Harry first noticed the article in a scientific journal, but it was only when he saw it mentioned in the newspaper that he could feel some relief. There it was, in black and white, he was not the complete freak his girlfriend, Connie, said he was, his ex-girlfriend, Connie, that is. He was simply too freaky for her, so she packed her bags and moved out.
According to the article, there were thousands of guys like Harry, each one enduring the shame of being called a freak. The article actually went on to divulge that research showed that these individuals may be precursors of things to come. The article implied that this genetic mutation would probably overtake all males in the not too distant future.
Strangely enough this genetic mutation did not come to light for some time in the medical community. Now they did notice a great increase in jock itch in men, which wasn't abnormal for the summertime, but what surprised them was that the increase was for jock itch on their feet. They noted that while jock itch and athlete's foot were similar, the actual fungus was slightly different. Had the doctors treating this odd jock itch on the feet of men, bothered to check with gynecologists, they would have noted a marked increase in athlete's foot in may women's crotches.
These facts remained blurred as the doctors slowly did make a correlation between the jock itch on the men's feet and the athlete's foot between women's legs but they initially thought it was just a kinky sex thing. It wasn't until months later did they discover how wrong they were.
Finishing the article, Harry immediately grabbed his cell phone and called Connie. When he got her voice mail (she had stopped answering his calls) he simply said, "Connie, San Francisco Chronicle page 17. You see, you see." He then smugly pressed the button to hang up. "I knew it," he said out loud, "I knew it all along."
It was good to finally feel some validation of what he was going through, some confirmation that he was not alone. He picked up the newspaper and jotted down the phone number for the hotline. Apparently the scientific community wanted to do considerably more research into the mutation and wanted to talk to everyone experiencing the symptoms.
Harry had hoped Connie would have gotten the message and called him back by then, but when she didn't immediately call back, he poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down. He sipped his coffee and looked at the phone receiver lying on the table in front of him. Harry waited for the call through two cups of coffee and then gave up on Connie, at least for the moment.
Grabbing the phone receiver he looked at the numbers on the paper and then looked at the receiver. He spent a good ten minutes switching his gaze between the numbers he had written down and the phone. Finally he dialed the toll free number.
His call was answered by a recording on the third ring and after climbing through several menus of numbers to push he was placed on hold. He had to admit that the music was good, a mixture of old sixties and seventies songs, first there was Zappa's "Stinkfoot" followed immediately by Nancy Sinatra singing "These Boots Where Made for Walking." Harry was humming the melody when someone came on the line, "Center for Tiptoeing, Genetic Mutation Department."
The feminine voice was husky, but very official in tone. Harry asked, "Tiptoeing, what is that?"
"Well, it is what we are calling this phenomenon," she replied, "Do you think you have it?"
"I don't know."
"Tell me about your symptoms."
"Well, it was odd, I mean about a year ago I first noticed it. Say when I was walking out on the pier and noticed a woman in a bikini top, or tight blouse, you know, without a bra..."
"You could see their nipples?" she asked.
"Yes, yes, and well oddly my right shoe suddenly seemed too tight on me, primarily on my big toe. After that, it happened again and again. It wasn't until I was in bed with my girlfriend that I really noticed what happened."
"What happened in bed with her?"
"Well, I couldn't get an erection, instead my big toe got bigger, big enough to..."
