Green for Go!

For, Jason then felt a firm, no-nonsense like double-tap of a finger upon his right shoulder, and he turned to see a pale-complexioned, slim-figured woman of about 25, with her slightly longer than shoulder-length red hair tied with a black velvet hairband. Rather bossily, she said to Jason, "Come along! Follow me."

Jason said nothing in reply; just obediently followed behind the female SOS Club member who had so peremptorily summoned him.

Jeeze, how amazing was this! She had simply walked up to him, tapped him on his shoulder, and bossily ordered him to follow her: "Come along! Follow me," she had said. Just like that! Just as if he was of no-account - a nothing ... Just, thought Jason; as if he was a male SOS Club member, ha ha! And he was loving it! Absolutely loving it! Jason followed at her heels.

The redhead was wearing a plain, primrose yellow cotton blouse, and a light, summery, slightly darker yellow skirt that fell to just above her knees, and that had on it a printed pattern of various types and colours of flowers. Very feminine, thought Jason. Her bare, shapely legs were quite pale - well, mused Jason: most redheads don't like the sun, do they? - and on her feet she wore a pair of rather well-worn looking black flats.

What now? wondered Jason, with building excitement. And he didn't have to walk far; didn't have to wait long, to find out ...

For, upon coming to an unoccupied Perspex-paned public telephone kiosk - one of a bank of four - the redhead pulled open the door, held it wide open, and then she addressed Jason again. With an indicative nod of her head, she ordered him - and in the sort of tone that Jason thought people might use when talking to their dog - "Go on. Get in. Sit on the floor, with your back to the glass, and facing towards the phone ... Well? What are you waiting for?" she demanded impatiently.

Jason understood her question to be rhetorical, and so he remained silent. It was not that Jason was being unco-operative - heaven forbid! He was simply momentarily frozen in place; perplexed, at hearing the redhead's decidedly bizarre instructions.

It was cramped, inside the telephone kiosk. Very cramped indeed ... Well, at least it was when you were sitting on the floor, with your back propped against the glass wall of the kiosk, with your knees bent, and with your feet pressing into the opposite corners of the tiny space.

Without another word to Jason, the redhead stepped between his spread-open legs, and then she pulled the telephone kiosk door closed behind her ... them.

As she got her purse from her handbag, and then rummaged about for some change for the phone, Jason stared at the printed floral pattern on the redhead's yellow summer dress. Well, it was hard not to, since the light, thin material was tightly hugging her shapely buttocks, just in front of and above his face, and ... he could clearly see her white knickers, underneath.

The redhead inserted some coins into the slot, punched in some phone number buttons and, a moment later, Jason could clearly hear the rather loud ringing tone as a phone rang at the other end of the line. He heard it ring four times, and then he heard an answering-machine kicking in: "Hello! You've reached Isobel's phone. I'm not in, right now. But if you leave your name and number, I'll get back to you." Then there were three beeps ...

Sounding disappointed, the redhead exclaimed, "Oh! For Chrisake, Izzy. You're never in when I---"

Then the phone at the other end was suddenly picked up. "Donna? Is that you? Sorry about that, I was busy with ... something upstairs. Ryan's here. So ... Wassup?"

The redhead - Donna - slipped a bare foot from her right, well-worn flat, and Jason had but a split-second in which to register her sole's deep, pale arch, which contrasted starkly with the pinkish-red colour of the bottom of her heel, the ball of her foot, and the pads of her toes, before it was firmly planted onto his face: the ball of her foot, settling comfortably upon the bridge of his nose; the bottom of her heel, pressing firmly into his upper forehead, for grip and stability ... The redhead - Donna - was actually using his face as a footrest, while she made a goddamn telephone call! Jason couldn't believe it.

"Hi, Izzy! I'm glad I could get hold of you. The thing is, I'm in town and, well, I've just found out that 'Chopsticks' - you know, that new Chinese restaurant, in King Street? - is opening tonight, and I wondered if you and Ryan would like to make up a foursome with John and me?"

The redhead's sole felt warm and clammy on Jason's face; seeming to cling with the all but irremovable suction power of a leech, and, he was still struggling to believe the incredible situation that he had actually found himself in, as he listened in to both sides of the phone conversation.

"Hey! That would be great, Donna," enthused Isobel. "Me and Ryan would love to join you and John, at Chopsticks," she said brightly.

As the redhead settled into the phone conversation with her friend - girl talk: catching up on this, that, and whatever, swapping tidbits of saucy gossip; generally chewing the fat - she also gradually settled more and more of her relaxing weight against Jason's ever so conveniently positioned face. Firmly and securely pinning the back of Jason's head to the telephone kiosk's glass wall, she was perfectly confident as to the stability of her footrest. And, the warm, clammy, sweaty sole of the redhead's right foot was pressing into his face so hard, and with so much unrelenting pressure, that Jason more than half expected the redhead to push his head right through the kiosk's glass, at any moment.

Then the redhead slightly adjusted her resting foot's position; the undersides of her toes closed around Jason's nostrils, and he suddenly got the full, heady hit of her in-between-the-toes foot stink. Jason's head reeled. The redhead's powerfully pungent, sour-vinegary foot odour, was the most wonderful, dizzying, intoxicating aroma that Jason had ever experienced; seeming to flood every cell in his body, as he inhaled it. It was as if he was sniffing at the perfume exuded from a bottle of concentrated aphrodisiac, labelled: 'Just for Jason'.

The effects upon Jason were instantaneous, and there was a great, tumultuous upheaval in his mind and body, as if caused by excitement overload. His heart seemed to leap about in his chest like a cat in a sack, and ... there was a rapidly developing bulge, at the crotch of his pants.

"Izzy," the redhead eventually said, "I'm calling from a public phone box, and with all of our gabbing, ha ha!, I've run out of change," she told her friend. "Could you give Chopsticks a quick ring for me, please? I've provisionally booked a table for four, for eight o'clock. They said they would give me an hour to confirm; after that, the table would be up for grabs again. Could you give them a ring now, to confirm the booking?"

Jason was quietly going crazy. Going out of his tunnel-visioned, one-tracked mind. If this continued for much longer, he would surely become delirious, from a massive overdose of pure happiness ... The redhead was using him as her footrest. He was sniffing the redhead's in-between-the-toes foot stink, and revelling in the amazing sensation of feeling the flesh of her warm and clammy sole pressing firmly into his face; the bottom of her heel, pressing firmly into the middle of his forehead, and keeping his head securely pinned to the telephone kiosk's rear glass wall. Jason was in heaven.

"No problem, Donna. I'll call Chopsticks right away. Me and Ryan will see you and John there, then. Bye, Donna; see you later!"

"Thanks, Izzy, you're a star. See you there, then. Bye, Izzy - oh!, and sorry, if I, er ... interrupted you, earlier, ha ha!" replied the redhead, who then finally replaced the receiver, ending the phone call. Then, and without so much as another word to Jason, the redhead removed the sole of her warm and clammy right foot from Jason's face, slipped her foot back into her black, well-worn flat, and exited the telephone kiosk.

Jason didn't move. Couldn't move. Couldn't possibly. He was too busy thinking about - re-living, in his mind - what had just actually happened to him ...

... A slim-figured redhead of about 25 - Donna - had actually come up to him in the middle of High St., tapped him on his shoulder, commanded him to follow behind her, and then ordered him to sit on the floor of a public telephone kiosk - one of a bank of four - so that she could use his face as a footrest while she made a lengthy telephone call to her friend, Isobel. And, so of no-account; so, neither-here-nor-there; so ... insignificant, was Jason, to the redhead, that throughout the entire duration of her phone call, the redhead had not made even one, single, solitary mention of Jason's even being there.

Oh, man! thought Jason, as he remained sitting on the cold, dusty concrete floor of the public telephone kiosk that the redhead - Donna - had just vacated, without so much as a parting word to him. How cool was that! How degrading! How humiliating! How totally, amazingly, awesomely brilliant! This, is what it's all about! thought Jason, ecstatically. A £100 per month, to be a member of the Serve Our Soles Club? It was the bargain of a lifetime!

Jason could still feel the amazing, electrifying sensation of the redhead's warm and clammy sole, firmly pressing into his conveniently positioned face, as she so casually used it as her footrest. He could still smell the sharp, sour-vinegary tang of her intoxicating, pulse-raising, in-between-the-toes foot stink, that had so totally blown his one-tracked mind.

An acute sense of the most dire urgency gripped Jason, and of a magnitude that he had never experienced before. The bulge in his pants was getting more and more uncomfortable; becoming quite intolerable ... It was no use: no, it was no use, there was no avoiding it. It couldn't be helped. It just, simply, could not be helped. Jason was giddy with desire. He craved sweet, sweet release. Nothing else mattered - nothing! He could not deny his all-consuming, irresistible need, a single moment longer.

Jason unzipped his trousers, and his best friend sprang out like a Jack in the Box. Eminently familiar in his hand, Jason began teasing, and gently stroking his best friend. Soon; his sense of dire urgency coming to the very fore, utterly overwhelming him, Jason started his well-practiced, jerking, pulling and tugging; rhythmically, faster and faster. Then, Jason was past the point-of-no-return: he couldn't have stopped himself now - even if he wanted to. Ah, man! Any moment now, and ...

The door of the public telephone kiosk - one of a bank of four - was suddenly yanked open. A man in his 50's was just about to step inside the kiosk ... Until he saw Jason, sitting on the floor - saw what he was doing.

"What, the ...? God in heaven!" exclaimed the man, in utter disbelief and shock.

"What? What is it, Desmond ... Oh, my, God!" squeaked the woman who was looking over the man's shoulder - who Jason assumed was the man's lady wife.

Jason barely noticed them - this was the jerk-off of his life. Jason then moaned, sounding as if he was in distress; in pain, even, in the mind-shattering throes of a violent, totally unbelievable climax that shook him to his very core. Jason could hardly bear the incredible pleasure, could hardly cope with the sheer, unadulterated bliss of his release, as wave after wave of climactic convulsions ripped through his body. Oh, the power of it! Jason's eyes rolled up, so that almost only the whites were showing, as his best friend spurted and sprayed gout after milky gout over him. Jason had never experienced anything even remotely like it before.

"Good God in heaven!" exclaimed the man, incredulously. "I think we'd better use another telephone kiosk, Daphne," he said.

"Lord help us!" shrilled the horror-struck Daphne. "What is the world coming to?"

* * *

Jason was walking along High St. again. His eyes seemed unnaturally bright; as if lit from inside, with a maniacal light. And he was looking a little dishevelled; though he might have remained unworthy of any particular note, were it not for the dark, splotchy patches on his trousers and T-shirt.

It was 3:30 p.m. and the town centre was still thronged with people. Jason didn't notice the odd looks that he was getting from other, approaching pedestrians - pedestrians, who were making it a point to get out of his way; to give him a wide berth on the pavement.

For, Jason only had eyes for his SOS Club member's 'special' wristwatch. He was watching the continuous, windscreen-wiper like sweeps of the radar-like instrument upon the face of his wristwatch. Present status: it was pinging on 3 contacts. They were close by. The yellow light was on.

Jason's appetite was well and truly whetted ... he intended to feast.

The light on Jason's SOS Club member's 'special' wristwatch turned green.

It was green for go!

Jason's eager, seemingly unnaturally bright eyes scanned the vicinity, looking for the female Serve Our Soles Club member who was summoning him ...

THE END.