Swipe Right for Foot Wipe Pt. 01

Boredom can get us into some real sticky situations. Procrastination had been the death of my university life. When I should have been spending hours revising or writing papers; I'd waste away the time playing around on the internet or watching some trash on TV. My whole experience at the institution was a crying shame. I had potential as a student, and I had squandered it all away. Unfortunately, I was one of the laziest persons in existence and I seemed to coast my way through life without putting in any effort.

Thankfully, I had my looks to fall back on and I met Stephen straight after flunking out of school. Whereas I was a dropout, Stephen had already graduated and had been given a junior position with an investment bank. This was a great opportunity for him and I was coming along for the ride. As a result, I spent most of my days lazing around, doing fun things like shopping with Stephen's money or painting. Art was my true passion and I found that it calmed me down. I was decent at it, but I'd never had anyone offer to buy one of my pieces. Truth be told, I wasn't sure what my path in the world was, and I was thankful that I had Stephen to support me. If marriage and staying at home was my future then I was all for it.

The mundane routine of my life stumbled down a different path one day owing to a fairly innocuous incident. I was chilling on the couch, scrolling through my social media when Stephen came into the room.

"Do you have any idea where my phone is, Poppy?" he asked.

"Hold on, I'll try phoning it," I said. He was always losing it somewhere around the apartment. I dialled his number and waited for the inevitable chime of his ringtone. However, none came, but there was a vibrating sound coming from the bedroom. I crouched beneath the bed and saw the phone rattling away on the polished wooden floor. "Found it," I shouted, but then I paused as I lifted the phone.

It was someone from his work trying to call, but that wasn't the interesting part. On the top of the screen was a notification from Tinder. Tinder, was he kidding me? What the hell was the sleaze doing on there when he was dating me? I opened the notification and there was an announcement that there were new singles in his area. That darned dirtbag.

"Oi, what's this all about?" I yelled as I went running into the kitchen, flailing his phone around in my hand. "Why are you on Tinder?"

Stephen was in the middle of sipping his coffee. His eyes peeked over the cup all sheepish. "Ummm, it doesn't matter."

I slapped the phone into his chest. "The hell it doesn't matter! Have you been cheating on me?"

"Of course not." He rolled his eyes. "Honestly, when would I have a chance to do that? I'm at work all day then I come home straight to you."

This was true. Stephen never stayed late on at work and he didn't socialise much since I'd moved into his apartment. I was all he needed after all. "So, why do you have it?"

"To check you're not on there."

My mouth hung open. "Uh...what?"

"Well, you're the one sitting around doing nothing all day. I was getting a bit worried is all. Plus, you're always on your phone."

"Playing games!"

"Well, how do I know that? I was just checking. You're always giggling away into your phone screen while it buzzes."

"So, what are you saying? You don't trust me?"

"Of course, I do."

I shook my head. "This doesn't make sense. If you trust me as you say, why would you be worried? Be honest, have you been talking to other women?"

Stephen let out a violent laugh. "Now who is the one who can't trust? Come on, babe. You know it's not like that. I was just a bit insecure is all. Open it, take a look, I haven't even matched or messaged anyone on there. I'm not even totally sure how to use it. One of the guys in work is on there non-stop and he's matching with girls all day long. It got me worried is all."

I narrowed my eyes and pointed an accusing finger in his direction. "Fine, but if I discover you've been lying to me then you're going to regret it." I turned on my heel and headed back to the bedroom with Stephen's phone. I sank into the pillows and curled my legs beneath my butt. "He better not have been a little slime ball," I said, as I swiped open the app.

I hadn't ever used Tinder before. I mean, I'd never had a reason to. Dating was something that came easily to me. Guys would simply approach me wherever I was. I'd got with Stephen straight out of dropping out of college, so why would I ever need some pathetic app like Tinder? I was content living in his apartment and mooching off him without complaint. Why the hell would I give up a lifestyle like this? It was actually insulting that Stephen thought I would even download the app, never mind use it. Of course, I was aware of what the app was primarily for: easy hook-ups. Some of my friends used it and had met guys on there, but it simply wasn't for me.

So, when it came to using the app, I was a bit clueless. As soon as I'd opened it, a girl's picture popped up on the screen. Her name was Summer and she was a blonde hairstylist that was located about five kilometres away. On the bottom was matches and messages. I opened them and saw that both were a big fat zero. It appeared he had barely been using the app. I noticed he hadn't even uploaded a photo of himself. Perhaps he was telling the truth after all. Though I was still mildly offended that he'd thought it necessary to check if I was using Tinder.

I clicked no on Summer's profile and another girl appeared. This time it was a brunette named Rita and she was a receptionist. As with Summer, I clicked no on Rita and onwards I went. I'd completely lost interest in the reasons Stephen had the app, instead I was overcome with curiosity. I was basically just cycling through the profiles and looking for someone I recognised. I can't really explain why, I suppose I was just being nosey and wanted to see the kind of stuff my friends would write and share on there. I mean, what do you write on something like this? 'Hey! I'm desperate for a date, please like me!'

I must have rejected about fifty profiles before I came across a girl that I recognised: Arpita. She was an Indian nurse that lived down the hallway from us. I only knew her in passing, saying the occasional hello. Hell, I hadn't even known her name until I saw her profile. From her accent, it sounded like she had actually come over from India rather than being born and raised here to Indian parents. Her profile picture was a close-up of her face and hair, which must have been taken at work as the collar of her scrubs was peeking into the bottom of the picture. Despite being taken in the workplace, she looked pretty and her smile lit the screen up. Her skin was a beautiful brown and there was a contrasting golden stud gleaming in her nose. Her black hair hung well below her shoulders. Overall, it was the perfect photo for a potential suitor and it was fairly accurate considering I'd seen her in person a few times. I imagine her profile garnered a lot of interest, though, thankfully none from my boyfriend.

Beneath the photo was a short biography, which I read through with a smile, satisfied there had been a pay-off to my snooping.

Hello, my name is Arpita, I'm 26 years old and I work as a nurse. I've just moved from Bombay to this lovely city and it was the best decision I ever made. I'm hoping to meet someone that I can enjoy time with. I like singing, dancing and cinema. Maybe if we match we can arrange something and get to know each other better!! :)

The words, along with the photograph, were so cute that I just had to show Stephen. "Baby, come and have a look at this," I shouted out towards the kitchen. "You know that Indian girl in the other apartment, well, she...wait, what the fuck?" My thought was interrupted as I read the final paragraph of her bio, right at the bottom of her profile.

p.s. I also like to rub my sweaty feet in people's faces!!! Hahaha. If this sounds good to you then swipe right for foot wipe!

"What the fuck is that?" I said. I dropped the phone on the bed and sat up straight in shock, walloping my head on the wall behind me with such intensity that a lamp jiggled on the bedside table. My mouth was hung open and my forehead felt like it was wrinkled up, probably ageing my appearance about thirty years.

"What is it?" asked Stephen as he wandered into the bedroom.

My mouth was still hanging open as I looked over at him. I had to shake off my confusion before I could utter a single word. "Ummm?"

"You called me?"

"Ugh," I said, still blown away by what I'd read. "It's nothing. Don't worry."

Stephen rolled his eyes, shook his head and left the bedroom without pressing any further.

I picked up the phone once more and re-read the biography, convinced I'd imagined those strange words. There they were though, right on the screen in front of my disbelieving eyes: Arpita liked rubbing her sweaty feet in people's faces. "What the fuck?" I asked out loud once again. Why the hell would she write something like that on a publicly viewable profile? It made literally no sense. Anyone could see it! Didn't she realise that? Hell, I was sat in the next apartment and reading it. I thought she was a regular, normal girl from our minimal interactions and she'd gone and put something as weird as that out in the world.

I scrolled back up the profile and flicked through Arpita's photos, seeing if I could find a clue to why she would share such a weird detail. Immediately after the profile picture, there was a photo of her dressed in traditional Indian clothing. It appeared she was at a wedding or similar occasion. The next photo was the same outfit, though this time she was joined by another Indian girl, also dressed in the colourful traditional clothing. The second girl looked a couple of years younger than Arpita, though equally pretty. The photos were completely normal. The kind of thing you'd see on every profile.

It was the third photograph that caught my attention the most. It looked like it was taken back in India, as there were people that looked of Indian ethnicity in the background. It was clearly on a beach, with the sand and the ocean in the background. Stretching out into the sand were two brown feet. Arpita must have taken the photo while she was relaxing in the sunshine back home.

I held the phone up close to my face and took a good look at her feet. I was curious why she thought she had the right to rub them in people's faces. What was so special about Arpita's feet? I mean, they weren't ugly or anything. Her toes were well-shaped, her nails looked taken care of and she had a cute toe ring on each foot. In the photo she was wearing orange nail polish and it contrasted quite well with her brown skin tone. I supposed that if I were to have a pair of feet rubbed in my face, I could do a lot worse than Arpita's. Wait, what the hell was I thinking? Why was I even considering such a thing happening?

I shook my head and tossed the phone back on the bed. "Stephen," I called out.

"What is it now?" he asked as he slumped up to the bedroom again. "Won't you give me a break?"

"I'm hungry. Let's get a take-away," I said with a smirk. "You fancy Indian?"

That night, while laying in bed as Stephen softly snored next to me, I struggled to drift off. There was something making the cogs turn in my head. I couldn't shake those words that I'd read. I simply could not fathom why Arpita would share something so seedy on her Tinder. I mean, even if she was into that, why would she announce it to the world? There were certain things I liked to do in the bedroom which others may find odd. Still, you wouldn't catch me writing about them all over my social media, so why was Arpita so upfront about it? It's like she had no shame. Which was bizarre, because on the few occasions we'd crossed paths she always seemed so shy and reserved.

I kept replaying the sentence over and over in my head. I could see it right there on her page, below the picture of her smiling face, the entire image burnt into my memory. Arpita liked to rub her sweaty feet in the faces of other people. How absurd an image. Why would anyone admit to liking that? But wait...how did she even know she liked to do it? Did that mean she'd actually done it before? There were people in the world that had let Arpita rub her sweaty feet in their face? What the hell kind of person would allow that to happen, and why? Did they actually enjoy it?

I was just lying there staring at the ceiling as the thoughts continued to spiral around above me. Why did she even enjoy doing it in the first place? Was there some sadistic pleasure she gained from subjecting someone to that?

I tried to imagine what it would be like; laying on the floor while Arpita sat above me and rubbed her sweaty feet in my face. I closed my eyes and pictured the skin on my face becoming sore from the clammy ministrations of her soles. Would she cup her toes over my nose and force me to smell the stink from her day at work? Would her toe rings feel cool in contrast to her warm, moist skin? The thought disgusted me and made me tremble in frightened anticipation. My eyes shot open and I felt weirded out by my own thoughts. Why was I even laying awake at night and thinking about this stupid shit? I was in bed next to my boyfriend, yet there I was, fantasising about my neighbour's sweaty feet being rubbed all over my face. It was a goddamn mystery.

The next morning, I was running late. I'd planned to meet one of my girlfriends for coffee and a gossip, but having struggled to get to sleep the night before, I'd awoken groggy and lacking energy. After brushing my teeth, I was caressing some moisturising cream into my face. I stared intently into the mirror and was mesmerised by the way in which my fingers shaped and manipulated my cheeks. It was almost hypnotic, the ease of which my flesh rippled under the slightest pressure. I wondered if Arpita's orange toes could massage and distort my features in the same way. Would she squeeze my cheeks together until my mouth squashed into a beak? What a sight I would look; laying there and allowing Arpita's feet to have their way with my face. I blinked in the mirror and suddenly my face screwed up in disgust. Why the hell was I thinking such weird thoughts still? I shook them off and finished up getting ready.

When I finally left the apartment, I was in such a rush, jangling the keys in the lock, that I accidentally dropped them on the floor. As I crouched in the hallway, I heard the sound of footsteps approaching from behind.

"Hey, neighbour," said a cheery voice, in a distinctively Indian accent.

My heart was thumping in my chest as I pivoted in my crouched position. Arpita was stood before me, dressed in her nurse scrubs and looking down with her hands on her hips. She looked so tall from my position, as if she towered over me, when in reality we were around the same height. Her hair was tied back and her brown skin glistened with sweat. It was clear she was just returning from her night shift at the hospital and was most likely exhausted.

"Ummm, hi," I said. I couldn't help it and looked down at her feet. I was just too curious after the thoughts that had been floating through my head.

There they were, the feet that she enjoyed rubbing in peoples' faces. She was wearing a pair of ballet flats with white socks, just poking out from beneath her scrubs. I noted that the socks looked damp, likely soaked through with sweat from her hours of exertion. There was slight movement in the front of her flats as if her toes were anxiously wiggling beneath. I was curious if she was wearing those toe rings from the photo right then. Did she wear them all the way through her shift? They must have been disgusting.

"You okay down there?" she asked. There was a playful tone to her question.

I slowly raised my eyes up to her face and was horrified to see she was smirking. This shy and reserved girl was actually smirking down at me. I'd made such a hesitant fool of myself that I'd actually empowered her. The doubts swirled in my mind. Did she know what I had been looking at? Had I been staring at her shoes for too long? Was she now imagining rubbing her sweaty feet into my face right as she stared at me? Did my pale cheeks look more enticing to her feet the more they reddened?

This was the first time I had seen Arpita since reading her weird Tinder profile. Was my face giving away that I knew her secret? I could feel the temperature rising in my cheeks and the first instances of sweat collecting on my brow. All that effort applying my makeup in the mirror minutes earlier was about to be wasted, simply because of my Indian neighbour greeting me. I felt tiny, crouched at her feet, and shrinking with every further second under her judgemental gaze. She had to know that I knew. She probably knew what I was thinking about right then; those sweaty feet springing free from her flats and having their way with my face. Ugh, I felt a tremble run down the length of my spine. I had to get out of there before I slipped up and said something stupid. I was experiencing feelings that I couldn't comprehend.

"Ummm, I'm late, I've got to go." I leapt to my feet and clumsily brushed past Arpita in the hallway. I just caught a glimpse of a bemused look on her face as I clattered through the front door. I couldn't blame her reaction. Every previous time we'd met I'd been composed and aloof. Yet, this time, I'd turned into some kind of nervous wreck, like a teenage girl cowering under the glare of her crush. I prayed she hadn't realised the reason why.

I can't even recall what my friend was talking about as I sipped my coffee. My eyes were glazed over as I stared at the table behind her, where an Indian woman was tapping away on her laptop. Beneath her chair, her feet had broken free from her sandals and she was arching and flexing her soles without abandon. It's a sight I would never normally have even noticed, but for some reason, that day I was riveted. What were the chances? I leave my apartment block where the feet of one Indian woman were tormenting me and run straight into another pair. I simply couldn't drag my eyes away from the hypnotic contortions of her restless feet. I looked at those soles and I imagined Arpita's. As they danced and played with the sandals beneath, I pictured myself in their place. Maybe that's how Arpita liked to do it? She'd type away on her laptop, paying no attention to the face serving as her footrest.

"Earth to Poppy," said my friend, Helen, as she waved a hand in front of my face. "I think I lost you there for a minute."

I shook my head and finally broke from the sight entrancing me so much. "Ugh, what?"

"Were you listening to a word I said?"

"Sorry, I've just had a lot on my mind lately." In some ways it was a lie, though in others the truth. There was something playing on my mind for sure, but I wasn't about to share that with Helen. Oh, I had an urge to spill everything out there. I wanted her to agree with me that Arpita's Tinder profile was completely ludicrous. To open it up on my phone right there and point at the insanity of sharing such an absurd thing. But what would Helen think of me? She'd no doubt think I was a weirdo for obsessing over such a thing. Hell, even I thought I was turning into a weirdo.

"Anything you want to share?"

"No, it's just me and Stephen," I lied.

"Not having problems, are you?"

"Nothing worth stressing over."

Helen took a sip of her coffee. "So, any other gossip worth sharing?"

Yes, hell yes! Oh lord, Helen! You just have to see what this girl in my apartment block wrote on her Tinder profile. It's the most absurd, ridiculously weird thing you'll have ever read. That's what I wanted to say, but in reality, I chickened out and just said, "No, nothing."