Nylon Humiliation

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Nylon Humiliation
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I was out with some guys, and wevtypically started discussing the women present at the club. A dark beauty sitting at the bar was by far the most attractive one. 

"Yes, she looks hot, but she's dead cold." Paul said. "I vaguely tried to chat her up some time ago, but it was pointless. Totally arrogant. Rude, even."

Paul was out every weekend and had his way with women. He was good looking and usually got what he wanted. 

"Oh, is that… her." John said, moving to the side to have a better look at her. "Jimmy told me about her. He called her a psychopath. He knew someone who had dated her for a short period. Apparently, she had treated him like shit." 

Women are strange. Most of them are nice, at least when you get to know them and they start to trust you. But a few know all to well if they are good looking and just act like spoiled bitches. Or maybe that is some kind of trust issue too? Anyway, what's really behind their painted faces is hard to find out. 

While the other guys seemed to have lost interest in the black haired psychopath, I kept watching her. From time to time some guy approached her, but everyone obviously was turned down immediately or quite quickly. Still, she stayed at the bar, drinking. Was that all she wanted to do? Sit alone and drink?
When I returned from the bathroom, I passed by her. Without any kind of plan, I talked to her. 

"Hi. Can I buy you a drink?" I said, getting straight to the point. 

She looked at me, then turned her head back, staring into the air. "Yes."

Pleasantly surprised, I waved for the bartender, then I realised I didn't know what she liked. Should I be bold and just buy something? I could go for something common like a gin tonic, but that would be boring. If I bought something unusual, maybe she wouldn't like it. No, I had to ask.

"What do you want?" I said.

"Champagne". 

She continued with some french sounding name I couldn't grasp. She was very picky, obviously. I didn't know how to pass that on to the bartender, so I just ordered one glass of the finest champagne they had. The price was about the same as my budget for the entire night. The glass was placed in front of her, but she didn't thank me. 

"So…" I started.

"Get lost." she said. 

She probably expected me to become upset, but I just replied "Okay.", and left her. If that surprised her, she did not signal anything except she slightly lifted her eyebrow. 

I gave her no further attention that evening. 

After that, I regularly went out to the same bar. If she was there, I bought her a glass of champagne (I had found out what she preferred, luckily it was a bit cheaper than what I bought her the first time) but otherwise held my distance. I didn't even try to talk to her. She had men coming on to her all the time and rejected everyone. Maybe she got off on it, maybe she was sick with the predictability of it, I don't know. 

Anyway, my work seemed to pay off. One night as I bought her the usual glass, she asked for my cell phone. She dialled her own number and said "Call me sometime." I was in heaven. 

The next days I thought about nothing but when to call her and what to say. I was terrified, but tried to calm down by reminding myself that she had told me to call. I had not asked for her number. I thought about various spectacular activities we could do together, but settled for the usual strategy; to be myself and act casual. 

Three days later I was a nervous wreck to the point of desperation, and when I finally called it felt like I just did it to get it over with, not because I expected it to lead to anything at all. 

"Yes." She answered by just saying yes. 

"Oh hi, this is James! Oh, you don't know my name. I mean, this is the guy who keeps buying you champagne!" I sounded desperate. 

"Everyone buys me champagne." she stated, disinterested. 

"Oh, of course! Well… at The Eagle. You know, you were there last friday, and the saturday before that. And last friday you game me your number and told me to call you." I explained. 

"Really? I can't remember. What do you look like?" she said.

"Umm… I look quite ordinary, I guess." I instantly regretted saying that. "I'm tall… I've got brown, short hair. Friday I wore a red shirt." I said. 

"A red shirt. Is that so. To be honest, I can't remember you, but if I gave you my number, I guess there must be a reason. So, what can you offer me?" she said.

"What can I offer… well, would you like to go out to a restaurant? Or to the cinema, perhaps?" I suggested.

She chuckled. "No. Try again, James, was it?"

"Yes! Um, what's your name, by the way?" I said. 

"Rita." she said.

"Oh, what a nice name!" I said. There was no reply. "Right, so what can I offer...
let's see… I'm good at cooking! I could make you a great dinner. And… I'm a quite good singer, actually, if that's of any interest. And I can massage you! I've been told I'm good, anyway. Maybe that's a little to intimate, though. I don't mean to rush things here. Sorry. But, well, anyway, I could give you just a foot massage, you know, or something. If you'd like that." I felt like I had blown it. 

"I would be lying if I said I was impressed. But I'm in a good mood today. So, yes. You can come over and make me dinner tomorrow. Bring whatever food you need. But no fish." she said.

I couldn't believe it. "That's great! Thanks!" I said.

"At six. Look up my address from my phone number." She hung up.

I almost had a heart attack. We were going to have dinner at her house. The next day. And that dinner had better be impressive, that was for sure. 

I settled for a meal I had made several times before. A steak is not a creative choice, but done right, what tastes better? I also brought a bottle of her favourite champagne, of course. 

John's words kept sounding in my head, about the woman being a psychopath. It could be right. She was very cold. But there had to be something else beneath that surface. And what a surface it was. She was so good looking it was too much. 

She lived in a fancy neighbourhood. The house was a bit dark, like herself. Also there was little light in the windows. Could she not be home? The thought was both disappointing and relieving, but those feelings were quickly replaced by eager nervousness as I rang the doorbell and heard footsteps approaching. 

"Oh, it's you. Now I remember. Come in." she said. She was dressed smart casual, as they say, in some kind of business attire, I guess. A skirt above the knees and a white shirt. Her long, black her pulled up. 

"Thanks! Here you go!" I said, showing her the bottle. It struck me I should have bought flowers. How could I forget. 

"Oh, that's great. Listen, I just got home from work. Long day. Why don't you take all that stuff out to the kitchen and bring a glass to the living room. I want to relax for a few minutes and I could surely use a foot massage right now. You know, heels." she said, nodding to the floor.

"Oh yes, sure!" I said. I noticed a pair of heels by the door. Almost as high as the ones I had seen her wear at the bar.

I carried everything to the kitchen, opened the bottle and poured to glasses, and walked to the living room. She was seated in a big chair with the television on in front of her. 

"Here you go." I said. I handed her the glass. 

"I told you to bring one glass, didn't I?" she said, looking at me and the glass in my other hand. 

"Sorry! I thought…" I started. 

"Don't assume." She cut me off. "I asked for a foot massage. Could you get on with it, please."

Puzzled by the sudden hostility, I put my glass on the floor and kneeled in front of her, not in the way of the television. Like she said, she was probably exhausted from a long day at work. 

She stretched her leg out. She still wore the nylons from work, obviously. I noticed right away her foot was smelly. Yet it was slender, tiny and beautiful, as expected.
I made every effort to massage it well. She seemed to enjoy it, but she did not talk to me. She watched the news and sipped the champagne. 


"Let me know when I should do the other one." I said quietly, after a long while. 

She did not comment. The minutes went by, but then she switched her feet.

I did the job once again. It was awkward to be so close to her and not talk. We were strangers, although I had observed her for all that time and almost felt like I was in love with her. During the massage I was constantly erected or semi erected from touching and caressing her feet and watching her perfect legs. 

"That wil do." she finally said. I carefully put her foot down on the floor. "What do you think of this living room?" she asked.

"It's very nice!" I said, happy to make conversation. "Comfortable chairs. Interesting paintings on the walls… a fire place. No sofa, but why should everybody have one?" I said. 

"That's right. It's comfortable here, but something is missing, and it bothers me on days like today. There is nowhere to put my feet up. It's that one thing which stops me from feeling truly comfortable." she said. 

I looked around. I couldn't see anything suitable. The table was too tall. If there was something, obviously she would know, as lived there.

"I see what you mean…" I said, not sure what to suggest.

"Would you mind?" she asked.

"Mind what?" I said, confused.

"I suppose this will be a little embarrassing for you, but after the massage it would feel so nice. You're already on your knees, so if you only adjust your position somewhat… you know, on all fours… it doesn't bother your ego, does it?" she said.

"Oh! Like that!" I realised what she meant. I was a bizarre thing to ask for, no doubt. I felt my throat dry up. "I don't know if I…" 

"Excuse me? Speak up, please." she sharply cut me off. I guess I was mumbling. 

"I… I don't think I can say no to that!" I said. "If it makes you comfortable."

"It certainly does." she said, smiling. 

I put my hands down and stood sideways in front of her on all fours. She put her feet up on my back and changed the channel.

There still was not much talk between us, which was fine by me. She asked me what I did for a living and a few other questions, but the trivial conversation only seemed to make the situation more absurd. I felt like an idiot.

After watching an entire sit com, she finally told me to make dinner. My legs were a bit shaky after standing on my knees for so long. As I walked beside her chair I accidentally kicked the champagne glass I had left on the floor earlier. I had forgotten about it. It spilled on the floor and the glass broke. 

Her head instantly turned. "What!" she said. She looked at me in contempt. "Clean that up." 

I hurried to the kitchen, found a cloth and hurried back. "I'm so sorry. I'll get you a new one." I said. 

She didn't answer.

I started making the dinner. I made every effort to get it right. She stayed in the living room all the time. I prepared her plate and brought it to a big table in the living room. "Dinner is ready. Do you want to sit here?" I said.

"Yes." She got up and walked over, looking at the plate. She sat down. I turned around to fetch my own plate. 

"You know, my feet still ache." she said.

"Excuse me?" I said.

"That massage you gave me was quite nice. I'm not a big giver of compliments, but I must admit I enjoyed that. I would appreciate som more of that, if it's not too much to ask?" she said.

Was she joking? After both the massage and the stupid foot stool thing, she still wanted more? When we were just about to eat a great meal together?

"It would be just perfect right now." she continued. "Besides, I think you owe it to me, actually, for breaking that glass. And you sure spent a long time cooking this food. Anyway, I'm really exhausted tonight, so if you won't indulge me then maybe you should just leave." she said. 

What could I do? The whole situation was getting increasingly bizzare, but I sure was not ready to leave. Maybe I could give her a massage quickly this time and get back to the food.

"No no!" I said. "Of course I will. So how do you want me to…". Her feet were hardly accessible underneath the table. 

"You need to go under the table, obviously." she said. 

I crawled underneath it, but I couldn't sit there. It was too narrow. 

"It would probably be easier for you to lay down." she said.

I lay down on my back. She made room for my head between her feet, and held one of them in the air for me to massage. I grabbed her foot and started stroking it. 

"Umm, that feels good." she cooed. 

I heard her starting to eat. "Tastes good too. You were right about your skills, James." she said. "But hey, there is one more, right? You need to sing something for me. Let's see... why don't you do that Britney Spears song, 'Oops I did it again'?

I was a ridiculous suggestion, a joke. I started singing the song. It sounded silly. I couldn't properly remember the lyrics.

She giggled. "Okay, enough." she said. She put her foot on my face, shutting me up. "I guess you are more moderately talented in that field." 

She didn't remove her foot. It was really stinky that close. I tried to speak, but was unable to. 

"You don't mind, do you? It's so much nicer than the cold floor. Let me know if it's too smelly. I'm sure you are used to that smell from all your foot massage experience, though." she said.

She was just going to leave it there. The smell was one thing, I couldn't see nor breathe very well either. Also, as she rubbed her sole against my nose, I realised how tender the nose is. Even slight pressure from her leg would be painful. She could easily break my nose if she tried. Not that I expected she would, but it was not a comfortable situation. She continued to eat. I was hungry myself and thought about the food in the kitchen which was getting cold and spoiled. All I could taste just then was the salty sweat of her nylon clad toes. Not knowing what else to do, I went on massaging her other foot, hoping this would soon be over with. Then she started talking, but not to me. She had called someone. She switched feet, placing the other one on my face. The smell was stronger with the "fresh" foot. She chatted away about this and that, obviously not an important call that she had to make just then. After a long time, in my mind anyway, she invited the other person over and ended the call. 

She removed her feet. "Thank you, James. You can come up now. Like you probably heard, a friend is coming over. Could you please do the dishes and clean up in the kitchen before you leave?" she said

I had not even eaten yet. She had been treating me like a fool, a servant. Hardly talking to me. And now she wanted me to leave. I didn't know what to say.

"Well?" she looked at me impatiently. "I didn't make a mess in the kitchen myself, did I?" 

Unbelievable. She was acting like a bitch, but she was still damn pretty. I just had to go along with it. Maybe the same tactic I had used at the bar could pay off somehow. At least I could eat in the kitchen.

"No… I'm very hungry, so okay, I can eat and clean up." I said. It didn't really make sense. 

"Yes, very good." She went back to the living room and I went to the kitchen.
 
A few seconds later she shouted: "Don't eat everything. Make sure to leave a plate for my friend." There wasn't much more than a plate's worth left already, which meant I could eat practically nothing. It was deeply unreasonable. I had both paid for the food and prepared it. She had no right do demand of me not to eat. If I was going to do the dishes I was damn well going to eat too. Her friend whom she had invited over despite my visit could eat something else. 

The food tasted good even though it was cold. I ate and cleaned up simultaneously. 
I didn't see nor hear anything from her. She was probably watching TV again, indifferent to my presence. 
The door bell rang. If it was her friend, he or she obviously lived nearby. 
I heard Rita walk towards the door. Next, there was the sound of chirpy female voices. At least it was not a boyfriend she had invited over. 
They chatted along towards the kitchen. 

"There's a guy here, but never mind." I heard her tell the friend. "He's leaving. He just came over to fix me some food. There's some left for you, by the way, if you're hungry? It's quite tasty." 

"Oh, thanks! I could definitely eat." her friend replied.

They entered the room. Amazingly, her friend was almost as pretty as her. Like a blonde version. I felt stupid standing there doing the dishes. 

"James!" Rita said. "This is Donna. Donna, James. So, where's the food?"

"Hello!" I said. I turned to shake hands with Donna, but she just stood there watching me. "Well the food is… here." I said, pointing to my stomach. 
I was trying to be funny, but it didn't work. 

"There's nothing left?!" Rita asked, as if she couldn't believe what she heard. 

I was overwhelmed by her reaction. "No… I was very hungry, you know, and after all I was the one who made it and paid for…" 

'SMACK'

She slapped my face. I was perplexed.

"I'm sorry." I said.

"Not good enough." Rita said.

I didn't know what more to say. 

I looked at Donna, hoping for some kind of support, or at least that she would be as surprised by this as I was. But she just looked back smiling, as if she was entertained. 

'SMACK'

Rita did it again. It stung like hell, but it seems I was stuck in a freeze response. 

"What do you want me to do?" I said, desperately. 

Rita grabbed me by my ear. She sat down on the nearest chair and pulled me down to my knees in front of her. 

"Do you realise what you did?" she asked.

"No, or I mean yes, or probably, but…" I stuttered.

'SMACK'

She slapped me while holding on to my ear with her other hand.

"You made me break my promise to a friend." Rita said. "And that" - SMACK - "is" - SMACK - "very" - SMACK - "serious." Instead of slapping me after the last word, she kicked me in the crotch. Her feet were right in front of it. 

I don't know what was worse, the pain or the humiliation. I was on the verge of breaking down. It was difficult to speak. 

"What you are going to do," Rita said, "is go out and buy whatever you need to make Donna the meal she was promised. And you better be quick. You're gonna make that meal, and after you've done that, you're gonna spend the rest of the evening doing exactly whatever Donna, or I, tell you to. If we're not happy with your efforts, we will slap you - like this," - SMACK - "or maybe kick you - like this." she kicked my crotch again. "Is this quite clear to you?"

"Yes." I said, sweating. 

"Do you have anything to add, Donna?" Rita said.

"He should get a bottle of wine too." Donna said. 

"Of course. Two bottles of fine red." Rita said. "Now go!" 

I got up on my trembling legs and hurried out of the house. 

Inside the car, it all seemed unreal, like I had woken up from a nightmare and could finally breathe. Rita's piercing green eyes as she slapped me, the smell of her feet, the humiliation, the surprising cruelty… No way I was going back to that, I thought as I drove off. 
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