As the taxi passes landmarks such as Pudding Lane, the scene of the Great Fire of London, Jess explains that the hotel is in the city's financial district; pricey during the week but discounted rates over the weekend. I mean to ask her how long she's going to be around for, things progressing between us and all, but my liquor clouded, dehydrated brain soon forgets as Jess talks.
Once in the room, I don't know quite how to behave or what to do, so just go to the bathroom and have a drink from the faucet, being mindful to hydrate myself as instructed, before using some of Jess' toothpaste to brush my teeth with my finger.
When I get out I find her taking a spare pillow and blanket from a cupboard, then laying them on the floor next to her bed, explaining - "Like I said before, I don't make a habit of picking up cute boys on the underground. I'm still somewhat of a lady, and need to be treated as such."
I'm kinda disappointed, but in my heart of hearts know that at some point in the near future I won't be just relegated to the floor.
My phone pings with a text message causing Jess to turn to me with raised eyebrows. "Katie?" she asks. "Seeing if you've been eaten alive yet?"
"Yeh, she says she bets I'm at your place, and that she hopes you're going to tuck me in," I say smiling. I wasn't joking either.
"Well if you get yourself in like a good boy then maybe I'll do that," she says, also with a smile as she heads into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
Jess takes an interminable time in the bathroom, and I give up waiting to confirm if that's what she really really wants, instead just hopping under the blanket on the floor naked. Kilts and latex don't make good sleep wear after all.
Despite taking a good amount of time in the bathroom, it turns out she hasn't even changed out of her own fetish-wear yet. I see that the usual bright red lipstick and her makeup removed though. It doesn't detract from her beauty in my eyes.
Jess walking to the foot of my makeshift bed, there's a pause as she looks at me and I figure she's about to say something, but then slinks further on, still in her heels, before sitting on the edge of her bed, directly above where my head is resting on the pillow on the floor.
"Man these Louboutins are killing me," she says grimacing, her legs crossed, waggling a stiletto heeled foot in front of my face.
"Can a girl get a foot massage?" she asks.
"Sure," I say, more than happy to oblige.
I've never had a thing for feet. They don't gross me out or anything, but they've just never done anything for me either. Not until now anyway. I guess them being cocooned in nylons gives them a whole different perspective!
Holding the foot with my left hand, I examine her big toe, which I'm happy to see is remarkably dainty looking. Everything else about Jess is so perfect it would be a shame for something like a toe to spoil it.
Then, going from the big toe to the pinkie, I gently pull on them, followed by lightly squeezing each one in turn.
Next, using my thumb finger, I slide it in the gap between each toe - spending time moving it back and forth - rubbing the base.
It's at this point I realise her feet are growing on me. I just didn't realise how erotic a foot massage could be!
Splaying her toes makes me thing of splaying her legs, and a rather vanilla image comes to mind of me splaying her legs between my torso. It's a fleeting image though, as my position makes it easier to imagine her instead putting the sole of her foot on my face, before opening up my mouth with her toes and digging her foot in.
It's a peculiarly appealing thought. So much so that I realise I'm in the process of pitching a tent of the biggest circus in the world type proportions! Man, I wonder if she's noticing it, or whether she's concentrating on her foot!
