The Barefoot Barstoolistas

Dirty Feet are up Pete's Street.

Peter Paris was about to bookmark his place in his Explore Malaysia travel and adventure booklet to finish reading later when the two pictured articles on the following pages six and seven caught his eye, snagged his attention - and quickened his pulse.

Until then, nothing that Pete had read about the red light district of Bang Tam had piqued his interest. But after rereading the piece on page six about the Barefoot Barstoolistas, he reached for his phone to call his travel agency about his flights and hotel for a ten-day stay in Bang Tam.

Pete hoped it would be Tanya who answered his call - she was a bit of all right. Tanya was the travel shop owners' daughter. She worked at Turner's Travel full-time; one day, the business would be hers. But there were no airs about Tanya - she was one of the girls. A few times, Pete had almost asked Tanya out. He'd even sensed that Tanya wanted him to ask her out, but he'd put that down to wishful thinking. And the other girls were always doing that thing with their eyes: they would look at him and then look meaningfully at Tanya. But what if he was misreading their meaning? So Pete had held back, fearing it would make things a bit awkward for himself and the girls at his favourite travel agency afterwards if their boss' daughter Tanya turned him down for a date. But maybe soon he would pluck up the courage - fortune favours the brave! And now Pete's luck was in; it was honeycake Tanya who answered pleasantly: "Turner's Travel - Tanya speaking. Good afternoon. How can we help you today?"

Pete was a regular customer, and Tanya and the other four girls who worked full-time at Turner's Travel were accustomed to Pete phoning or calling in at the shop to ask about any late deals, mostly to Amsterdam and Hamburg. Pete was a decent looking young guy, drove a late model car, was obviously okay for money - and the girls agreed among themselves that a hunk like Pete didn't have to stray so far from home to get a little bit of what he fancied. And the travel agency girls were pretty clued up about what tickled Pete's fancy, judging from his destination choices and his in-resort itineraries. And Pete was an okay bloke; sort him out with a decent discount, and he would sort you out with a decent bottle of wine. And now, here was Mr Paris again, phoning to inquire about somewhere far afield of his more usual haunts. And this time, Tanya had Pete's particular tastes pinned. The dead giveaway was that Pete was quoting details to her from page six of one of her travel agency's illustrated booklets - the one she had given to him 'especially'. Wait until she told the other girls that their Mr Paris was going to Bang Tam!

Tanya asked Pete how soon he wanted to go because she could offer him a fantastic late-availability deal: a whopping fifty per cent discount on his flights if he could be at Gatwick Airport within an hour for the 14:00 flight to Kuala Lumpur. Tanya informed Pete that his flight to Kuala Lumpur with two connections and then a local hop would take 24 hours - and the same coming home. Today was Thursday, which meant Pete would arrive home in twelve days on Tuesday afternoon.

Pete lived in south London, which was handy for both Heathrow and Gatwick airports. And he was a self-employed electrician, so as well as earning good money, he could work his hours to suit himself. And because Pete was a frequent traveller, his shots were up to date, so the world was his oyster. So he officially declared himself on holiday for twelve days.

Pete read out his bank card details to the ever-helpful travel agent. Tanya promptly confirmed payment for his flights and hotel accommodation and said an envelope would be waiting for him at his Check-in desk at the South Terminal. Tanya also told Pete that the most favoured currency in Bang Tam was the US dollar. But the British pound was also welcomely accepted, and since there was so little difference in the rates at the moment, it was not worth the money-changer fees to exchange his pounds for dollars. Tanya thanked Pete for his repeat custom, said she was glad she could offer such a considerable discount today and wished him a great holiday. Pete thanked Tanya in return and assured her that he would have a great time. Oh, and he wouldn't forget to put his hand in his pocket to sort her out with a good bottle of Barossa Valley shiraz - her favourite. Tanya said what all of the travel agency girls always said: 'Mr Paris - there is absolutely no need!' But Pete could tell from her voice that Tanya was smiling with pleasure at Pete's token of appreciation.

It was amazing how the girls at his favoured travel agency always came through for him with something, especially at short notice. And now Pete smiled to himself at his good fortune again, this time getting lucky with a massive half price reduction on his airfares to Malaysia. Albeit, his air tickets were still surprisingly expensive. And he'd had to cough up full whack plus an eye-watering single-occupancy supplement for his room-only hotel package. But he wasn't going to gripe to Tanya about that - that wouldn't impress her. And anyway, what the hell - he could afford it.

Pete decided against driving to the airport - it was too last-minute for that. Pete didn't want to risk missing his flight just because of issues with parking his car - as had almost happened once before when he became stuck behind a driver who'd had a mishap negotiating her way up to the next parking level. Pete had previously found the local 24-hour airport taxi service reliable, so he phoned them instead. The operator told him a car was now on its way to his address. "Brilliant!" Pete said.

Pete always travelled light, and now he set about throwing some warm weather clothing and some toiletries into his black leather carry-on bag - he would buy whatever else he might need in-resort.

Pete was no sooner outside when he saw his cab coming down the street towards him. Great! Pete thought. He waved, and the airport taxi driver flashed his headlights in friendly acknowledgement.

Pete handed his taxi driver a £50 note in advance payment and a healthy tip. Pete said, "Gatwick - South Terminal. And I'm in a bit of a hurry. My flight departs in less than an hour."

The taxi driver said, "Right - I hear you. Get in the cab then, and fasten your safety belt while I put your valise in the boot."

'Valise'? Is this guy having a laugh? Pete thought. "Thanks," Pete said. "But let's not waste time with that; it can come in the cab with me."

In his driving seat again, the taxi driver said, "Gatwick - South Terminal. About fifteen minutes. Let's go!" Pete heard the squeal of the tyres as his healthily tipped driver pulled smartly away from the kerb.

"Going somewhere nice?" the cabbie asked. The airport taxi drivers' stock pleasantry; they couldn't give a toss where their fares were going.

"Yes, thank you," Pete said, not caring to elaborate on the 'where' - and especially not on the 'why'.

Pete leaned back in the back seat of the airport taxi and relaxed.

Dirty feet Pete was on his way to the red light district of Bang Tam to see the Barefoot Barstoolistas.

***

Peter Paris was walking around Bang Tam with such a raging hard-on that it must have stuck out a mile in his loose-fitting warm weather shorts. It seemed to Pete that all of the women here wore flip-flops.

Half an hour ago, Pete had checked in at his hotel, the Pagoda Palace. It hadn't taken him long to unpack his 'valise'.

While he was unpacking, a housekeeping maid called Tan-Yu knocked at his door to enquire if he wanted any room service. From the look on her face, Pete knew she wasn't talking about smoothing down the counterpane on his bed. Pete towered over her - Tan-Yu was a diminutive figure at barely five feet tall, and he thought she was a real piece of eye candy. Pete automatically looked down at her feet. And of course, she was wearing flip-flops - hers were yellow foam-rubber ones. Tan-Yu's feet were dainty, adorable - had he ever seen prettier feet? Pete seriously doubted it. Tan-Yu caught Pete's reflexive downward look, which then lingered a second too long, and she smiled at him knowingly - the cat was out of the bag. Tan-Yu said, "Sure not want room service?" His face turning beet-red, Pete stammered an excuse; told the maid he was too jetlagged for 'room service' - maybe tomorrow.

Tan-Yu said, "You English! I like English. What your name?" Pete knew she could easily find out at Reception, so he said, "Peter." Tan-Yu said, "Peter - nice name! And you nice man! And you footboy! Tan-Yu know footboy when see one! National hobby! Teasing footboys national hobby! Big laugh, to all girls, ladies - old ladies too - teasing footboys! All know footboy when see one! Love it - make man pump meat to feet! Many girl find footboy, marry him - make husband submissive! Is ultimate conquest for woman! Because easy life - live like queen! Peter, I come back tomorrow. Tan-Yu know what Peter like - Tan-Yu get Peter off nice!"

Tan-Yu walked away down the corridor, and Pete stood at his door to watch Tan-Yu as she exaggeratedly slapped her flip-flops against her heels and walked on her tippy toes to display her golden-bronze soles to tease him. Tan-Yu looked back over her shoulder and caught Pete's giveaway look again. "Tomorrow, Peter! Don't forget - room service! Tan-Yu know what Peter like - Tan-Yu get Peter off nice!"

It was midafternoon, and Pete was strolling around his exotic locale to get his bearings. The place would look much different at nighttime, and it would be easy to lose his way back to his hotel - hence his recce.

But Pete wasn't ambling aimlessly; he was gravitating to this evening's destination for an early preview. The two attractions of his interest were both open from 10 a.m. - 4 a.m.

Intensifying the raging hard-on that the hotel maid Tan-Yu had given him, everywhere Pete looked, there were slim brown-skinned ladies with lovely legs and beautiful bronzed feet. Some of them looked at Pete and smiled as if they knew what was on his mind - just like Tan-Yu. Was he so transparent? Or was footboy-teasing truly the national hobby, as Tan-Yu had claimed, of all girls, women, and even old ladies too? And that "all know footboy when see one". From all of their seemingly knowing smiling looks, Pete could very easily believe it, was all but persuaded. Pete watched them walk, ogling their shapely bare soles as their rubber, leather or plastic flip-flops slapped against their heels. Producing their discernibly different sounds - or notes - the heel-slapping of flip-flops were all around him, an ever-present symphony of background music.

Pete had walked a round-about route but landmarked some of the more notable establishments. Now that he was here, he estimated it would be a ten-minute direct walk tonight from his hotel to the red light district.

The set-ups of his two particular interests were just as pictured on pages six and seven of the Explore Malaysia travel and adventure booklet that Tanya had given him as a valued regular customer at her travel agency.

Well, Pete had travelled a long way - but how far would he go? How adventurous was he? That was the question he had asked himself when reading of his secondary interest: How adventurous was he?

The two establishments that Pete had come all this way to see at considerable expense - the first his primary interest, the second his intrigued curiosity - were the adjacent but partitioned bar counters with identical red leather and chrome runged high barstools.

The barstools at both bars were numbered and shared a raised platform to serve their common purpose: to enhance the view and permit more intimate access to their respective extra fee-paying patrons seated close behind on their correspondingly numbered seats.

There were twenty numbered barstools at the bar counter of his primary interest and ten numbered barstools at the adjacent bar counter on the other side of the partition: a cheap construct of a five-foot-high wall of opaque plastic sheeting nailed to spaced-apart bamboo poles.

Pete was standing far enough behind the premises' 'privacy' separator to see that the high barstools at both bars were all seating one of their respective attractions. Even at this time of the day, business was good.

Pete was captivated - he had to drag his eyes away from his secondary interest and remind himself why he was here. He moved over to his left to block out the albeit distant and indistinct view of the second bar's attractions and get a full-frontal of the first bar - his primary interest.

The neon signs above the first bar counter proclaimed and invited:

'We are the Barefoot Barstoolistas!'

'Expert prick teasers!'

'Pay up - footboys! Only $10 or £10.'

'Buy a Barefoot Barstoolista a drink to view her sexy soles for five minutes!'

'For another $10/£10, move up close to her sexy soles for a sniff! For another $10/£10, kiss her sexy soles!'

'For another $50/£50, pump meat to feet - to get off good! Come into our backroom for five minutes to lick the soles and suck the toes of your Barefoot Barstoolista!'

'Free triple-ply tissue paper!'

'And don't forget to wash your hands afterwards!'

A white plastic chair was positioned close behind each of the twenty numbered high barstools. Every white plastic chair had a waste paper bin attached to a chair leg; quick-release clips facilitated fast and easy emptying into the dumpster shared with the adjacent establishment.

The shared dumpster - or hopper; it had a hatch at the front to enable bagging-up of excess contents - was overdue for emptying. The lid could not contain the ever-growing mountain of soiled white tissue papers, some of which escaped to be blown down the road by the light breeze. As well as the overfull hopper, there were about twenty filled supermarket shopping bags, tied off in knots, awaiting pick up by the bin lorry.

Pete averted his eyes from the unsightly collection of filled and knotted off plastic shopping bags and the overfilled shared hopper and its unseemly escaping contents and looked at the scene in front of him.

Perched on their high barstools, the Barefoot Barstoolistas all wore flexible rubberised plastic flip-flops of different colours. And they wore a logoed uniform: a short white dress, on the back a suggestive image of a Barstoolista, resting one foot on the rung of her barstool and hooking her other foot behind her ankle, seductively exposing her bare sole. Souvenir T-shirts depicting the evocative portrayal in a choice of colours were available for $20/£20 each or two T-shirts for $30/£30.

It was still only midafternoon, but every white plastic chair was taken by a sole-watcher, shamelessly fapping to the prick-teasing feet of his chosen Barefoot Barstoolista. Yet more customers formed queues, waiting for a vacancy to 'buy a drink' to sit up-close for five minutes behind their choice of Barefoot Barstoolista.

The sole-watcher seated in the white plastic chair behind Barstool Number 5 finished up, wiped up, deposited his used piece of free triple-ply fap paper in the bin attached to the leg of his chair, got up and went to wash his hands at the pipe stand.

That was the cue for the guy behind the vacated white plastic chair at the front of the queue of six waiting customers to go to the Proprietress at the bar counter.

The Proprietress sat elevated at her cash register, head and shoulders above her Barstoolistas.

Pete stood by to watch the ensuing transaction and hear what was said.

Pete saw the guy hand over his $10 note to the Proprietress at the cash register to 'buy a drink' for Barefoot Barstoolista: Number 5. The Proprietress swapped the guy's $10 note for the promised sheet of triple-ply tissue paper. A short conversation ensued, after which the Proprietress indicated that the guy should present himself to his chosen Barefoot Barstoolista. The guy's chosen Barefoot Barstoolista smiled at him and said, "So - footboy! You like my feet?" The guy vigorously nodded that he liked her feet. Pointing at the guy's free sheet of triple-ply tissue paper issued by the Proprietress, she laughed and said, "You will need that!" She said, in her sing-song voice, "You nice man! What your name?" The guy said, "Chuck." She said, "Chuck - nice name! You American - many name Chuck! My name is Mia. You wanna come with me to backroom afterwards - pay another fifty dollars to Mia? Pump meat to feet - lick my dirty soles and suck clean my toes while I lie on backroom couch? You get off good!" Chuck nodded eagerly again. Mia then adopted a mock-stern face, wagged her finger at Chuck and said, "But no funny stuff!" Chuck shook his head emphatically that there would be no funny stuff. Mia said, "And for only another ten dollars, what about good, long sniff under Mia's toes first to get excited? And for only ten more dollars, I let you kneel at barstool to kiss Mia's soles in respect?" Again Chuck nodded enthusiastically. Mia said, "Then pay now - in advance. Pay another seventy dollars to lady at cash register." Chuck nodded to Mia, and he duly handed over three twenty-dollar notes and another ten-dollar note to the Proprietress. The Proprietress asked Chuck if he wanted to buy a souvenir T-shirt. Chuck said, "Yes, ma'am," and bought two Barefoot Barstoolista T-shirts for the $30 deal. The Proprietress told Chuck, "When wear one - think of your Barefoot Barstoolista." Chuck assured her that he would. Barefoot Barstoolista: Number 5 told Chuck again that he was a nice man. She said she would give him another sheet of triple-ply fap paper free of charge in the backroom later, reminded him that in the backroom it was man and not Mia who pumped meat to feet, and invited him to take his white plastic seat.

Barefoot Barstoolistas? More like flip-flop floozies! But that was okay, Pete thought. It was more than okay - their flip-flop feet were incredibly arousing! Just damned incredible! Just ask that guy over there, fresh out of white plastic seat Number 5 and washing his hands at the pipe stand!

The guy hadn't needed to pay another $10/£10 to sniff Mia's feet; hadn't needed to outlay an extra $10/£10 to kiss them, hadn't needed to shell out a further $50/£50 to go into the backroom for five minutes with Mia to 'get off good'. No - for his measly $10/£10 minimum fee, he had gotten his rocks off just from sole-watching right there in his white plastic chair! What ridiculously outstanding value!

And now, albeit from a distance, Pete saw Barefoot Barstoolista: Number 5 - Mia - go into prick-teasing action. Expertly, Mia fooled around with her pink rubberised plastic flip-flops on the circular chrome rung of her high barstool for her latest customer. The soles of Mia's feet were dirty but not filthy-dirty - just as Pete liked them. And Pete could tell that Chuck was now enjoying them greatly. And Chuck had just shelled out the premium-price fifty dollars to lick Mia's dirty soles and suck clean her toes while she lay on a comfy couch in the backroom - to 'get off good!'.

Dirty feet Pete's raging hard-on had not abated since leaving his hotel room. First, there had been the hotel maid Tan-Yu's audacious advances and foot teasing, then the beautiful bronzed flip-flop feet of girls, women, and even old ladies - and seeing their knowing smiles and laughing eyes.

And now, albeit distantly, seeing Mia's incredible barstool antics almost had him soiling his shorts prematurely. And that wouldn't do - wouldn't do at all!

Pete would be back tonight with his £10 to 'buy a Barefoot Barstoolista a drink' to sit up-close behind her in a white plastic chair. It would be worth every penny to be 'prick-teased expertly' by her fap-worthy dirty feet - and that went for his additional £50 when afterwards he went to the backroom for five minutes with his Barefoot Barstoolista to 'get off good!'.