Ch. 11: Community servant David Smith makes a mind-shattering discovery.
I, eighteen-year-old David Smith, had now been Canford town's Sock Room community servant for three months.
In the past month, both my 'work' related and my personal situations had taken further turns for the worse.
As well as 'volunteering' to serve as Friday-evening Footboy in the town centre Foot Bar theme pub, and working all day Saturday in the Sock Room for no recompense, now I was working in the Sock Room all day Sunday, too, for absolutely no monetary addition to my weekly Unemployment Benefits allowance.
But, putting all of that into the shade, was that my girlfriend Tina - the heaven of High St burger bar Burger Heaven - along with her counterperson colleague and friend, Janice, who was also her flatmate - were both now incarcerated indefinitely, pending 'rehabilitation', in Greystone Prison.
*
It was the Friday before last, when things had finally come to a head ...
It had been at about 11 pm when, serving as Footboy in the Foot Bar, and while right in the middle of 'providing' an at-the-Foster's-tap 'foot rub' to Foot Bar proprietress Jacqueline, that to my inexpressible dismay Tina and Janice had come into the female-patrons-only establishment with their loudhailers.
Behind the bar, and stationed sitting cross-legged on the floor, I'd been out of sight to my girlfriend Tina and her best friend Janice, who, while voicing their anti-AFP protestations at deafening decibels, had thus been totally unaware of my subjugated and profoundly ignominious presence there.
Totally unaware of my put-upon presence - thank the stars - as the footsore Foot Bar proprietress Jacqueline gratefully eased free her foot from her rather tight-fitting Foot Bar uniform four-inch heeled red leather pump, and vigorously availed herself of her first of the evening and by then desperately needed at-the-Foster's-tap 'foot rub' ... Massaging the olive-skinned sole of her right foot into my conveniently positioned face, as one-legged she stood and filled the first of two half-pint schooner glasses with the famed amber nectar. And then switching to her left foot, to again carelessly crush my nose with the bottom of her bare bronzed heel, and absently mash my lips with the ball of her foot as again she pulled down on the Foster's lager tap and slowly filled another half-pint schooner glass with the drink from Down Under.
But of course, while Jacqueline had duly dispensed successive orders of the Foot Bar's most popular drink, I'd heard every dissenting, disparaging, AFP-denouncing word that Tina and Janice had said. Every single word, that Tina - the girl who by now I loved and adored - and her close friend Janice Middleton - who albeit upon short acquaintance I also thought the world of - had yelled through their loudhailers.
Crystal, one of Foot Bar proprietress Jacqueline's glamour-model gorgeous barmaids, at this intolerable intrusion had got straight on the phone to complain, urgently summoning a couple of Community Service Officers to come and remove the two "anti-social nuisances" from the premises.
Within minutes, two CSO's had arrived in response to Crystal's frantic phone call. And at taking in the by then chaotic situation, the two AFP-employed young women promptly placed Tina and Janice under arrest for Gross Disorderly Conduct and took them into custody.
Sitting on the floor behind the bar, with the olive-complexioned soles of footsore Foot Bar proprietress Jacqueline's at-the-Foster's-tap 'foot rub' availing feet alternately making the most of my perfectly positioned face, I was all broke up, at hearing Tina and Janice's being arrested again.
But that was the least of it.
Tina and Janice were to face further, and far more severe charges. And there were to be no more lenient tellings off. They had both now used up all of their 'second' chances.
On the following Saturday morning, after their uncomfortable overnight stay in one of the Town Hall's holding cells, two CSO's escorted the handcuffed Tina and Janice to the Community Service Liason Centre to be brought before the Community Service Liaison Officer and local Authoritarian Female Party representative, Ms Harriet Harmman.
For Ms Harmman, who had already made her position clear on numerous previous occasions and in no uncertain terms, to the thin-ice treading pair brought before her, this was the proverbial final straw.
Ms Harmman had ordered that Tina Marshall and Janice Middleton be detained, pending her considered decision on sentence, until Monday.
And so it had transpired, that last Monday (a week ago today), for their repeated seditious transgressions, Ms Harmman had told Tina and Janice that she had now lost all patience with them and that they had finally exhausted her leniency.
Ms Harmman now had no recourse, after Tina and Janice had not only repeatedly flung back in her face her outreaching 'second' chances to reform and conform and to toe the AFP line, but instead had committed yet further egregious offences against the Female-Friendly Code legislation, other than to put her foot down.
To have Tina and Janice sent, forthwith, and indefinitely, to the by now infamous 'rehabilitative' correctional centre, near Brighton: Greystone Prison.
*
Trying to distract my mind away from the belittling business at hand: attending at the foot of Sock Room 'regular' Cheryl Chubb's recliner, and tongue-bathing her days' unwashed, dirty filthy, stinky bare feet - her Monday-morning feet - I pondered my imagined perils of Tina and Janice's prison-cell predicament.
My mind was a whirl. A maelstrom of pernicious possibilities of the dreadful degradations that might be befalling my sweetheart and her best friend was continually playing across my cinematic mindscape.
I'd heard some deeply disturbing rumours about Greystone Prison, which I'd learned was run entirely be females.
To all intents and purposes, Greystone Prison was a male inmate prison. But the AFP government had decided that the all-female run correctional centre would be an excellent place to incarcerate pending 'rehabilitation' the growing number of anti-AFP female dissidents.
Both of them beautiful young women, I feared that Tina and Janice would be perfect prey, to the predatory lesbian element of the infamous 'Jailhouse Blues' prison officers.
Last week, via the offices of Ms Harriet Harmman, I had applied for a Greystone Prison Visitor's Pass. Hopefully, it would arrive soon.
Tina and Janice were now starting their second week's indefinite-duration incarceration in Greystone Prison, I mused miserably. And I was wracked with worry, fretfully thinking about them. Distressed, anguished, overwrought, at contemplating what they both might or might not be going through, right now, and-
"I think you need to be using that tongue of yours more energetically - Community servant David double-oh-seven!" piped up my across the road neighbour from hell, Mrs Norma Newlove. "If you are going to lift all of that dirt and grime!"
The bane of my life (well, the main one) was relaxing in the well-padded black leather recliner to (my) left of Cheryl's, in the Sock Room's 'Spectators' Gallery' overlook. "Come on - get that tongue of yours working!" Norma snapped harshly.
I was never going to get used to this! I thought miserably.
Cheryl Chubb, lying on her front, and in a state of ecstasy as alternately I licked from toes to heels the soles of her days' unwashed, dirty filthy, stinky feet - her Monday-morning feet - said, "You tell him, Norma! Tongue-lash my foot slave to greater efforts! Ha ha ha! The harder he licks, the better I like it."
Every Monday morning now, it was like this.
"I wish it could be Monday every day ..." said Cheryl Chubb wistfully.
