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!
"Mmmm," is all I get from Jess, clearly concentrating on the massage. Maybe even has her eyes closed. I move further onto my side to try and hide my boner, and think of the Redsox winning the World Series to distract myself.
Carrying on with the massage, now almost not looking at the foot for fear of being turned on again, I figure I'll treat her to a real comprehensive session: placing my fingertips in the channels between each long bone on the top of the foot, I gently slide all four fingers up and down between them.
Back to conventional techniques, and holding the side of the foot with both thumbs placed on the inside center of the arch, I apply pressure via the thumbs up and down the foot.
Turning my attention to the long muscle of the foot which begins near the achilles tendon and ends at the knee, I have her straighten out her leg, my right hand pushing the foot back up towards her knee. I massage her calf with the left.
It's torture for me, and I also wonder if maybe I'm taking liberties and making it too sensual, so just in case, I get a bit more mechanical.
Performing ankle rotations, I hold the foot up, and use one hand to rotate the foot around the ankle.
I've apparently relaxed Jess and relieved the discomfort; her eyes half open and glazed over; so much so that it takes a minute or so on me finishing the massage before she realises it's over, her eyes opening with a flurry of blinks and a quizzical head turn.
"Thanks Pete," she says when she awakens fully, sitting upright. Her benign demeanour changes though, as I see a thought pass over her face, her eyes and brow becoming set with it. She's clearly got a mind to get something out of her system.
"Look at me Pete," she commands. It's an order, definitely, but it's firm rather than overly aggressive, so doesn't perturb me too much.
I was looking up at her anyway from the lying position on my side that I'd adopted when massaging with both hands, but now feel compelled to push myself up on one forearm. My eyes look into hers earnestly.
