A Curious Day at the Office

Anton stood at the side of a busy street, waiting to cross. The huge, glass-fronted office building of The Durant Oceanic Corporation loomed from the other side of the road. He tried to cultivate a positive frame of mind for the job he was less than enthusiastic about but optimism was a trait that was seeping away day-by-day. He was 23, he lived at home with his parents, he wasn't particularly attractive, he was well below average height, he was single and he had very little money due to his role of being a lowly assistant job in a boring import/export company.

He had only taken the job because there was a decided lack of offers for exciting archeology positions after he had finished his history degree. He had reluctantly moved back home with his parents and lived on income support for 18 months until his aunt had (without consulting him) mentioned his availability to a high-flying friend of hers who ran his own freight company. Anton assumed it was due to his aunt's connection that he got the job. He did attend an interview with two mid-level executives who he had hardly seen since and who didn't seem to recognise him on the odd occasion when they had passed in the corridor. Anton considered himself to have a talent for being astoundingly unmemorable. But at least he now had a job. He could see the money that senior-level executives displayed and, whilst the job wasn't of interest to him, being able to rent his own place where he could potentially entertain ladies, was very much of interest.

Anton was also a fetishist. He had a fetish for tickling feet to be precise, but he was chronically shy about it. He didn't know why he was so shy about it, that was just the way he was. He wondered if it was because he had grown up with the knowledge that he loved the idea of tickling feet and got flushed with excitement whenever it took place on a television programme or in a film. If any friends or family were in the room whenever it happened on-screen, or when he detected it was about to happen, he immediately left the vicinity because he couldn't stand to share those rare moments with anyone who he wasn't attracted to or who wouldn't understand.

Also, because he shared a family computer with his mother and father, he never--never--wanted to risk them walking in on him or seeing something in the search history or having some cookies or images hidden in an unknown cache folder for some future computer repair man to unearth and make indiscreet enquiries about. That's why, before leaving for university, he had never even made a cursory Google search for the one word that made his heart flip.

Once at university, however, with no-one who could reasonably request to use his phone, the first thing Anton did when he was dropped of at his halls of residence was lock the door, disconnect from the communal WiFi and type in the iconic words: "tickling feet". That moment his world changed. Forums, stories, tales of real-life encounters, images and, of course, never ending video clips. Anton had put a lot of time and effort into his history degree. But he put an equal amount of time into looking at things on the web.

By the second year, he had regretted doing so. He realised that his social connections were far flimsier than everyone else's who had been waiting for the university life to capitalise on real-life encounters rather than spending the time in a locked room, their faces lit up by a mobile screen and their hand in their pants. Obviously, he had attempted to approach the girls on the forums, but the vast majority of the time they never replied and on the couple of occasions when they did, they lost interest after the inevitable exchange of photos. There were very pretty girls all around him, of course, but being a good foot shorter than the handsome boys in addition to his reclusive personality, they never looked at him twice let alone agreed to go on a date with him.

And so here he stood, aged 23, bereft of a girlfriend or a single real-life tickling experience and without any foreseeable prospect for a private abode in which he could begin the life he had always wanted. The word frustration would be an understatement.

With a brief lull in the traffic, Anton trotted across the road and was just about to reach the other side when a loud car horn caused him to literally skip sideways. A black Mercedes-Benz S-Class pulled into a loading bay at the front of the building. Anton instinctively waved an apology to the driver -- a stunning blonde girl who may have been about his age. In the rear seat, he could see two more pretty blonde girls who had leaned in to see what had caused the driver to beep. Anton then looked to the passenger seat and recognised the CEO of The Durant Oceanic Corporation, Mr Durant.

Anton felt himself flush crimson as all four pairs of eyes looked at him. The girls were all giggling. Mr Durant was not. He stoically leaned sideways to allow for each of the girls to kiss him on the cheek and stepped out of the car. Anton's cheeks quivered as he tried to smile politely. Mr Durant was an intimidating figure. At least 6'2" with a square jaw and Action Man posture. His hair was naturally black with a few grey streaks and, as usual, he was impeccably dressed in a made-to-measure pinstripe suit and Gucci loafers. Anton imagined him to be in his late forties or early fifties, but he was in impressive shape for his age. For some reason, on the rare occasions when he and Anton had crossed paths in the building, Anton couldn't help but look at his hands. His eyes were first drawn to them by the shininess of his platinum wedding band but his attention was kept by how masculine they looked -- not especially hairy, but large and "fit". Anton had wondered, with hands that looked so well-maintained and manicured, how one managed to cultivate "fit" hands.

One of the girls exited the back seat, kissed Mr Durant again, took his place in the front seat and the car drove away to the sound of a purring engine and giggles. Anton watched them go and turned to see Mr Durant watching him. 'Friends of yours?' Anton asked.

'My daughters,' Mr Durant replied, with his characteristically unreadable expression.

Anton instantly tried to hide any indication that he found them attractive but his lips weren't on the same page, 'They look nice.'

Mr Durant's eyes narrowed slightly, 'They are.'

Anton decided to change the subject. 'I'd like a car like that.'

Mr Durant strode for the building, 'Working hard and working smart is the key.'

Anton hurried to keep up. 'Oh, I work very hard,' he said.

'That's good. Then you know which area you need to improve upon,' said Mr Durant.

'Yep. Making money!'

'Then you should talk to your line manager,' said Mr Durant, 'but try to bring it up in a way that isn't so inelegant.'

Anton had known he was being clumsy the moment the words left his mouth. Obviously Mr Durant had thought so too.

'My auntie said to say hello, by the way,' he said, immediately cursing himself for the use of the word "auntie". She hadn't said any such thing but there wasn't much that he could think of for the two of them to chat about. The only time they had previously spoken was the day he had arrived for the interview and the sum content of their conversation revolved around Aunt Cindy -- the only thing they had in common. That was the day Anton first noticed Mr Durant's hands. Ever since, Mr Durant had been talking to other people when they passed and so had not been forced to exchange awkward pleasantries.

Mr Durant gave a muted acknowledgement of the message and opened the front door for Anton -- a gesture with which Anton was not experienced. Inside the building, three suited gentlemen with briefcases sat by the reception desk and recognised Mr Durant.

'Oh, no, after you,' Anton said to Mr Durant.

Mr Durant smiled a greeting to the three gentlemen who stood and waited for him but, with Anton hidden from their view, seemed to wonder why Mr Durant was just standing by an opened door without anyone else entering or leaving. He then registered Anton's words. 'No,' he said, 'Go in.'

Anton was in the middle of insisting again when he noticed Mr Durant's short fuse begin to burn and they both took the initiative to walk in at the same time. Squeezed into the doorway, Anton accidentally stepped on one of Mr Durant's flawless leather loafers. While Mr Durant calmly ignored the collision and continued to smile at the other men, Anton could hear a slight hiss of exasperation from him. They both quickly looked down and saw a scuff across the outer toe of the shoe. Anton was about to apologise but Mr Durant stepped confidently over to the men, all shook hands and he escorted them to the lifts.

Anton felt himself clenching his teeth as the lift doors closed, the final thing he saw as the lift doors closed was a fleeting glance of irritation from Mr Durant.

-- -- -- -- --

Anton sat at his desk on the second floor. Whilst every other space in the building had some kind of view, his nearest window was blocked by a ventilation shaft. It was so typical that he'd been placed in the most under-lit corner of the entire building that it never occurred to him to complain, even though there were more desirable desk spaces empty and available.

Just then he saw his red-haired line manager, Cathy, approach with a young lady he didn't recognise. She looked a little older than him and was on the pretty side of plain, with black curly hair and red-rimmed glasses. She was obviously dressed-to-impress on her first day, wearing a new business suit and blouse, black nylons and high heels. Over-dressed, in Anton's opinion, for a job which was just about filling out online forms correctly to ensure the smooth delivery of orders to their destinations. Cathy led the young lady to the empty desk next to him and talked her through all the regular introductory procedures.

'...and if you need anything, I'm just in the office over there,' said Cathy.

The young lady thanked her and Cathy walked away. Anton and the young lady at last shared a polite smile. 'I'm Anton,' he said.

'I'm Ellen,' she said.

'Nice to meet you,' said Anton.

'You too,' Ellen replied, plugging herself into headphones mid-sentence. She then turned to her computer and began to work.

'Oh, Cathy!' called Anton.

Cathy turned on the spot. 'Yes?' she made no effort to move towards him and so Anton trotted over to her.

'Can I have a word? In private?'

'What's it about?'

Anton spoke in a low tone so as not to be overheard, 'It's about a possible pay rise...?'

Cathy shook her head, 'Those things aren't considered until around December time. Not summer.'

'I know. But--'

'People are generally here a lot longer than you have been before raises are considered, Anthony--'

'Anton..'

'--so you may have to just get by on what you earn right now,' she said, 'or get a second job!'

Anton sighed and smiled a well-practiced understanding.

'Just be as good at your job as possible -- that will help you to get noticed, Anthony. So, get back to your desk and let's do that, yes?' and she turned so quickly to walk away that her ponytail clipped Anton in the eye.

He returned to his desk, disheartened, but his mood lifted when he saw Ellen. She had made herself at home by removing her suit jacket and slipping off her shoes. Not only that but she had chosen to sit with her right shin tucked under her let thigh. The wonderful benefit of this from Anton's point-of-view was that the sole of her foot was facing straight at him, the seam of the nylon meandering it's way unevenly from heel to toes. Her foot was narrower than was to ideal taste, but it didn't matter and he realised something unusual -- he now found her a lot more attractive than when he had first seen her.

Is was only when Ellen looked at Anton that he realised that he was simply gawping at her nylon-clad sole and switched his attention to her screen. She pulled out an ear bud, 'Did you say something?' she asked.

He shook his head, 'Just if you needed anything, to let me know. I've been here a while now,' he said. 'But from what I can see, you're pretty much doing it right.'

'Thanks,' she said, obviously unappreciative of having her work scrutinised by him.

Anton spent the rest of the morning on autopilot whilst running through a variety of strategies that would lead to the ultimate goal of tickling Ellen's foot. He balanced this with the task of making his mannerisms look natural as he stole glances to make an imprint on his brain of the magical moment when a grown woman's foot was within his reach. This was achieved by a lot of looking to one side in apparent deep reflection about the challenging tasks he was doing (which were actually no more or less taxing than hers) as well as pushing back from his desk in order to have regular stretches -- which averaged once every five minutes.

The potential plans he devised included:

1. dropping a pen on the floor and "accidentally" stroking her sole with it as he retrieved it.

2. saying something like, 'Oh! You have a fly on your foot!' and quickly scrabbling at it before she could respond

3. just out-and-out tickling her and justifying it with a cool demeanour by saying, 'I just needed to check,' followed by a cheeky wink.

4. casually dropping into a conversation that it looks like she finds shoes restrictive and asking her if she would mind being part of a research project he was working on, whereby he filmed and tickled women's feet.

5. just asking her if she wanted to go for a drink and trying to sneak in a tester while they were in the bar.

As he reviewed these option, he noted several issues:

1. He worked at a keyboard and didn't have a pen.

2. She would easily be able to tell there was no fly around

3. There was no way he could control his facial muscles in order to pull of a cool demeanour

4. He pictured a conversation:

Me: 'Yeah, I'm doing research into women's feet and how ticklish they are for an Open University thesis.'

Her: 'Oh. What could you possibly hope to gain from such research?'

Me: 'Erm.............'

5. There was no way she'd want to do that.

In a moment of divine inspiration, he decided to substitute the pen idea for an identity card idea. But he had to hurry -- it was nearly lunchtime. He was shaking with nervousness and his mouth was dry as he lifted up his security lanyard and fiddled with it, making the card loose in it's plastic holder. His only hope was that the card would fall out in the right way. He casually twirled the lanyard around his finger and the card flew off in the opposite direction. He clumsily went to catch it and fumbled it several times into the air before it landed on the carpet just under Ellen's desk.

She was looking at him, obviously wondering what the hell he was doing. He smiled meekly and stooped to pick up the card, assuring himself that at least she wouldn't think it was a ploy -- no guy would make himself look that much of a dufus on purpose.

As he slowly leant down, he looked out the corner of his eye -- Ellen's foot was right next to his face. He caught a scent of nail polish and could almost feel the warmth of her sole on his cheek. She began to edge away to make room for him and so he grabbed the arm of her chair to keep it in place and make it seem as though he was using it for balance.

This was the moment...

His heart was thumping. As he reached for the card with one hand, he deliberately brought down his other hand, brushing sideways across her narrow arch. She jumped slightly and retracted her foot.

'Sorry,' he said as he sat upright, flushed red.

Ellen didn't seem to pay it much mind. Her expression was the same as before. She slipped her shoes on, picked up her handbag and went to lunch.

-- -- -- -- --

The rear grounds of the building had a private green space with trees, picnic benches and a pond that overlooked the huge company car park. Anton sat at a picnic table eating his packed lunch. Two women he didn't know sat at the other end of the table, talking about personal issues like he couldn't hear them. In a way, they were correct.

Anton was in total lust. He played over and over in his mind his first glimpse of Ellen's foot, how it looked up close and how her nylon-covered sole felt to his fingers. He could not have been more turned on. He wondered if she would present her foot for him in the afternoon and which of his other plans he could implement.

As he ate he saw Ellen and Cathy walking and talking together on the grass. He wondered which of them would be the most ticklish if put to some kind of test. They glanced at him. Anton smiled and went to wave, but as he did so they looked away.

Anton then noticed Mr Durant walk into the car park with the three men in suits. They had obviously had their meeting and a spot of lunch in the canteen and now all the serious talk was over. They spoke with big smiles and let out raucous, attention-seeking laughter in that way only senior businesspeople are entitled to do. Anton considered the fact that he would never be able to laugh like that.

A Lexus awaited the men as they all shook hands and Mr Durant bid them farewell. As the Lexus pulled away, Anton recognised the Mercedes-Benz that nearly hit him enter the car park and pull up in front of Mr Durant. His daughters all got out with several bags of shopping and made an extravagant show of the things they had bought in that way that only beautiful nymph-like girls with inherited wealth are entitled to do.

As the attention of every worker in the vicinity was drawn to the performance, Mr Durant looked on proudly and nonchalantly. Anton couldn't help but suspect that there was a part of Mr Durant who liked the fact that he had attractive daughters but that every man he knew would be too intimidated to approach them.

Anton's view was momentarily blocked by a large air conditioning specialist's van, who cruised around looking for a space to park.

When he could see them again, Mr Durant's daughters were getting ready to depart for some other journey. The most diminutive and, Anton assumed, youngest of the daughters momentarily struck an on-guard pose at her father. For the first time since he'd known him Anton saw Mr Durant react to something quickly, striking his own pose, which obviously came naturally to him and caused his daughter to squeal a giggle and run away before she paid the price. "Looks like a karate pose," thought Anton.

The daughters all then skipped away -- the eldest jokingly tossing the car fob to her father as she walked. Needless to say, he caught it one-handed and without effort.

-- -- -- -- --

After lunch Anton returned to his desk and noticed that Ellen's possessions were gone and her computer was switched off. He looked across the rest of the floor and eventually spotted her sitting at the far end and getting on famously with two cool dudes who sat either side of her.

Anton slumped into his chair, utterly cheesed off. He woke his computer and wondered if she had moved because he tickled her? When Ellen was talking to Cathy at lunchtime, was she complaining about him? His heart raced as he thought, "Oh, God. Perhaps "sneaking at tickle" at work isn't the right thing to do... Is Cathy going to call me into her office for a word? Will Ellen tell everyone else on the floor? Am I going to get sacked? Will Mr Durant tell Aunt Cindy why? Will Aunt Cindy--"

Just then a different part of Anton's mind interrupted this trail of thought. Something else was wrong. It took him a moment to engage with it and realise what he was looking at on his computer screen -- some of the figures he had entered and submitted that morning were seriously wrong. A new wave of panic overtook him. 'Oh, no... How did this happen?' he murmured under his breath.