah, the lengths you will go to for me ... such devotion," said Debbie teasingly.

"Oh! Ha ha! Very funny, Debs. I was lucky to get served this quickly ... And, anyway, I would walk to the ends of the earth for you, Debs, you know that ... What's that you're reading, anyway -- the local rag?"

"Yes. I'm reading through the classifieds -- you know, the items for sale section. You just never know what you'll see in there."

James picked up his pint of Stella, looking forward to that first, ice-cold, nothing-else-like-it, ultra refreshing gulp of lager ... but it didn't reach his lips.

For James's eyes had been drawn, as though by some kind of magnetic pull, and become fixated upon the captivating, awesome sight directly in front of him. The two stunning blondes, perched upon their bar stools, had both let their thin-rubber flip flops -- Jennifer's, pink, and Sharon's, yellow -- fall from their feet, to the floor. And both of them were displaying their bare soles, albeit at a rather acute angle, as they hooked their toes around their bar stool's chrome, rounded stretcher bar.

And then Joan the barmaid, seemingly having a quiet minute between serving customers, came over and started chatting to her two drop-dead-gorgeous friends ... And then James's hand actually began to shake; the lager in his glass spilling over the rim, so that he had to put it back on the table.

Because Jennifer and Sharon, who were now engaged in an animated conversation with Joan the barmaid, were leaning slightly forward on their bar stools and, for counterbalance, they had both put their feet behind their bar stool's rounded stretcher bar ... totally exposing, to James, the bare soles of their suntanned, shapely feet.

The soles of Jennifer and Sharon's bare feet were slightly grimy, from wearing their flip flops all day, assumed James. And, as they chatted with Joan the barmaid, James avidly watched Jennifer and Sharon's toes, as they variously scrunched, splayed, and wiggled, in apparent accordance with the differing stimuli of their lively conversation ... of their girl-talk. And the two stunning blondes' sexy soles show was quickly becoming too much, for James.

"You know it's Mum's birthday in two weeks' time, James," said Debbie, obliging James to tear his eyes away from the super-sexy antics of the two stunning blondes' beautiful bare soles. "Have you decided on a present yet? This is your chance to really get into her good books. I know you think Mum has got a bit of a downer on you, because she's always going on about your ... well, you know, 'problem'. But Mum likes you, James. Really, she does. She says you are Noble by name, and noble by nature."