Tea, Coffee, and Me Ch. 03

"Yes, Miss Sandra."

"And you weren't dissuaded, by what you read?"

"No, Miss Sandra."

"Did you watch the one-minute video?"

"Yes, Miss Sandra."

"And you weren't put off, by what you saw?"

"No, Miss Sandra."

"It's just that, well ... what you have chosen to do is very ... full-on, for a first-time volunteer. Our experience has been that it is better to gentle in volunteers, so as not to frighten them away or burn them out too soon.

"Under the Female-Friendly Code: Article Two, your printout flimsy is a legally binding document, whether signed or unsigned. Upon pain of punitive chastisement of up to and including imprisonment, it compels you to carry out your freely chosen voluntary female-friendly service facilitation to an adequate, supervisorily signed-off standard.

"But, since I can see you are clearly a noble young man intent upon doing the right thing, I have it in my power to revoke the document and rescind your, um ... rash commitment. To protect you from yourself, as it were.

"So, shall I run some of the ... more suitable, options by you, and you can make another choice? Believe me: you'll be glad you did!"

"No thank you, Miss Sandra."

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, thank you, Miss Sandra, but I think it best to honour my commitment."

"Has Tonya put you up to this, by any chance? I wouldn't put it past her."

"No, Miss Sandra. Miss Tonya didn't make any actual service suggestions, only that she would be happy with me for now if I signed up to man a one-hour slot sometime over the upcoming weekend. My choice of female-friendly service facilitation, and of its duration too, is my own."

"So be it, then, male citizen David, if I can't change your mind ...?"

"No, Miss Sandra."

"Then I'll need you to sign a disclaimer."

"Of course, Miss Sandra."

"Absolving me from any blame whatsoever, for any temporary or permanent physical problems you may incur and/or any short-term or long-term mental health issues that may arise as a result of your insistence upon your facilitation choice despite my best efforts to dissuade you."

"Naturally, Miss Sandra."

"Sign here, then."

"Yes, Miss Sandra; and while I'm at it, I'll sign my printout flimsy too."

"Good ... Now, as to your volunteer status: Are you signing up as a Regular?"

"No - Miss Tomkins says I'm unreliable. Undependable. She says I'll have to sign up as an in-work male citizen and volunteer and to sacrifice my free time on a one-off, as-and-when basis."

"One, last chance: Do you still want to do this?"

"Yes, Miss Sandra."

"Okay ... there you go then, male citizen David. You've already signed my disclaimer; you've just signed your printout flimsy at the bottom - all that remains now is to rubber-stamp your printout flimsy to verify and validate your service selection."

"Yes, Miss Sandra. And thank you."

*

"And, you are doing this ... to please me, David?" said my school leaver's Career Assessment Interviewer and now Probational Case Worker, Miss Tonya Tomkins, when upon my return to Desk 5 she read through my verified and validated printout flimsy as rubber-stamped by Sandra at Reception.

Miss Tomkins had again let her left red leather flat fall to the carpeted floor beneath her desk and, with the ball of her warm and slightly clammy bare right foot pressing into my seemingly supersensitive bare right kneecap, with the pads of her toes she put emphasis on the words 'And', 'this', and 'please me', sending pulses of pure pleasure rippling right through me.

"Yes, Miss Tomkins. I'm doing it for you."

"Are you serious? You'll really, do it? You won't let me down?" demanded Miss Tomkins, literally pressing home her advantage as with the pads of her toes she emphasised the words 'serious', 'do it', 'won't' and 'down'.

Somehow, through the semi-delirium of my all but incapacitating sensual overload, I managed a reply. "Yes, Miss Tomkins, I ... I'm serious. I'll ... do it. I won't ... let you down."

*

Miss Tomkins did have a very shapely foot, I thought as upon claiming my instant-bonus reward and sitting on the carpeted floor beneath Desk 5, from extreme close-range, I admired it.

And, as she sat with her olive-complexioned right leg crossed over her left knee, the aroma emanating from her red leather flat was dreamy as she let her well-worn flexible shoe dangle from her bare right foot in semi-revelation.

The last thing I wanted was to risk Miss Tomkins abruptly curtailing my five-minute reward for taking liberties. But I could not help myself, but to press my lips into the bottom of Miss Tomkins' work-begrimed bare heel in a respectful, reverent - worshipful - kiss.

But to my relief, my Probational Case Worker merely let her comfy office-wear shoe fall to the floor, granting me free reign.

And, how I laid bare my soul at Miss Tonya Tomkins' bare sole!

At that moment, my ecstatic devotions conveying to her my complete submission, she knew as did I that with obedient compliance I would in future accept any and all of Miss Tomkins' in-work male citizen's free-time sacrificing female-friendly service facilitation voluntary assignments.

Miss Tomkins splayed her toes, and I savoured the olfactory nirvana of her intra-digital delights.

But my five-minute instant-reward bonus passed like five seconds.

For, all too soon, with the ball of her foot, Miss Tomkins pushed my worshipful face away, signalling that my time was up.

How I longed to stay there, in the open kneehole of Desk 5 - but it wouldn't do to take liberties.

I got out from beneath Desk 5.

Standing before Miss Tomkins, I bowed from the waist in reverence and, in departing salutation, I said succinctly: "Miss Tomkins."

Miss Tomkins smiled, and I heard her attractive brunette colleague Dolores at Desk 4 laugh.

When I turned to head for the exit, it was to see that the waiting dozen-plus job seeker/school leaver Career Assessment/Male Worker Conduct Review interviewees were all giving me strange looks.

But I didn't care: They were all out of work and now out of luck losers. Whereas I was employed, and in luck.

"It's still not too late to change your mind, male citizen David!" said Sandra from behind the counter at Reception.

But she was laughing.

*

So, I needn't peruse the line-up of posters displayed in the Job Centre's window or read the AFP Cabinet Ministers' latest appeals and more earnest adjurations to in-work male citizens to sacrifice some of their free time to facilitate a female-friendly service, I thought as I hit the street.

Which was just as well; only five minutes now remained of my one-hour lunch break.

The first of my Male Worker Conduct Review alternate-Monday meetings with my eighteen-year-old school-leaver's Career Assessment Interviewer and now Probational Case Worker, Miss Tonya Tomkins, had panned out far better than I could have imagined - I was definitely in her good books.

Propelling me back to my workplace to carry on the good work was a pick-me-up, life-is-good spring to my step that hadn't been there before; our lunchtime meeting had left me feeling invigorated, energised - galvanised.

I would certainly abide by Miss Tomkins' admonitory instruction to check regularly in future for her text messages summoning me to her Desk for lunchtime meetings impromptu.

On the whole, things were shaping up pretty well.

Even Edds - who, although perhaps could not be described as taking like a duck to water to his primary male-worker role little-something-extra provider to our employer Mrs Hilary Harper's refreshments-breaking female clientele and secondarily as the at-work fringe benefit of his supervisors Miranda and Sophie - was learning to adapt.

The only fly in the ointment was how I was going to face my now girlfriend Sarah with the news that I was cancelling our date; how I was going to explain that I would not be taking her for a pizza on Sunday afternoon, after all.

I remembered the look on Sarah's face, just over two weeks ago.

When on that Saturday upon finishing work in the Brighton City-Break Hotel and Spa at two o'clock, she'd found me waiting for her in the chefs' changing room - holding the neatly folded pair of thin white cotton ankle socks that for the benefit of the two waitresses Cindy and Marisa, Sarah had 'ordered' me to hand-wash and steam-iron.

But I doubted very much that Sarah would be smiling in amusement, later, when I called to tell her I was standing her up for our Sunday afternoon pizza date - and why.

In my head, I could already hear what Sarah was going to say: 'David, I can understand that you want to get into Miss Tomkins' good books; that you need to keep her sweet - but did you have to go over-egging the pudding like that?'

As a kitchen worker, I supposed Sarah could speak with some authority on the subject of overegging the pudding in the literal sense.

But maybe by Sunday evening, as a result of my in-work male citizen's free-time sacrificing Female-Friendly Service Facilitation choice, albeit, in a figurative sense, I would know a little about over-egging the pudding too ...

At Gatwick Airport, on Friday evening at 18:45 I was to present my Job Centre-issued printout flimsy to the receptionist at the information desk of Cosmopolitan Airways.

To the astonished delight of Miss Tomkins, and despite the best efforts of Sandra the Job Centre receptionist to 'protect me from myself' and dissuade me from opting for something so "full-on" as a first-time volunteer, I had applied to man Air Purification Technician Service Vehicle J, on the 19:30-departing Cosmopolitan Airways Flight CA 01-04.

With flight crew changeovers/passenger transfers during each of the respective destinations' one-hour stop offs on the four-leg, east to west, around-the-world journey: Flight CA 01-04 Gatwick-Los Angeles (11h 20m); Flight CA 02-04 Los Angeles-Tokyo (12h 00m); Flight CA 03-04 Tokyo-Dubai (11h 55m) - Flight CA 04-04 Dubai-London Gatwick (8h 00m) culminated on Sunday evening, forty-eight hours later, one of Cosmopolitan Airways' Friday-evening-departure sun-chasing Double Redeyes.

Traversing its under-seat rail track in the aircraft's modified fuselage, responding automatically to in-sequence demand Service Vehicle J would report to the retractable footwells of the pushbutton-summoning female air passengers seated in the Seat-Line J (starboard window) seats.

This innovative female-friendly service was one of the brainchildren schemes of the Authoritarian Female Party Prime Minister, Caroline Flynt.

Purportedly, the purpose of this highly popular in-flight service was that the Air Purification Technicians, strapped supine aboard their Seat-Line dedicated Service Vehicles and their mouths sealed with tape, would sniff up the fumes from the feet of the pushbutton-summoning female passengers so that via the cabin's air recirculation system the other passengers wouldn't have to.

I quickened my pace a beat.

In my employer Mrs Hilary Harper's something-for-something reciprocal arrangement with the Pier View Hotel manageress Miss Carolyn Cassidy, the fifty-strong contingent of Monday-Friday duration Annual Convention attendees from Feminist Magazine would again congregate in the set-aside Pier View Lounge for their 3:00 - 3:30 refreshments break.

This morning, those schedule-busting ladies had overrun their 10:00 - 10:30 coffee break by more than an hour.

How many this afternoon, I wondered, of those assertive, bossy, haughty women of wide-ranging ages, would stake their claim to assume their prized position, having-the-floor, holding forth, opinion-positing, centre-of-attention, single-legged postured tenure of their facial-footrest?

I broke into a trot; I wouldn't want to be late getting back.

And besides - Amanda and Zoe would be awaiting the return of their at-work fringe benefit.

The End.