Wednesday, August 09, 2017
Foot in mouth
The young lady pictured above is Miss Erin Clark, a 19-year-old student from Edinburgh, about to start her degree at the Institute of Political Studies in Paris. After searching vainly for affordable accommodation, she was delighted to receive a twitter message offering her an apartment in a highly suitable location:
“So, it’s a big studio flat with two beds, kitchen, toilets, a big wardrobe and a balcony,” explained the owner.
All was not as it seemed, however. The prospective landlord revealed that he would be living in the same property. Furthermore, he would require Miss Clark to perform some unusual services instead of paying rent:
“I’m submissive and I’ve got a foot fetish, so it would be free in term of money, but I’m asking for two services, licking your feet sometimes. And then, I wear a chastity device, you might wear the key of the chastity in a bracelet, so I’m not looking for sex, I’ve got the device.”
Offering Miss Clark the key to the “chastity device” seems to be a confidence-building measure, even thought the landlord himself regards the prospect with some kind of weird satisfaction. But she was not sufficiently reassured by this safeguard, making her excuses in the following tweet:
“I’ve lost my flat keys 4 times since September alone, it is not me you are wanting.”
I don’t blame Miss Clark for being sceptical. I have never seen a male chastity belt and don’t see how it would work effectively without also preventing the wearer from urinating. The possibility of the key is being mislaid is real, so it’s highly likely the landlord would retain a spare to liberate his organ when the need arose. This, of course, would render it ineffective as a safeguard.
It’s also hard to believe he would have stuck to the letter of the agreement in other respects. I think we can take it as read that “foot-licking” includes a full range of podo-erotic practices including toe-sucking. Once you let someone smooch your foot, it could easily progress to the ankle or even the knee. There’s no telling where it would end.
When I told the manager of the safari camp about this story, he laughed and rubbed his hands in glee.
“Hah, the French!” he snorted. “Trust them to proposition students with their kinky fetishes! I bet he would have smeared her feet with garlic butter and licked it off with a glass of red wine!”
“I never knew you were so knowledgeable about their culinary practices,” I remarked. “Perhaps you should write a gourmet guidebook for the novice.”
I don’t know whether it’s true that the French are more open about their fetishes, but it doesn’t reflect badly on them if they are. Miss Clark is lucky to have been approached by an honest pervert who attempted to negotiate a quid-pro-quo. A Scottish or English foot-licker might have charged her full rent without disclosing anything, hoping to ambush her feet at a vulnerable moment. It’s the sneaky types that do the most damage.
Wednesday, August 02, 2017
A few days ago, the manager of the safari camp invited me to inspect one of his turds.
“You’ve got to look at, GB, it’s massive!” he exclaimed. “I’d like to know whether a gorilla could shit out something like that! I purposely didn’t flush so you could authenticate it!”
“My dear manager,” I replied. “You are gravely mistaken in thinking I am qualified to pass judgement on your excrement. I suggest you take a picture of the toilet bowl and send it to experts in the field.”
“And who might they be?” he asked.
I shrugged my shoulders and told him his guess was as good as mine. Maybe I should have given him the name of an elephant trainer. Or, indeed, an elephant.
Most humans, of course, have much greater inhibitions about discussing their solid waste. I don’t know whether this is a good or bad thing. Perhaps, on balance, it’s for the best. It would be very tedious if everyone left the toilet unflushed after producing a notable stool. But the other side of the coin is humans who hold it in because they’re too embarrassed to evacuate their bowels in an unfamiliar lavatory.
After doing my own research on the subject, I found an article claiming that 50% of women and 29% of men are worried about having to defecate in their place of work. Why more women suffer from this anxiety is an interesting question. Perhaps they think that shitting (and farting) is unladylike. It’s certainly difficult to imagine Audrey Hepburn or Julie Andrews having a dump – and yet we know they must have done it like everyone else. Perhaps they should have spoken more openly about their bowel movements – it might have dissipated the cloud of shame that hangs over the whole subject.
The article makes a number of helpful suggestions for how to lessen the angst of a workplace poop. Number one on the list is listening to music when sitting in the cubical. The idea is that you won’t worry about the noise you’re making if you can’t hear it yourself. This reminds me, somewhat, of an ostrich burying its head in the sand. But that doesn’t mean it’s ineffective in the circumstances. Anything that helps someone shit in peace has my blessing.
Number seven on the list is “Don’t be a dick to other office poo-ers”. I heartily endorse this. Heckling someone who’s having a difficult time in the lavatory is a prime example of boorish manners. No one who indulges in this sort of behaviour deserves any mercy when they’re parping and plopping themselves.
The most interesting point on the list concerns the financial implications – “when you poo at work, you’re getting paid to shit”. Although this is technically true, it also deprives you of a more leisurely poo in your own home. My old circus buddy, Smacker Ramrod, says that emptying your bowels on a day of leisure while reading a magazine is one of the great sensual pleasures of life. Is he wrong?