The Mirror Ch. 05

What it was, to hold it in his hands, and ...

And then the power shower was turned off.

And the stunning blonde woman – the drop-dead-gorgeous foot goddess, who's face could launch a thousand ships, and who had 'it', in spades, and who had so expertly performed the finest and most exciting absentminded shoe-playing 'exhibition' that James had ever witnessed – stepped out of the opaque-Perspex walled shower stall ... Large as life.

And facing James.

Facing him, in all of her considerable glory.

James was panic stricken.

How could he have been so impetuous? he thought. Coming through the mirror, like that. Coming through the mirror, without so much as a thought about the upshot!

Urgently, James turned around ... to find there was no sign of the mirror!

The stunning blonde woman screamed; a high-pitched shriek, that went on for about five seconds but, to James, seeming like five minutes.

The adjoining door to another room burst open, and the gorgeous blonde woman's husband, a tall, dark haired, muscular-looking man in his late twenties stood in the doorway. Uncertainly, he surveyed the decidedly singular scene. He also had a great tan; the kind you have to 'work' on.

Regarding James – stubble-faced, hair all over the place, dressed only in his pair of white, all-muddied-up football shorts, and holding his wife's pair of bright yellow high-heeled mules – with a look more of puzzlement than of hostility, the man said in an American accent, "Who's he, Sandra? And, where'd he come from?"

Now glaring at James, and hastily donning a white towelling robe as she did so, Sandra replied, "The hell do I know, Chuck? He's just ... some guy. And I don't know where he came from. And besides, he'd have had to get past you to get in here, wouldn't he? So how come you didn't see him, Chuck?"

Chuck couldn't answer that one.

"Well, I heard you scream. So, what was he doing here, Sandra ... in our bedroom?"

"I just stepped outta the shower, and, well ..."

"And what, Sandra? I've never known 'just some guy' make you scream before."

"He was ... making out with my shoe, Chuck. You should have seen him! He was actually licking it! Ugh! Can you imagine? And the look on his face! All sorta depraved. That's why I yelled. I – I guess he kinda freaked me out, okay? I mean, he's gotta be some kinda pervert, hasn't he? Licking my shoe, where my sweaty foot's been?"

"Um ... I guess," said Chuck.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Get him, Chuck! We've gotta make a Citizen's Arrest. But first, I wanna piece of his ass! No guy makes out with my shoes!"

James was wondering how the hell he was going to get out of this one – and keep his ass in one piece – when Chuck made James's mind up for him.

As Chuck charged at him like an angry Rottweiler, sicced on him by an even angrier mistress, James drew his right arm back and with all the strength he could muster he hurled Sandra's left, bright yellow high-heeled mule right at Chuck's fast-approaching head ... And got lucky.

It was like Chuck hadn't seen the projectile coming, because he could have easily batted it away. But somehow, James's missile sailed through the air in a seemingly undetectable parabola, and the heel tip of Sandra's left, not insubstantial mule hit Chuck right in the mouth, chipping one of his front teeth.

Upon his being so assailed, Chuck stood stock-still and, holding a hand to his mouth he emitted a high, barely audible keening sound.

James knew he was in trouble now. Big trouble. If Chuck got his hands on him now ...

He needed to seize this fortunate chance to escape ... but where to?

In blind panic James rushed past the temporarily immobilised Chuck, and into the adjoining room from which Chuck had emerged ... And yes: there was the door to the outside!

"Bathdard!" said Chuck, ineffectually pawing at his evasive assailant one-handed as James took his chance to dink and dodge past him.

"He's getting away, Chuck!" wailed Sandra. "Stop him! He's still got one of my shoes! Don't let him get away, Chuck. I wanna piece of his ass!"

"Don't worry, Thandra. I won't let that athole get away. Becoth I wanna pieth of hith ath, too!" lisped the enraged Chuck.

James threw himself out of the adjoining room's door, and found himself in a narrow corridor. Numbered doors were spaced at irregular intervals on either side ... I must be in a hotel, James marvelled.

To his right, just up ahead at the end of the corridor, was another door. Time being of the essence – Chuck wouldn't be immobilised for long – James ran to it headlong.

He frantically opened the door, stepped through ... and James just could not believe, what he saw.

Now it was James, who was suddenly stopped in his tracks, and standing stock-still, temporarily immobilised.

And, despite his desperation to escape from the outraged and enraged Chuck, and his lovely sex-kitten wife, the vengeance-hungry Sandra, James could only stop, and stare, at the scene that greeted his eyes.

James had been right: He was, in a hotel ... sort of.

A floating hotel.

In stunned amazement, James stared at the most beautiful blue sky he had ever seen. And at the endless expanse of blue-green ocean; misty spray, breaking free from the whitecaps of the larger swells.

In utter incredulity, James stared at the rows and rows of sun-loungers, occupied mostly by young women.

Some of the young women were topless. While others wore skimpy, nothing-to-them bikinis ... so they might as well have been.

And there, on a flag, fluttering and flapping in the breeze atop its flagpole, was a travel company logo he recognised: On a cheery bright yellow happy-faced-sun background, printed in bright blue letters was the legend: Sunshine Holidays.

James couldn't believe it.

He was actually aboard an ocean-going liner – a Sunshine Holidays cruise ship.

Sunshine Holidays, James knew, was a British-based travel company, with affiliated offices and agents worldwide.

And, upon his seeing another fluttering flag, James saw that she was actually the Lady Caroline – the pride of the fleet.

She was named after Caroline Flynt: the British Prime Minister, and leader of the Authoritarian Female Party (AFP).

Her sister ship, James knew, was the Lady Theresa. She was named after Theresa Maynard: Home Secretary.

And, just as the majestic-looking ships were coming in to commission last May, upon the Authoritarian Female Party's landslide General Election victory, Sunshine Holidays had also named all of the other ships of this splendid new generation of cruise liners after AFP Cabinet Ministers.

Making his way down towards the crowded sundeck, James observed the rows and rows of young women on sun-loungers, who were 'working' on their tans.

All of the sunbathers appeared to be in their twenties, and James wondered if this was one of Sunshine Holidays' 18 to 30 holidays.

Upon arriving at the rows of sunbathing young women, James saw that most of them were lying on their fronts, so as to feel the sun on their backs ... And so that they were facing away from him, with their bare soles excitingly displayed to his view, toes pointing downwards. Though some of them, with their lower legs languidly raised behind them, absentmindedly waved their feet in the air as they read their book, or magazine, or newspaper.

Some of the sunbathers, though, were lying on their backs, so as to feel the sun on their fronts ... And so that they were not facing away from James.

But facing towards him.

And, as he slowly walked past them, the female sunbathers – and a few men, too – who were facing towards him, raised their sunglasses, and lowered their book, or magazine, or newspaper, and regarded with open curiosity the unkempt, unshaven, all-muddied-up white football shorts attired James.

As James promenaded past all of those bronzed babes' bare soles, under the mistress of the mirror's ever strengthening influence over him James was making virtually no attempt now, to disguise his keen ... interest.

Those young ladies who were lying on their fronts, and who were as yet unaware of James's watchful presence – and oblivious, as to his ... interest – continued to languidly raise their lower legs behind them, and absentmindedly wave their feet in the air.

Some of them, with their legs up straight, angled their feet this way, that way – every which way. While others idly crossed and recrossed their ankles; their soles, too, catching the sun from ever changing angles.

Though the sun-kissed soles of most of the other, non-foot-waving young women were relatively motionless, James's finely tuned antenna unfailingly picked up on any such sudden absentminded movements of toe scrunching, wiggling, and splaying as was 'on offer', as they idly whiled away yet another shipboard day in the hot sunshine.

Now though, the lovely Sandra was emerging through the door behind James. And, his ... unconventional dress-code attired figure being so hard to miss, she spotted James's ambling, insouciant form immediately.

And now it was the stunning blonde's turn, to be stopped in her tracks, and stand stock-still, temporarily immobilised. She couldn't believe it.

The sheer gall, of the guy. Just nonchalantly strolling along the sundeck, and blatantly staring at the sunbathing women's feet, marvelled Sandra.

Sandra was barefoot and, holding aloft her left, bright yellow high-heeled mule, the gorgeous blonde angrily and loudly demanded of James, "Hey, you! Gimme that shoe!"

And her chipped-toothed husband was right behind her. "Bathdard! I'm gonna have a pieth of your ath! And thath a promith!" vowed Chuck.

In the sudden commotion caused by Sandra and Chuck's threats of impending violence, almost everyone on the sundeck was aware of James's presence now.

"Stop him! Stop that guy! He's some sorta foot pervert!" yelled Sandra. "And he's got one of my shoes!"

Most of the sunbathers merely looked on with mild interest, and remained where they were ... 'working' on their tans.

But a good number of them, perhaps seeing it as their moral duty as good citizens to aid in the fugitive's capture – or maybe they were just bored of soaking up the sun all day, and so were glad of the opportunity to participate in this small, monotony-relieving diversion – sprang up from their sun-loungers, and eagerly joined in the chase.

"Where are all the guys?" asked Sandra, of the nearest of her summarily recruited female posse members.

"They're all watching the World Series," was the reply James heard.

"Who the hell is he? And what's he done?" James heard one of his other female pursuers ask Sandra, in tones of breathless excitement.

"I dunno. He's ... just some guy. But he suddenly appeared in my cabin – appeared out of nowhere! I'd just stepped outta the shower, and I caught him making out with my shoe! You should have seen him – the look on his face! All sorta depraved. He was licking my shoe – actually licking it! Can you imagine? Ugh! Licking my shoe, right where my sweaty foot's been! Ain't that right, Chuck?"

"Yeth. He'th thum thort of thyoo-kithing, thyoo-licking thicko. And, tho help me, I'm gonna have a pieth of hith ath!"

"What?" asked yet another of the pursuing female posse members. "You mean, he's one of those ... foot fetish guys?"

"You got it!" confirmed the stunning Sandra.

Thoroughly panicked, James darted into the first corridor that he came to – and found himself trapped.

James had blundered into the cruise ship's keep-fit gymnasium, and the chasing mob were right behind him ... Now, he was for it.

At first, James thought there were more than twenty young ladies in the gymnasium. Not least, because the sentiments of angry indignation that assailed his ears were vociferous and vitriolic, at his having burst into their aerobics class so rudely.

Then James realised his mistake: it was an optical illusion.

Because the lower walls of the gym were faced with mirrors, the multitudinous reflections had fooled James into thinking there were many more leotard-wearing young women in the gym than were actually present – about a dozen, rather than the twenty-plus that he'd initially imagined.

But whether there were a dozen, or twenty-plus leotard-wearing, all-sweated-up and angry young women, James was still in the same quandary.

But now, at their seeing the entrance of the angry-looking Sandra and Chuck, closely followed by their large and mostly female posse of superbly tanned young women, the ladies of the aerobics class fell silent, looking on bemusedly.

"Now, we've got him!" exclaimed the exultant Sandra.

Wielding her left, bright yellow high-heeled mule like some preferred weapon of combat, and eyeing James maliciously, like some evil-minded female conqueror, the stunning Sandra gloated, "Oh yes ... Now, we've got him."

The lady in charge of the aerobics class – a very attractive, lean and fit-as-a-fiddle blonde in her early twenties – complained exasperatedly, "Er, excuse me. But would you mind telling me just what the hell is going on? I'm trying to conduct an aerobics class here!"

"Yeth. We're gonna have a pieth of hith ath," explained Chuck.

By now, James was almost backed up against the far wall ... there was nowhere left to go.

To James's horror, Chuck started to advance threateningly on him. Pointing to his newly chipped front tooth, Chuck snarled, "Thee thith? Bathdard! I'm gonna have a pieth of your ath!" he promised. "Tho help me."

"I'm very sorry, sir," offered James. "I didn't mean it."

"Not so fast, Chuck!" commanded Sandra. "I want my turn with this little jerk-off, first. Ya hear me? I'm gonna make him pay – and pay real good! Now, back off!" she told her husband authoritatively.

"Nobody metheth with my wife! Not even me! Ha ha ha!" Chuck blustered, and laughed awkwardly, in trying to save face in front of the watching posse of mostly female pursuers, and the annoyed ladies of the interrupted aerobics class. "You'll thoon thee," he assured them.

To James's dread, the stunning Sandra started to advance menacingly on him. He knew the game was up ... it was all in her eyes.

"This is the end-game, shoe guy. And now ... I'm gonna finish your ass," promised Sandra as, with her left, bright yellow high-heeled mule tightly gripped in her right hand, she exultantly moved in on James.

At seeing James cringing defenceless before her, and awaiting his fate in mute trepidation – his fate, at her hands – the stunning Sandra paused to stand triumphantly over him, and savour her highly satisfying moment all the more ... Oh, she was really going to enjoy this!

As her rapt, admiring husband, and her excitedly anticipating audience of female fugitive-pursuers and leotard-wearing aerobics ladies eagerly looked on, Sandra gleefully told James, "Now, asshole. You little foot freak ... you're gonna get what's coming to you."

Even more encouraged, by her husband's and her larger audience's vociferous and enthusiastic sentiments of approval, the fabulous Sandra went on, "So, you like my shoes, do you? Well, let me tell you something, you shoe-kissing pervert, you – you shoe-licking little jerk-off. I like them, too. And I don't appreciate them being all slobbered and slavered over! See where I'm coming from?"

"I'm very sorry, Miss," offered James. "I didn't mean to. I ... I couldn't help it."

The gorgeous Sandra waited for the riotous noise of the latest wave of encouragement to abate some, before going on. "Before I hand your sorry ass over to the ship's Captain, I'm gonna give you a good taste of my shoe, sonny, that you ain't, gonna like so much. And that you ain't never gonna forget," promised the crowd-pleasing, incomparable Sandra.

"See what you've done to my Chuck's teeth, shoe guy? Well, that's what I'm gonna do, to your shoe-kissing, shoe-licking little head with the heel of my shoe: Chip it. All over ... Chip. Chip. Chip. Chip ... All over."

Chuck shouted excitedly, "Yeah, baby! Go girl! I can't wait to thee thith! Let him have it, Thandra!"

The time for talking, was over.

And, thus encouraged, the lovely Sandra menacingly raised her left, bright yellow high-heeled mule high above her head, and like a wildcat she launched herself at James, intent on delivering on her head-chipping promise.

James braced himself.

Braced himself, against the chosen chastisement that he knew the sensational Sandra was about to administer.

About to administer, with the heel of her left shoe.

About to administer, with the heel of her left shoe, a frenzied flurry of retributive blows to his vulnerable head ... Chip. Chip. Chip. Chip ... All over.

And, James knew, as they avidly witnessed the sweet-faced Sandra's merciless downpour of blows showering down upon his gravely under-protected head, Sandra's all-fired-up audience would enthusiastically shout and yell their approval and encouragement, and energetically urge Sandra on to even greater efforts ... to even greater, head-chipping.

Now, at seeing the start of the supreme Sandra's left, high-heeled mule's doom-laden descent, in sheer panic James tried to back away further ... Only to find that he now had nowhere left to go. That he was now almost backed up to the gymnasium's reflective lower wall.

And, in that moment, when time seemed to stand still, James could see it in Sandra's eyes. Could see it in her eyes, that she knew she had him, now.

That she had him, exactly where she wanted him. That she had him, at her mercy. That he had nowhere left to run to. That he had no avenue of escape – that he was trapped!

This was it, then ...

James was trapped, by his angel-faced assailant.

Hopeless, James resigned himself to his fate.

James would never forget the look on the superlative Sandra's lovely, launch-a-thousand-ships face; an expression of such malicious glee as, with great velocity, Sandra brought down the heel of her shoe – her left, bright yellow high-heeled mule.

The shoe, that James had so reverently held in his very own two hands, and so excitedly sniffed, and so adoringly kissed, and so lustfully licked – so ardently worshiped.

James would never forget the look on the sublime Sandra's angelic, come-to-bed face; an expression of such malevolent delight as, powerfully and accurately, and viciously and cruelly, Sandra brought the heel of her left shoe down towards his gravely under-protected head at frightening speed.

At a speed, James feared, that was going to crack his skull ... the first of many, such cracks. Crack his skull, just as easily, and just as surely, and just as remorselessly as Sandra would crack the shell of a soft-boiled egg with her breakfast spoon ... Chip. Chip. Chip. Chip ... All over.

James would never forget the look on the spectacular Sandra's captivating, head-turning face; an expression of such triumphant, vengeful glee as, eyes shining in victory, she eagerly anticipated the now fast-approaching moment when the heel of her left, bright yellow high-heeled mule would impact the top of her helpless and hopelessly trapped victim's vulnerable head with a resounding, and highly satisfying crack!

The resounding, and highly satisfying crack, that would be only the first of many.

The first of many, that the sensational Sandra would sadistically administer ... Chip. Chip. Chip. Chip ... All over.

But, in the split-second moment before the first of those terrible vengeful impacts could become a painful reality, James instinctively cringed back from the incoming blow.

Cringed back, from the sweet-faced Sandra's shoe-wielding assault ... And passed through the mirrored surface of the gymnasium's reflective wall ... and back into his living room.

James could not believe it.

Upon hearing the sounds of familiar voices; voices that were raised, in confusion and frustration and anguish, James hurriedly got up from the carpet where he'd just been ... deposited.