FLIGHT SH 231 TO
TENERIFE. Part 7 The End
Flight SH 231 to Tenerife had landed and, as soon
as the 'Please Fasten Your Seatbelts' sign had been
turned off, the SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS passengers were
vacating their seats, and retrieving their
hand-luggage from the overhead storage cabinets.
The feel-good factor kicked in now, at having
finally touched down at their holiday destination
and, there was a muted, anticipatory hubbub of
controlled excitement from the newly-landed
holiday-makers, as they patiently filed down the
aisle, as and when they could and, Air Hostesses Ann
and Katie - stationed at the Rear Entrance door -
smiled at them sweetly, and solicitously advised
them to be careful in descending the steps - "You
don't want to spend your two-week holiday in
Tenerife in a plaster-cast, do you? Ha-ha-ha-ha!"
Down below, on Tenerife Airport's apron, Chief
Stewardess Amanda Forbes and Air Hostess Carol, were
smiling brilliantly at the holiday-makers as they
reached the bottom of the steps, and warmly wishing
them a happy holiday as they directed them onto the
Airport Buses that would take them to the Terminal
Building.
As Chief Stewardess Amanda Forbes and Air Hostess
Carol politely ushered the SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS
passengers onto the Airport Buses, the heels of
their Uniform Issue, dark-blue pumps
clack-clack-clacked on the apron as they gratefully
eased their heels from their shoes, for a moment of
sigh-inducing, blessed relief - they had been
walking up and down the aisle of the SUNSHINE
HOLIDAYS jet-liner, in those pumps, for much of the
4-hour-long flight to Tenerife, as they tended to
the many various needs and wants of their
passengers.
And, they had the return flight to Manchester to
work through, yet!
"Jeeeeeeesus, Mandy!" warbled Air Hostess Carol,
in a pained voice. "My feeeeeet, are ab-so-lute-ly
killing me! I can't wait to get back on that plane,
and massage them on Wallace's stupid face!"
To which, fervently expressed intention, Chief
Stewardess Amanda Forbes responded equally
feelingly, "Oh! I know, Carol!! I'll be putting that
young upstart, McArdle, to similar use. Don't you
worry yourself!
"Oh, just think! We'll have about twenty minutes
with the Techies, all to ourselves, Carol! Then
we'll do a quick tidy-up in our half of the plane,
before the Manchester-bound passengers start
boarding".
"Oh! Twenty minutes, with the H...H...Hair
Purification Technicians! Ah! Ha-ha-ha-ha!" warbled
Air Hostess Carol, gigglingly - she had not yet got
over the amazing novelty of the Auxiliary Air
Purification System, that had only been in operation
since last Monday, 1 week ago.
Chief Stewardess Amanda Forbes knew that she had
to nip Air Hostess Carol's giggling mirth in the
bud, or there would be no stopping her - she was
like that. Once she started...
She nudged her tittering colleague in the ribs
with her elbow, and jerked her chin meaningfully in
the direction of their de-planing and bus-boarding
passengers, who were starting to give them odd
looks.
"Oops! Sorry, Mandy" trilled Air Hostess Carol,
gigglingly.
As soon as the last of their passengers had
boarded the Airport Buses, Chief Stewardess Amanda
Forbes and Air Hostess Carol were eagerly ascending
the steps and, even before they had re-entered the
SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS jet-liner through the Rear
Entrance door, they heard the by-now-familiar "Nnnnnnnn!
Nnnnnnnn!" sound, of outraged protest and acute
distress, coming from the aircraft's interior - Air
Hostesses Ann and Katie, apparently, had wasted no
time, in availing themselves of their favourite perk
of their jobs: the services of the Techies, as they
were commonly and facetiously known as, by the Air
Crew - or, to ascribe them the full and
formal status of their Official Title, as designated
by the Job Centre - 'Air Purification Technicians'.
Air Hostesses Ann and Katie, had already summoned
all 4 Air Purification Technicians to the 4 rearmost
seats - seats 50 'A', 'B', 'C', and 'D' and, Air
Hostesses Ann and Katie occupied seats 50 'A' and
'B', respectively (on the Port side), where they
were enthusiastically availing themselves of the
decidedly singular services, of reluctant recruits -
Techies Kelvin and Eric, respectively.
"Oh! This, is the best thing ever. Ever!", opined
Air Hostess Ann, as she rubbed and worked her dark
hosed soles into the upturned, proffered, and
fixed-in-place face of the unfortunate Kelvin.
"Oh! You are so right, Ann!", replied Air Hostess
Katie, in whole-hearted agreement with her friend
and colleague, as she positively mashed her dark
hosed, tired and achey soles into the
perfectly-positioned, taped-over-mouthed face of the
hapless Eric, in an effort to massage and revive
some relief and rejuvenation back into them.
With melodramatic sighs of relief, Air Hostess
Carol and Chief Stewardess Amanda Forbes followed
the example of their footsore friends and
colleagues, and they gratefully plonked themselves
down into seats 50 'C' and 'D', respectively (on the
Starboard side), where Techies Wallace and McArdle,
respectively, awaited them.
From their lowly, worm-eye-view vantage points,
secured onto their 'contraptions' in the under-seat
space of the 'Flying Pencil's narrow fuselage and,
staring up, through the 1-foot-square panels that
had opened directly above their faces, it was
immediately obvious, to Alan and Micky that, even
after all of the unspeakable ignominy, after all of
the diabolical degradation that they had already
been put through by the female passengers during the
flight to Tenerife, they were now about to be
subjected to even further humiliation, at the hands
- or, rather, feet - of the Air Hostesses.
Chief Stewardess Amanda Forbes leaned over and,
she watched, with great interest, and with barely
controlled mirth, as Air Hostess Carol - with the
consummate ease of well-practised routine - used the
toe of her right, Uniform Issue, dark-blue pump to
prise free her other pump from her left foot, and
then employ the dark hosed toes of her left foot, to
similarly prise off her right pump, and carelessly
allowed both pumps to fall to the floor, beside
Alan's dejected and miserable face.
And, Alan now had another reason, to be dejected
and miserable.
A good reason!
For, from the angle that one of Air Hostess
Carol's well-worn pumps had happened to settle on
the floor, Alan could clearly see into the decidedly
murky and manky interior - the formerly pale-coloured
insole, now, actually black, at the heel and at the
ball of the foot and, Alan stared, in distaste and
dismay, at the clearly defined and distinct, 5
black, round, slight depressions, that had been
caused, over time, by the persistent and prolonged
pressure of the dark hosed toepads of Air Hostess
Carol's hard-working feet.
But now, Alan suddenly found that he had
something more 'pressing' to think about, than the
repulsive impressions in the well-worn interior of
Air Hostess Carol's Uniform Issue, dark-blue
pump ...
"Oh! My!! God!!!", warbled Air Hostess Carol, in
an uncontrollable paroxism of pure ecstasy, as she
vigorously rubbed her dark hosed, hot and sweaty,
tired and achey soles into Alan's distressed and
despairing, upturned and immovable,
taped-over-mouthed, and perfectly-positioned face.
"Oh! This is just sooooo incredible, Mandy! I
just can't get over it! I can't get enough of this!
It's even better - miles better - than sex!!",
trilled Air Hostess Carol, in all seriousness.
Air Hostess Carol was getting carried away, as
usual - and riding high, on the surging crest of
this unstoppable mega-wave of exhilarating pleasure,
of this ultra-sensual, sexually titilating (at
least, to Air Hostess Carol!) and, supremely
empowering, activity.
"Nnnnnnnn! Nnnnnnnn!!", responded the decidedly
distraught Alan, intimating that, in his opinion, it
came a poor second - a very poor second, indeed - to
sex.
Then, ineffably satisfied, with the highly
pleasing and gratifying results of this marvellous
method of sensual stimulation and reflexological
revitalization, Air Hostess Carol placed her hot and
sweaty, dark hosed toes directly over Alan's
dreading, involuntarily flaring nostrils, so that
she could partake of another, equally delicious
experience...
"Now then, Wallace! You lazy fat tax-dodging
sponger!! Here! Have a good sniff, of my feeeet!!
Ha-ha-ha-ha!", she warbled gigglingly and,
delighting, in the oh so pleasing and
gratifying knowledge, that she was inflicting a
mental mayhem of misery, with her hot and sweaty,
dark hosed, stinky feet, upon a hapless and
helpless, vulnerable and defenceless Air
Purification Technician.
Well! After all, it was Wallace's own fat stupid
lazy fault, wasn't it? If he was too bone-idle, to
get up off his lazy fat backside, and get a job -
like everyone else has to!, thought Air Hostess
Carol sourly, in vindicating her heartfelt
sentiments.
Oooooh! These infuriating, vexatious thoughts,
about the lazy lump under her feet, were enough to
make Air Hostess Carol want to give physical
expression, to her riling, burning sense of
righteous indignation and, to stamp her foot, in
temper - and so, she did, several times, upon poor
Alan's upturned, perfectly-positioned, and
fixed-in-place face.
Then, and with a smile on her face - which was a
smile of pleasure and gratification - Chief
Stewardess Amanda Forbes turned her full attention
upon Micky, who was staring up at her - her, who
Micky already admired and adored, beyond all sense
of proportion - through the hole in the floor.
Micky was staring, mesmerized, at all of the
myriad scratches and scuffs and scrapes and scars,
that covered the leather soles of Chief Stewardess
Amanda Forbes's well-worn, Uniform Issue, dark-blue
pumps, like fabulous and fantastic decorations, as
they hovered just mere inches above his face.
And, Micky was enthralled, in a wondrous
fascination, as he raptly beheld the beguiling sight
of her leather soles, as though reading the arcane,
hieroglyphically chronicled testament of their
charted history - like an early Egyptologist,
trembling in sheer wonderment, while deciphering the
mysterious inscriptions upon a newly-discovered
Pharaoah's tomb.
Micky didn't know why he was so enraptured and so
beguiled, by such a sight.
But, he was - very!
Then, Chief Stewardess Amanda Forbes expertly
replicated the deft pump-removing technique - as so
adeptly demonstrated by Air Hostess Carol - and she,
like-wise, placed her dark-hosed, hot and sweaty,
tired and achey, stinky feet, directly onto Micky's
awe-struck, fixed-in-place face.
Then, she proceeded to luxuriously massage
her soles into Micky's wonder-struck and
disbelieving face, with blissful, ecstatic sighs of
relief - and, of pleasure and gratification.
Then, after a few moments, Chief Stewardess
Amanda Forbes spoke, as she looked down on Micky,
with her 'knowing' look.
And, Micky, along with Air Hostesses Carol, Ann,
and Katie, and Micky's 3 former class-mates - but,
now, his fellow Air Purification Technicians - Alan,
Kelvin and Eric, raptly hung onto her every single
word - they couldn't help it!
For, they were all - every single one of them -
fascinated and amazed, by what she said.
"Now then, McArdle.
"This is your moment of truth.
"I know your little secret, McArdle - oh yes, I
know!
"I've had my suspicions about you, since early
this morning. But, now, I am sure - one-hundred
percent certain - about you, McArdle.
"You don't complain, and you are not disgusted
and distressed by the humiliating conditions of your
placement as an Air Purification Technician, as your
friends are, and as all of the other Techies that
we've had so far, have been - one of them, was
actually reduced to crying for his mother.
"But, you, McArdle, you thrive on it. Don't you?
You, won't cry for your mother, will you?
"Why? Because you like feet. Don't you, McArdle?
You actually like feet, don't you?
"I've watched you, McArdle - oh, yes, I've
watched you closely.
"You like the sight, of feet. You like the feel,
of feet. And, you like the smell, of feet, don't
you? Don't you, McArdle?
"Oh, I know, McArdle. I know.
"I've watched you, McArdle. During the flight.
When you've been summoned, time, after time, after
time, by the female passengers sitting in the
Starboard window-seats.
"Feet, are your drug. Aren't they, McArdle? And,
you've been as high as a kite, on them, haven't you,
McArdle - higher than this plane!
"I've seen the look on your face. And, I've seen
the look in your eyes, McArdle. The eyes don't lie -
they are, the windows of the soul.
"Yes, I've seen inside your soul, McArdle. Oh
yes, I've seen, and I know what's there.
"You like feet. You want feet. You need feet.
Don't you, McArdle?
"In fact, you actually love feet, McArdle. Don't
you? Oh, I know. Admit it, McArdle. You love feet.
Don't you?
"Admit it, to me, McArdle. I want to hear your
admission. Admit it, to me..."
Micky stared up, unblinking, at the penetrating
and intuitive eyes, at the seemingly all-knowing -
the seemingly oracular appariton - of Chief
Stewardess Amanda Forbes.
Micky listened, raptly, to her mesmeric,
systematic, High-Priestess-like, revelatory -
right-on-the-money - monologue.
Listened to her, insightfully and faultlessly and
effortlessly exposing his truth - for all to see.
Just as surely and just as graphically, as she
would have systematically and effortlessly exposed
his nakedness, by removing the flimsy shields of his
clothing - garment, by garment, by garment, until
his truth was uncovered. And laid bare - for all to
see.
And, Micky listened, raptly, with undivided
attention... listened, to Chief Stewardess Amanda
Forbes - saying his name, repeating his name,
chanting his name, over, and over, and over...like a
repetitive, insistently intoned, hypnotic mantra:
McArdle...McArdle...McArdle...McArdle...
And, Micky, no longer hating it...
Micky was trembling, shaking, shuddering, in the
cataclysmic throes of uncontrollable, devastating,
body-wracking emotions.
Tears, copious tears, flooded from Micky's now
blurry eyes, at actually hearing these essential
home-truths, straight from the lips of Chief
Stewardess Amanda Forbes - and, at his realization
and understanding, of her full and certain, and
irrefutable knowledge of them - his home-truths.
Micky felt naked and exposed, before her, as if
she had undressed him - and, in a way, she had.
Micky felt defenceless and vulnerable, before her
- and, in a way, he was.
Then, Chief Stewardess Amanda Forbes leaned down,
and she pulled the strip of adhesive tape
from Micky's mouth.
"Now, McArdle. Answer me - truthfully, McArdle.
"Am I right? Have I been speaking the truth? Do
you love feet?
"I know, McArdle, don't I? I know, all about your
little secret. All about your-------"
"Yes! Yes!! I'ts true - all true!!!", cried
Micky, his venting emotions pouring out, like an
errupting volcano of pure, cataclysmic and cathartic
relief.
Micky's "little secret" was out.
Micky had been exposed - for all to see.
Exposed, for what he was - by Chief Stewardess
Amanda Forbes, of SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS.
It was out, now.
It had to come out!
Out in the open - for all to see.
It was all out, now - 'Better Out Than In', as
Mum was wont to say, when occasion called for it.
And, Micky wondered if Mum would have another
such pearl-of-wisdom phrase to hand, applicable to
this, his latest predicament.
Micky struggled to come to terms, with this
sudden upheaval of such acute feeling - with this
unprecedented maelstrom of pure,
overwhelming emotion.
But, there would be time, later, for carefully
considered rumination, and for detailed analysis and
introspection.
For, now, Micky was living in the moment - and
only, the moment: the clear, pellucid, and energized
moment - for, flushed and animated, released
from his mental shackles, freed from the chains of
his inhibitions, Micky grabbed the moment by the
horns, and seized the moment - his moment! - seized
it!
For, now, all Micky could think about, was the
amazing and wonderful - fulfilling - sensation, of
the satisfying weight of Chief Stewardess Amanda
Forbes's tired and achey, hot and sweaty, dark
hosed, stinky feet, resting upon his tear-streaked,
upturned, perfectly-positioned, and fixed-in-place
face...as if that was where they belonged - exactly
- where they belonged.
And, Chief Stewardess Amanda Forbes, had freed
Micky's lips: freed them, to adore, and to worship -
to pay his devotions - and, that is what Micky did.
The sheer, unadulterated joy, the exquisite,
unprecedented sensation, of pressing his adoring,
worshipping - devotional - lips, into the cherished
soles of Chief Stewardess Amanda Forbes's warm,
intoxicating, dark hosed feet, brought tears,
copious tears of pure rapture, from Micky's eyes.
Micky could have died, he thought, from
over-exposure to joy and ecstasy.
And, if he had, he would have died happy - very
happy!
Micky wanted this glorious - transcendent -
moment, to go on, and on...for ever!
Unfortunately, for Micky, Chief Stewardess Amanda
Forbes had other, work-related considerations and
responsibilities to think about and, with a
melodramatic sigh of reluctance, she put her Uniform
Issue, dark-blue pumps back on again.
"Come on, girls", she said. "We'll have to let
the Techies go to the loo now, and give them
something to eat, while we have a tidy-up in our
half of the plane before the Manchester-bound
passengers get here".
When the plane had been tidied up, and after
the Air Purification Technicians had been fed,
watered, and toileted, and then re-installed into
their 'contraptions' by the Air Hostesses, Chief
Stewardess Amanda Forbes and Air Hostess Carol
returned to the apron, to welcome the
Manchester-bound passengers who were getting off the
Airport Buses - Airport Buses, that had large signs
in their windows, that read - 'FLIGHT SH 232 TO
MANCHESTER'.
For the 4 Air Purification Technicians, the
return flight to Manchester was all-but
indistinguishable, from the out-bound flight to
Tenerife.
The 'contraptions' that bore them, relentlessly
trundled up and down the dim and dismal, cramped and
confined, claustrophobic - coffin-like, almost -
under-seat space of the 'Flying Pencil's narrow
fuselage.
The panels, directly above their faces,
opened...and closed...and opened...and closed...and
opened: opened, when the female passengers summoned
them - and closed, when their 10 minutes were up...
It was just that, most of the female SUNSHINE
HOLIDAYS passengers - who, by the simple means of
pushing the button located under the right arm-rest
of their seat, summoned the decidedly singular,
always-in-demand services of the Air Purification
Technicians - had tanned feet.
After the SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS jet-liner had landed
at Manchester Airport, and all of the returned
holiday-makers had disembarked, and were on their
way to the Terminal Building, the 4 Air Hostesses
finally released the 4 Air Purification Technicians
from the 'contraptions' - 'contraptions' - that they
had been secured onto, for more than 9 hours.
Then, the 4 Air Hostesses - along with Captain
(Buck) Rogers; his First Officer; his Flight
Engineer; the 4 male stewards, who had worked the
Forward Galley, today; and, last (and least!), the 4
Air Purification Technicians - all boarded the
SUNSINE HOLIDAYS Air Crew Bus that would now
transport them to their Crew Room, where they would
conduct their usual post-flight de-brief, and count
up their day's takings, before finally signing off
duty.
The Cabin Crew - the Flight Deck crew had their
own office - upon their arrival at the SUNSHINE
HOLIDAYS Crew Room, all made for the drinks machine
to get coffee, before settling down to their
routine, post-flight de-brief and, to count up the
money they had taken aboard the aircraft, from the
duty-free sales, drinks sales, etc.
Chief Stewardess Amanda Forbes, in no-nonesense,
peremptory tones, told the 4 Air Purification
Technicians to get a drink of water from the tap.
In the not overly utilitarian SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS
Crew Room, there were 4, 4-seater settees, and a
scattering of miscellaneous, comfortable single
seats dotted about the place.
The 4 male stewards - who had worked the Forward
Galley, today, and tidied up their own half of the
plane during the turn-around at Tenerife Airport
- as though it was the well-established norm, sat
themselves down at the counting-up table, where they
proceeded to check that the money they had taken
today, tallied with the combined totals of all 8 of
the Cabin Crew's sales sheets.
They did this with care, in hopes of getting it
right first time; and thereby avoiding a tedious and
irksome, and time-consuming - but necessary -
re-count.
As soon as the 4 Air Hostesses had seated
themselves, upon 1 of the 4-seater settees - cups of
coffee in hand - Chief Stewardess Amanda Forbes, who
sat at one end of the settee, with Air Hostess Carol
sitting beside her, spoke to the 4 Air Purification
Technicians, authoritatively, and matter-of-factly.
"Right then, you lot!
"Feeeet!!
"Yes, you heard me correctly.
"You will now, massage our feet, for us.
"When you return here after a Flight Duty, you
will massage the feet of the Air Hostesses who you
have served under, that day.
"And, today, that means us!", Chief Stewardess
Amanda Forbes informed the 4 Air Purification
Technicians, indicating herself and her 3
colleagues, with an all-encompassing sweep of her
arm - as if they didn't know, who they had 'served
under' that day!
"And, just in case any of you are getting the
idea into your stupid, thick heads, of
refusing...well, I advise you to think again. I
would be obliged to make due note of it, in your
Satisfaction Of Conduct report. And, I assure you,
it would not go down well for you, at the Job
Centre.
"Now! You, McArdle! You will now assume your
foot-massaging position. You will sit on the floor,
in front of me, take off my shoes, and massage my
feet, for me.
"Now! I'm waiting!! Do it, McArdle!!!" ordered
Chief Stewardess Amanda Forbes, authoritatively.
Micky could not believe, just could not believe,
that this was actually happening - thought that this
could only happen, in the unconscious realms of some
fantastical and fabulous dream, in which he would
feverishly thrash his bedsheets into a mangled
mess, while moaning and babbling the incoherent,
sleep-talking sentiments of his joy and desire -
today, just kept on getting better and better!
And better!!
Micky, in a ferment of thrilling,
spine-tingling emotion, prepared to do exactly as he
had been formally instructed, by Chief Stewardess
Amanda Forbes - who he had already grown to admire
and adore, beyond all sense of proportion.
Micky obediently, and reverently and gently, took
hold of Chief Stewardess Amanda Forbes's right foot
and, the amazing, stunning feeling - the actual
reality - of subserviently holding her Uniform
Issue, dark-blue pump shod foot, in his very own two
hands, thrilled him. Moved him!
Rocked him!!
Filled him, with awe!!!
Micky - possessively, almost - held onto Chief
Stewardess Amanda Forbes's right, pump shod foot,
for long, lingering seconds, savouring everything
about it - everything!
Everything!!
Time, seemed to slow down, then stand still, as
Micky savoured - like some Master Taster, of the
finer things in life - this incredible, transcendent
- seminal - moment, of sublime sensation.
Micky savoured: holding, and taking the
satisfying weight of Chief Stewardess Amanda
Forbes's right, Uniform Issue, dark-blue pump shod
foot, in his unworthy hands; savoured, feeling the
well-worn, supple texture of the dark-blue
shoe-leather at his sensitive fingertips; savoured,
feeling the radiating - pulsing, almost - warmth,
coming through from inside of her dark-blue pump, of
her tired and achey, hot and sweaty, dark hosed
feet.
But, most of all, Micky savoured his acute,
spine-tingling sense, of his first-time,
uncontrollable and uncontainable excitement, and his
exhilarating, almost heart-stopping, anticipation -
trepidation, almost - for what was still to come.
To Micky, the moment - this seminal moment, in a
day, already jam-packed full of seminal moments -
was taking on the solemn - religious, almost -
gravitas, of a sacred ritual.
Yes! That was it!!
That was it, exactly - sacred.
Sacred.
It was something, a special sort of something,
Micky believed, that was not to be rushed through,
with unseemly and irreverent - sinful, almost -
haste: but, a 'procedure'; a precious,
preliminary procedure, to be piously presided over;
a procedure, to be carried out, with the serious
solemnity suitable to the occasion; a procedure, to
be assiduously administered, with all due protocol,
pomp, and ceremony, fully and faithfully and
fittingly observed; and, a procedure, to be
conducted with consummate care, with discriminatory
diligence - with Cardinal consideration.
There was a warbling, trilling titter of
uncontainable hilarity, from Air Hostess Carol.
"Look at McArdle's face, everyone! Oh, just look,
at his face!! Ha-ha-ha-ha! It's an absolute picture!
"What are you waiting for, McArdle? Snap out of
it! We are going to be here all night, at this rate!
"Get on with it, McArdle!
"After all, we all know you want to, don't we?"
Air Hostess Carol, after unceremoniously kicking
her Uniform Issue, dark-blue pumps free, and
carelessly letting them land where they might,
turned her bird-like attention to Alan.
"Wallace!", she squawked, as if at some
unsuspecting and unfortunate and singularly
appetizing prey, that she had swooped down upon and
clutched from the comfort of it's idyll, and carried
to the high eyrie of her impregnable nest, and, that
would rather be anywhere else at all,
than helplessly pinned beneath her cruel talons, and
waiting to be devoured, "Follow McArdle's example,
and sit on the floor, in front of me, Wallace", she
trilled, bossily.
Turning to Kelvin and Eric, she warbled on
imperiously, "Costello! Pierce! What are you two
waiting for? You've been told what to do, haven't
you? Now, do it!"
By now, Kelvin and Eric had learned enough, of
the harsh and immutable realities of their new
situation - of their 'placement' - to know, that it
was most definitely in their best interests, to obey
the orders of the Air Hostesses promptly and
compliantly.
And, to know, that should they fail to do so,
harsh repercussions would be certain to ensue, just
as soon as word of their recalcitrance - via their
'Satisfaction Of Conduct' reports - reached the
critically scrutinizing eyes, of their Controllers
at the Job Centre.
And so, Kelvin and Eric, exactly as they had been
told to do by Air Hostess Carol, resigned themselves
to their sorry lot and, they sat down on the floor
of the SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS Crew Room, at the dark
hosed feet of Air Hostesses Ann and Katie.
As soon as all 4 of the footsore Air Hostesses
were having their hot and sweaty, tired and aching,
dark hosed, stinky feet massaged by the 4 Air
Purification Technicians - who they now treated as
if they were their very own, personal foot-servants,
attending them in their boudoir - Air Hostess Carol
warbled contentedly, "Now, we're cooking with gas!"
From time to time, the 4 male stewards - who had
worked the Forward Galley, that day - and who were
still sitting at the counting-up table, and
balancing up the day's takings, glanced over, at the
amusing antics of their decidedly imperious female
counterparts.
When they did so, the 4 male stewards smiled and
smirked, and sniggered and snickered, and laughed
and joked, among themselves, at seeing just what
those poor sods - the Air Purification Technicians:
Ha! 'Air Purification Technicians'! Ha! What an
amazing, brilliant joke!! - had actually been
reduced to: after having been forced to sniff up the
stinky foot fumes of 2 contingents of female
passengers, on the more than 4-hour-long flights, to
Tenerife and back, now, they were being callously
and maliciously dominated and controlled, by the
'Hosties'.
Ha! If that didn't get the workshy so-and-so's
looking for a job - nothing would!!
The Air Purification Technicians (as they would
soon come to know), might be either sadistically
subjugated...or merely taken full advantage
of, depending entirely, upon the attitudes and
inclinations, and upon the wishes and whims - upon
the mood - of the Air Hostesses.
Not, that Micky was complaining - far from it!
For, to say that, humbly sitting on the floor of
the SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS Crew Room, and actually
holding, and lovingly massaging the hot and sweaty,
tired and aching, dark hosed, stinky feet of Chief
Stewardess Amanda Forbes - who he had already grown
to admire and adore, beyond all sense of proportion
- was like having all of his birthdays and all of
his Christmases come together all at once, was to
make a vast understatement.
To Micky, it meant much more - so much more - to
him, than that.
To Micky, even to say that it was a vast
understatement, was a vast understatement, in itself
.
And, an almost sacreligious trivialization, of
something close to intranscendent - something holy -
almost.
Micky believed, that this was as close to Heaven
as he could get, while still tethered to his mortal
cord.
In fact, this was better than Heaven, Micky was
sure.
Miles better - had to be!
To humbly hold Chief Stewardess Amanda Forbes's
beautiful, shapely, dark hosed feet, in his
trembling, unworthy hands - oh, and he knew he was
unworthy: he knew it, for an absolute fact - to hold
them, to feel them, to look at them, to admire them,
to adore them, to massage them, to lovingly caress
them, with his super-sensitive fingertips, and, not
to care - not in the slightest - if the male
stewards smiled and smirked, and snickered and
sniggered, and laughed and joked among themselves,
as he did so, to--------
"Oh! My!! God!!!"
"That's not, who I think it is, is it?
"That just can't be, who I think it is!
"Oh! My!! God!!! It is! It is! It's only the
A.S.B.O. Kid, himself!!
"Micky McArdle!!!
"Oh! This is just too precious. Too precious for
words. Too good to be true!
"Oh! This has made my day! My week! My month! My
forever!!
"Micky McArdle - one of the footsniffers!!
"Oh! My!! God!!! Ha-ha-ha-ha! I can't believe it!
"Oh, I can't wait to tell his sister! I went to
school with Elaine McArdle.
"Oh! When I tell her about this, Elaine is going
to die, of pure hapiness!", confidently predicted
Chief Stewardess Julie Jones, who had just entered
the Crew Room to report for her Flight Duty.
"Ha-ha-ha-ha! Oh! This is just the best! The best
ever!! I can't wait - Elaine's going to die! She's
going to..."
Micky knew Chief Stewardess Julie Jones - knew
her, that is, when she was just plain-old (so to
speak: with her pale-complexioned, striking good
looks, and her great, curvey figure, and her
shapely, amazing legs, and her red-haired,
flame-tempered, fiery character, she was anything
but plain!) Julie Jones - knew her well. Very well!
Very well, indeed!!
Micky knew her, as a prize bitch - of the
first-water.
For some reason: probably, Micky thought, as a
direct consequence of her long-standing friendship
with his sister, Elaine - who would have maliciously
blackened his character, vindictively dragged his
name through the mud, and sadistically put the
poison in, against him - both in, and outside of
school, Julie Jones had, for some reason, always had
it in, for him.
Always.
Big-Time.
Mega-Time!
In fact... now that he thought about it... now
that he really, really thought... about it...
Micky remembered having been on the receiving
end, of many a snide, malicious comment, and of many
a vindictive, cruel clip around the ear, and of many
a painful, punishing nipple-pinch, and of many a
sly, stinging slap, from Julie Jones, when she
frequently came to his home to visit - to 'chill',
and to spend 'quality time' - with Elaine... in
fact... she came most evenings... and nearly every
weekend...in fact... she always seemed to be
there... always... in fact...!!!
As if a key, elusive piece of jigsaw puzzle had
suddenly dropped into place, in a moment of stark,
pellucid clarity, in a sudden, flaring flash of
insight, Micky now suspected: very strongly,
suspected, that the 'real' reason that Julie Jones -
that prize bitch - of the first-water, came to his
home, was actually, to pick on him!
To make her snide comments!
To clip his ear!
To pinch his nipple!
To slap his face!
To bully him!!
He wouldn't be surprised.
Not a bit surprised!
While Micky grudgingly conceded that, goadingly
calling Julie Jones, a 'Carot Top', might not be the
best way of endearing himself to her...that, rather
unflatteringly calling her an 'Ugly Fat Bitch', was
not likely to ever get him on her right side...that,
disrespectfully calling her a 'Fat Arsed Slapper',
was hardly conducive to getting himself into her
good books...and that, especially, indulging in his
favourite term of abuse - which he ruddy well knew,
to be her very particular bete noire - of
provocatively calling her a 'Ginger Minge', was
hardly likely to influence her to see him through
rose-tinted glasses...still, Micky couldn't help but
feel, that her seemingly natural, acute aversion,
towards him, her blatantly beligerent attitude, her
active animosity - open hostility - towards him, was
more than a little over the top.
As if...she - purely and simply - had it in, for
him.
Big-Time.
Mega- Time.
Julie Jones had told Micky, on numerous
occasions, that he should show more respect, to
Elaine - and, to her.
She had also told Micky, and, in no uncertain
terms, that she would "teach" him some respect - if
he was her brother.
And, she had further informed Micky, that she
would "absolutely love", the opportunity to "teach"
him some respect.
And, now...
Micky thought he was in for it now, all right!
Ruddy hell!
Of all people!!
That Carrot-Topped, Ugly, Fat-Arsed,
Ginger-Minged, Prize Bitch - of the first-water!!!
Micky had little reason to think,
that Julie Jones's decidedly rough and abrasive -
aggressive - character, had softened any, with her
rise to a position of authority, as a Chief
Stewardess with SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS.
In fact, given her ecstatic, gleeful reaction, at
her sudden realization of Micky's humiliating
predicament, that he had actually been assigned a
placement at her own company, SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS, as
an Air Purification Technician ("Micky McArdle - one
of the footsniffers!!") - and, at her sudden,
heart-warming realization that, at absolutely no
expenditure of effort on her own part, Micky had as
good as fallen right into her lap, like a fly in a
Venus flytrap, and, that now, she would be able to
suck him dry, at her leisure - Micky had plenty of
reason, to suppose the contrary to be the case, as
it was immediately and painfully apparent to Micky,
that she had actually gotten worse - a whole lot
worse.
A whole lot bitchier.
Chief Stewardess Amanda Forbes, addressed the 4
Air Purification Technicians under her charge.
"McArdle. Wallace. Costello. Pierce!
"Your final post-flight duty, which you must
always perform before you go Off Duty, is to polish
our shoes, for us, so that they are nice and clean
and shiny for when we wear them again.
"When you have cleaned and polished our shoes -
and, you had better do a very good job of it, too,
or you'll know about it! - just leave them on the
floor of our lockers. Our lockers have got our names
on them, and they will be locked when you close the
doors - so you don't have to worry about leaving
them unlocked.
"Right then! Carol, Ann, Katie, let's go! Our
work here, is done. Ha-ha!"
To the 4 Air Purification Technicians, Chief
Stewardess Amanda Forbes added warningly, " OK, you
lot. I've given you your orders - you know what to
do.
"Now, we'll see you all in the morning - same
time, same place - and, we want to see you all
bright and bushy-tailed, and raring to go, too!
"You'll be flying to Izmir, in Turkey, tomorrow -
not, that it makes much difference to you lot, where
you go. Ha-ha!
"And, don't be late, in reporting for duty! Or
I'll be obliged to make due note of it, in your
Satisfaction Of Conduct report. And, I assure you,
that won't go down well for you, at the Job
Cent----"
"I... don't! ... ruddy well!! ... believe
this!!!", exclaimed Chief Stewardess Julie Jones, in
vexed tones of annoyance and great umbrage.
At hearing her colleague's angry outburst, Chief
Stewardess Amanda Forbes - who thought her colleague
was probably in a temper over something and nothing:
it usually didn't take much, for her fiery friend's
blue touch-paper to start smouldering - turned to
her and enquired, unconcernedly enough, "What's up,
Jules? Problem?"
Chief Stewardess Julie Jones, replied furiously,
"One of the Techies - Trent - hasn't turned up for
duty. Oh! He's going to be sorry, when I get my
hands on him!
"This is the second time, that Trent has let me
down - oh, he's in big trouble now!
"Thanks to ruddy Trent, it looks like I'm going
to have to operate the Corfu flight, with only three
footsniffers, Mandy", lamented Chief Stewardess
Julie Jones.
"I wonder what Trent's problem can be, Jules?",
mused Chief Stewardess Amanda Forbes, mockingly. "I
mean", she continued, "it can't be sniffing women's
stinky feet, for over 9 hours, on board the 'Flying
Pencil', can it? Ha-ha-ha!
"Seriously though, Jules", Chief Stewardess
Amanda Forbes, went on, "this is an unnecessary
problem, and one that should never be allowed to
happen - all we have to do, in future, is to have a
team of Techies here in the Crew Room, on Stand By.
I'll put it to Crewing - they'll sort it out, for
us. No problem at all".
When the going gets tough - the tough get
going...
Chief Stewardess Amanda Forbes - while ostensibly
airing her urgent appeal, to all 4 Air Purification
Technicians under her charge - directed her gaze
(her 'knowing' look), at Micky McArdle.
"Right then, you lot! This is an emergency! I
want a volunteer! And, I know you won't let me down!
"I want one of you, to volunteer to serve under
Chief Stewardess Julie Jones, and to operate on the
Corfu flight.
"I can't order you to do it - you've all
fulfilled your obligated requirements for today. You
must volunteer - of your own free will".
Chief Stewardess Amanda Forbes, staring fixedly
at Micky, went on, "Whichever one of you, volunteers
to serve under Chief Stewardess Julie Jones, and to
operate on the Corfu flight - I must warn you: You
will be late getting back - very late - the return
flight from Corfu is scheduled to arrive back in
Manchester at one a.m.
"Then, of course, you will still have to perform
your foot-massaging and shoe-cleaning duties
afterwards, here, in the Crew Room, until about two
a.m.
"So, it is going to mean a very long and tiring
day, for one of you", warned Chief Stewardess Amanda
Forbes, her eyes still riveted upon Micky's face,
with her 'knowing' look.
"And", she continued, "you will, of course, still
be required to report for duty as scheduled,
tomorrow morning at six o'clock, to operate on our
flight to Izmir, in Turkey.
"Whichever one of you volunteers, I'll make due
note of it, on your Satisfaction Of Conduct report.
"It will go down well, for you, at the Job
Centre.
"And, more importantly, it will go down well, for
you, with me.
"I'll---"
Just as Chief Stewardess Amanda Forbes, knew he
would, Micky held up a responsive hand.
"Miss Amanda...I'd like to volunteer".
"Ruddy hell, Mandy! You've got the A.S.B.O. Kid
well trained, haven't you? Ruddy hell!!", exclaimed
Chief Stewardess Julie Jones, in apparent shock and
disbelief - and, great relief, too - that she would,
after all, be operating the flight to Corfu, with a
full complement of Air Purification Technicians.
Just 10 minutes later, Micky was once again
sitting aboard the SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS Crew Bus, as it
jounced along the apron of Manchester Airport, with
a decidedly smug-looking, Chief Stewardess Julie
Jones: (that prize bitch - of the first-water); the
other 7 members of the Cabin Crew; the Flight-Deck
Crew; and, last - and least! - his 3 fellow Techies:
or, to ascribe them the full and formal status of
their Official Title, as designated by the Job
Centre - 'Air Purification Technicians'.
Once aboard the SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS jet-liner, with
unveiled, malicious glee, Chief Stewardess Julie
Jones took sadistic delight in personally
re-installing Micky into the same 'contraption' -
the 'contraption', that Micky had only just been
released from after arriving back from Tenerife,
after more than 9 hours in the air and, the same
'contraption', that endlessly travelled the
one-lane-highway, in the cramped, confined,
claustrophobic - coffin-like, almost - under-seat
space of the 'Flying Pencil's narrow fuselage -
where, always in demand, he would serve the
never-ending summons, of the button-pushing female
passengers who occupied the Starboard window-seats
and, who were wishing to avail themselves, of the
decidedly singular, and pleasing and
gratifying services, of an Air Purification
Technician.
And, of course - during the turn-around time, at
the destination Airport - he would serve the dark
hosed, footsore, SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS Air Hostesses,
themselves.
Chief Stewardess Julie Jones: that prize bitch -
of the first-water, kept up a taunting, derisive,
and cruel monologue, as she gleefully re-installed
Micky onto the 'contraption'.
"What a sucker! Ha-ha!", opined Chief Stewardess
Julie Jones, as she secured Micky's arms along his
sides, to the 'contraption'.
"What a loser! Ha-ha!", asserted Chief Stewardess
Julie Jones, as she tore off a strip of strong
adhesive tape from the roll, and firmly pressed it
to Micky's lips with her figertips.
"Oh! I can't wait to tell Elaine, the next time I
see her, that her pesky, obnoxious, disrespecting
younger brother, is actually a footsniffer for
SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS!", Chief Stewardess Julie Jones
informed Micky, maliciously.
"And, I can't wait to tell Elaine, that I have
actually had her pesky, obnoxious, disrespecting
younger brother, helpless, under my feet!
"Yes! That I have actually had you, sniffing my
stinky feet!
"Yes! Oh yes! That I have made you - actually
forced you - to sniff my nasty, stinky feet, and
that there wasn't a thing, that you could do about
it! Not a thing!!
"Because, my little foot pet, that is exactly
what is going to happen, during the turn-around at
Corfu Airport", gloated Chief Stewardess Julie
Jones.
"What do you think Elaine will say, and your
Petra, and your Mum, and your Dad, will say, when
they find out? Eh? Eh? When they find out, that
you've actually been assigned a placement at
SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS, as a ruddy footsniffer - oh! I'm
sorry, I meant an 'Air Purification Technician' -
pardon me!! Ha-ha-ha-ha!", taunted Chief Stewardess
Julie Jones.
"Oh! I knew that Britain was going to become a
better place, when Caroline Flint and the A.F.P.
came to power! I knew I was right, to vote for the
Authoritarian Female Party!!
"After all, A.S.B.O. Kid, you are the living
proof of it - I'm actually going to have your
stupid, ugly face, under my nasty, stinky feet!
"I can still hardly believe it, but, I am
actually going to make you smell my nasty, smelly,
stinky feet, and there's not a single thing - not a
single, solitary thing - that you can do about it!
Ha-ha-ha-ha!
"Oh! I'm going to have some fun with you, Micky
McArdle! This is Payback Time! And boy, am I going
to make you pay!
"Oh, yes! I'll, teach you the meaning of
'respect'!!", vowed Chief Stewardess Julie Jones.
"Volunteer? Ha! More like loser! More like
sucker! - more like, 'footsniffer'!!", mocked Chief
Stewardess Julie Jones.
"I'll see you later, footsniffer. You lazy,
bone-idle, good-for-nothing, waste-of-time
and waste-of-space, footsniffer! And, that's a
promise!", were the malicious and vindictive parting
words, of Chief Stewardess Julie Jones.
Then, Chief Stewardess Julie Jones
smirked, gleefully and cruelly, at Micky, as she
contemptuously applied her right, Uniform Issue,
dark-blue pump shod foot, to the 'contraption' that
bore him, and thereby callously consigning yet
another unfortunate and miserable Techie (or, so she
thought, at the time!), to another long,
uncomfortable, and soul-destroyingly humiliating
shift, in the cramped, confined, claustrophobic -
coffin-like, almost - under-seat space of the
'Flying Pencil's narrow fuselage, to endlessly
trundle up and down the one-lane-highway and,
endlessly serving - as an Air Purification
Technician - the variously demanding, expectant,
pleased, approving, novelty-loving, delighted,
amused, highly amused, amazed, astonished,
disbelieving, incredulous, excited, thrilled,
titilated, button-pushing female passengers, who
were occupying the Starboard window-seats aboard the
SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS jet-liner and, who enjoyed
a tipple or 2 (or 3!) and, who smiled - smiled, with
pleasure and gratification - as they happily and
contentedly flew to their holiday destination:
which, in this case, would be the sun-drenched Greek
Island, of Corfu.
The Captain of the SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS jet-liner
boosted the engines to full power - the 'Flying
Pencil' was now ready for take-off.
Destination: Corfu.
Not that (as Chief Stewardess Amanda Forbes, had
pointed out), the destination made much difference,
to an Air Purification Technician.
Except, of course, that some flights were of a
longer duration than others. Much longer, in some
cases!
Indeed, SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS operated quite a number
of long-haul flights to far-flung destinations - in
the US, the Far East, Australia - to name but a few.
Until now, though, there had been a certain
'logistical' difficulty, preventing the use of Air
Purification Technicians on these long-haul
destinations. Until now...
Until now...
For, a simple solution had been found, by the
great thinkers at SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS, to deal with
this sanitation-related problem; which would entail
the Air Purification Technicians wearing something,
that rather resembled an over-sized, baby's
disposable nappy.
This was a simple - but effective - solution,
that would enable the Air Purification Technicians
to remain in-situ, on the 'contraptions' that bore
them, for much longer periods of time and, sniffing
up the stinky foot fumes of the
female holiday-makers - so that the SUNSHINE
HOLIDAYS passengers wouldn't have to.
Soon, SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS would be introducing
their Auxiliary Air Purification System - the Air
Purification Technicians - to their larger,
wide-bodied, 6, 8, and 10
'contraptioned' jet-liners, including their 'Jumbo
Jets', that flew to their long-haul, far-flung, and
exotic destinations around the world.
As the aircraft would be returning to Manchester
on the following day (of course, SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS
operated from a number of other British airports,
including Glasgow, Birmingham, Luton, Stansted,
Gatwick, Bristol, and Cardiff), this meant an
overnight stop-over at the resort destination for
the Air Crew - and, for the Air Purification
Technicians...
For the SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS Air Crew, these
long-haul, one-night stop-over destinations in often
exotic, but always exciting, resorts, were the plum,
highly-prized, and much sought after Flight Duty
assignments.
But, for the Air Purification Technicians...
For the SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS Air Crew, these
one-night stop-overs allowed them to thoroughly
enjoy themselves: to let their hair down; to cast
off their inhibitions; to paint the town red; to
dance the night away; to trip the light fantastic;
to Party - and, of course, gave them free reign, to
go back to their hotel bedrooms, to indulge in
their uninhibited revelry, and to practise their
alcohol-fuelled, brazen promiscuity and unrestrained
debauchery, with wonton, inebriated abandon.
But, for the Air Purification Technicians...
For the SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS Air Crew, these
one-night stop-overs were very enjoyable interludes
- like 'mini-holidays' - and, highly lucrative: with
all-found, best-of-everything hotel accommodation
and food; with very generous, away-from-home
allowances; and, with numerous other associated
benefits and payments, that fattened their pay
packets, and reminded them, that they were indeed,
on 'a good screw' - in more ways than one!.
But, for the Air Purification Technicians...
For the SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS Air Crew, to be
informed by someone in 'Crewing', that they were
rostered to fly long-haul, with a one-night
stop-over in some far-flung, exciting, exotic
resort, was to instantly get them buzzing, and
frenziedly texting and phoning the colleagues that
they would be flying (and flirting!) with, and,
already excitedly looking forward to the coming
trip, with eager anticipation, and with barely
contained gusto and glee.
But, for the Air Purification Technicians...
About 20 minutes later, the 'contraption' bearing
Micky started moving, with a skeleton-jarring jolt,
and it began to transport him along his rackety, dim
and dismal, one-lane-highway, to a point: a point,
determined by the female passenger who had summoned
him - an Air Purification Technician - by the simple
means of pushing the button, that was located under
the right arm-rest of her Starboard window-seat.
The panel directly above Micky's face opened.
After the feeble, dismal glow of the
widely-spaced, low-wattage bulbs in the under-seat
space of the 'Flying Pencil's narrow fuselage, the
sudden increase of brightness coming from the
aircraft cabin caused Micky initial discomfort and,
he had to squint, for a few moments, against the
harsh and offensive glare, while he waited for his
eyes to adjust.
When Micky opened his eyes, he saw a girl of
about his own age, looking down on him.
The girl was smiling. It was a pretty, fetching,
attractive smile - and, it was a smile, of pleasure
and gratification.
Micky thought the girl was pretty - very pretty!
Very pretty, indeed!!
She had brown eyes, and she had long, blonde
hair, that was tied with pink ribbon, and that hung
down over the front of her shoulders in glossy,
luxuriant twin ponytails.
Micky was enchanted, by this beautiful blonde
vision.
On her feet, Micky saw that the beautiful blonde
girl wore thin, white cotton ankle-socks, and black,
heavy-looking, backless shoes - like Dutch clogs.
As Micky watched, the girl casually let her
heavy-looking clogs fall from her dainty feet, and
they landed by Micky's enraptured, conveniently
positioned, taped-over-mouthed, and fixed-in-place
face, with a substantial-sounding thud.
Now, the beautiful blonde girl hovered her white
cotton, ankle-socked soles mere inches above Micky's
bug-eyed face and, he had just a few precious
seconds, in which to register the exciting,
thrilling sight of the balls of her feet, her heels,
and the under-toe areas of her socks, which were
moist-looking and, stained grey, with her foot
sweat.
Then the girl, simply and nonchalantly, lowered
her white cotton, ankle-socked, dainty feet onto
Micky's upturned and perfectly-positioned face: her
toes, carefully and strategically stationed directly
over his nostrils, so as to ensure, that she was
achieving maximum suction and, so as to ensure,
that his nostrils would inhale, like 2 heavy-duty
extractor fans and, so as to ensure, that the twin
air-intakes of his nostrils efficiently vacuumed up
her stinky foot fumes, and permanently absorbed them
into his lungs, like 2 super-absorbent sponges - so
that the SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS passengers wouldn't have
to.
Well! After all, that's what the bone-idle,
waste-of-time, waste-of-space, good-for-nothing,
tax-dodging sponger was here for!
Wasn't it?
It was a way of making the lazy so-and-so earn
his Unemployment Benefit, until he got up off his
worthless, useless backside - the useless lazy fat
lump! - and got a job.
The Chief Stewardess - Julie, her name is - told
her so!
The Chief Stewardess - Julie - knows this
particular Air Purification Technician extremely
well, knows him of old, she said. And so, she knows
what she's talking about, she had assured her.
So - Chief Stewardess Julie, had told her -
there's no need to feel sorry, for 'him'!
Oh, no!!
Don't feel sorry for 'him' - 'he' deserves
everything he gets! Everything! That's why he's
here! That's the whole reason, why he's been
assigned a placement as an Air Purification
Technician!, Chief Stewardess Julie, had earnestly
explained to her.
And, after all, when you thought about it... when
you really, really, thought, about it... there did
seem to be a... a... a sort of... 'rightness', about
it, too!
Yes! He jolly well did, deserve everything he
got!
Everything!!
Now, Micky closed his eyes again - but, this
time, it had nothing to do with the harsh lighting
coming from the aircraft cabin.
And, it wasn't long, before Micky was starting to
get a little hot and bothered - in fact, more than a
little, hot and bothered!
Micky was getting very hot, and very bothered,
indeed!
In fact... Micky was starting to get excited -
very excited - 'down there'.
Micky wanted to do 'something' about it - was
desperate, to do 'something' about it.
He wanted to touch himself.
He wanted to stroke himself.
He wanted to caress himself.
He wanted to play with himself.
Micky wanted, to urgently and frantically and
frenetically and frenziedly pull and tug, himself!
But, he couldn't!!
Because his arms were secured along his sides, to
the 'contraption'!!!
The panel directly above Micky's face closed.
The enchanting, brown-eyed, blonde,
pink-beribboned-twin-ponytailed girl, of about
Micky's own age, with her black, heavy-looking,
backless shoes - like Dutch clogs - and her dainty,
stinky, sweat-stained, white cotton ankle-socked
feet, disappeared from Micky's sight.
Her 10 minutes were up...
For the remainder of the flight to Corfu - and
the return flight to Manchester! - time, and time
again, Micky was variously imperiously, arrogantly,
nonchalantly, or maliciously summoned, by the female
passengers who occupied the Starboard window-seats
and, who smiled down at him, with pleasure and
gratification, as he sniffed up their stinky foot
fumes - so that the SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS passengers
didn't have to.
Micky, was "high as a kite!" on his
female-foot-fix and, he positively thrilled, to
those visual, tactile, and olfactory delights - but,
at the terrible price, of almost unbearable,
sanity-threatening torment and frustration.
Here, is where we shall take our leave of young
Micky McArdle.
For, it is clear to us, the road he has chosen to
travel - the one-lane-highway - in the dismal, feeby-lit,
cramped and confined, claustrophobic - coffin-like,
almost - under-seat space, in the narrow fuselage of
the SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS 'Flying Pencil'.
Chief Stewardess Amanda Forbes - who Micky
already admires and adores, beyond all sense of
proportion - has, with her 'knowing' look, exposed
Micky, for what he is.
Chief Stewardess Amanda Forbes, has revealed
Micky's home-truths - for all to see.
Micky's former school friends - especially his
former best class-mate, Al Wallace - Micky believes,
will no longer be able to look Micky in the eye,
from sheer embarrassment.
Chief Stewardess Julie Jones: that prize bitch -
of the first-water, can't wait to tell Micky's
sister, Elaine (and, through her, his whole family),
that her "pesky, obnoxious, and disrespecting"
younger brother, has been assigned a placement with
her Company, SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS, and - get this! - is
now actually one of the 'footsniffers'!
Oh, yes! That'll ruddy well teach him! That will
put pesky, obnoxious, and disrespecting Micky
McArdle well and truly in his place - for good!,
Micky could almost hear her thinking.
First, though, Chief Stewardess Julie Jones has
got some extremely gratifying business, and an
incredibly satisfying score, to settle, with "the
A.S.B.O. Kid".
She has promised to make Micky - actually force
him - to smell her nasty, stinky feet, during the
turn-around at Corfu Airport.
And - Heaven help Micky - but, he can't wait!
Micky can't wait, either - Heaven help him! - to,
upon their return to Manchester Airport in the wee,
small hours, to obediently and compliantly sit on
the floor of the SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS Crew Room during
the post-flight de-brief and, be gloatingly and
gleefully ordered, by Chief Stewardess Julie Jones -
that prize bitch, of the first-water - to take off
her Uniform Issue, dark-blue pumps, and to massage
her hot and sweaty, tired and achey, dark hosed,
stinky feet, for her - as Micky had no doubt, that
she most assuredly would!
And Micky can't wait, either - Heaven help him!
- for Chief Stewardess Julie Jones, to callously
and cruelly command the sleep-deprived, exhausted
Micky, to clean and polish her shoes, for her: so
that they are nice and clean and shiny, for when she
wears them again - before finally allowing the poor
and put-upon lad to go home to his bed, to snatch
what little, meagre and grossly insufficient sleep,
he can, before returning to report for Duty at
06:00, to operate, under Chief Stewardess Amanda
Forbes, as an Air Purification Technician on the
SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS Flight to Izmir, in Turkey.
Just one day ago, Micky would have thought that
he would have actually curled up into a ball,
shrivelled up, and died, of sheer embarrassment and
unbearable shame if, somehow, his closely-guarded,
"little secret" somehow became common knowledge: if,
somehow, some unknown woman, had seen right through
him, with her seemingly x-ray vision - with her
'knowing' look.
And exposed him - for what he was.
And, revealed his home-truths - for all to see.
But now, though... Micky felt... Free!
As free as a bird!!
Soaring: "as high as a kite - higher than the
plane!"
Micky actually felt, as if he honestly could not
give a hoot (to sanitize, somewhat, what would be
Micky's own, decidedly earthier and more 'colourful'
epithet!), about who knew about his heretofore,
jealously-guarded "little secret" - his home-truth.
Within the space of a single day - in less than
24 hours! - Micky's whole-wide-world had changed:
changed, beyond all recognition; changed,
irrevokably; changed, forever.
And, there was no going back, for Micky.
Now, Micky McArdle has actually got what he wants
- exactly, what he wants - and, what he needs.
His heart's desire.
A new, undreamed of, Paradise of being.
This, is how he wants to live his life, and how
he wants his life to be - spent, and devoted, in the
humble service of female feet.
For Micky, the inexplicable, almost magical,
magnetic, irresistible allure, of female feet, his
deep and profound respect, reverence, and worship,
even, of female feet, are what make Micky tick, and
are what make his world go round: are crucial, to
his whole sense of well-being - to his fulfilment.
Chief Stewardess Amanda Forbes, was right, when
she said that Micky loves feet.
For Micky, female feet - the heady, dizzying,
intoxicating, extreme close-up proximity, of female
feet: the sight, of them; the feel, of them; the
smell, of them - have become his raison d'etre.
His must-have, female-feet-fix.
His fulfilment.
And now, through the unwitting (and certainly,
unintentional!) courtesy of Prime Minister Caroline
Flint, and her Authoritarian Female Party, the
golden key, to his veritable female-foot-fest, to
his must-have, female-feet-fix, to his fulfilment -
his raison d'etre - has been handed to him on a
silver platter.
In a new, female-friendly Britain - a Britain,
governed by the highly charismatic, and inspired
genius of Prime Minister Caroline Flint, and
her Cabinet of able, capable women, and her
exclusively female Members of Parliament who,
collectively, are the Authoritarian Female Party -
the days of the male malingerers, the workshy
layabouts, the free-lunch-eaters, and the 'career
claimants', are well and truly numbered.
The Authoritarian Female Party, who are the
gifted, highly motivated, and supremely innovative
infrastructural architects, busily building and
re-constructing this new, female-friendly,
male-subjugated Britain - and, who are directly
responsible, for Micky McArdle's being assigned a
'placement', as an Air Purification Technician for
SUNSHINE HOLIDAYS - are wasting no time, in
honouring the promises of their Electoral Pledges.
And, every passing day, in every part of Britain,
males - males, who are claiming Unemployment
Benefit; males, who are claiming Disability Benefit;
males, who have no job to go to, upon their leaving
education - are nervously wondering, with a
creeping, pervading sense of dread: Where will my
assignment be? What will my 'placement' be?
Will today, they wonder, be the fateful day, when
the Postman has a little something for them, from
their local Job Centre - will today be the day, when
they receive their Letter Of Notification?
THE END.