Tuesday, March 31, 2009
The other day, Miss Jackson beheld my pachyderm’s soles, and hurried into hysteria. She asked if I had played wild sport barefoot as a child. I confirmed. Then, I confided in her about this young, pretty pedicurist at my mother’s hairdresser’s. I started a wanton weekly visit after seeing and ogling her the first time. As she masterfully massages here, and sensuously caresses that spot, she flashes a wily wink every time she unearths a neuro-ticklish neighbourhood. After each winsome session, she’d cajole me for my number, again, and ask when I had some free evening time! If a pedicure is such a carnal contact sport, I wonder why any love interest would push me to play.