story is written by David, please send comments and appreciation to
Twenty-one-year-old James Noble was happily spending his evening where he
spent most of his evenings: over at Debbie's, his twenty-year-old
couple had been going steady for almost three months now. Well, reasonably
steady ... considering James's all-consuming passion: his foot fetish.
Debbie was complaining because she certainly wasn't. Debbie loved it that
James loved her feet. She loved the foot rubs ... and much, much more. She
loved it that she could so easily stir him up so much, with her foot
teasing. That she could so easily ... light his fire.
uncontrollable obsession that went back as far as he could remember, he'd
told Debbie was prone to landing him in hot water. Sometimes, resulting in
a highly unpleasant experience, not only for himself, but also for anyone
else who might be with him at the time ... latterly, Debbie.
and Debbie were in the living room, sitting on the sofa and watching a TV
was sitting to James's left and, her back comfortably supported with
cushions, she had kicked off her comfy flats her pair of black,
years'-old, extremely well-worn and supple ones that she only wore about the
house now and was sitting length-wise, with her bare feet in James's ever
accommodating lap. James was repeatedly tracing his fingertips along the
bare sole of Debbie's right foot; from the bottom of her heel, to the ball
of her foot, to the bottom of her heel ... over and over. Debbie had told
him she found his various attentions, his ... ministrations, both pleasant
the living room, was Debbie's thirty-six-year-old mum, Doris.
owned the 3-bedroom, semi-detached house in south-west London, not far from
Wimbledon. And her daughter, who was struggling, on her modest salary as a
pharmacy assistant to save up enough money for a deposit on a flat, was
still living with her.
was very fond of James. She thought he was a nice boy, and he certainly
seemed devoted to her Debbie. In fact, he and Debbie seemed to be made for
each other; had hit it off, right from the get-go. And he certainly wouldn't
do a runner, as Debbie's father had, as soon as Doris had told him she was
pregnant. No Doris knew that James would be thrilled to pieces. But ...
why did there always have to be a fly in the ointment? she thought.
was of the opinion that James's ... predilection for girls' and women's
feet, was way out of hand. And that he should do something about it and
soon, before he had a real disaster. Doris said that James's "problem" was
probably all down to some faulty gene, or something like that. A glitch in
his biological circuitry.
she'd said, where there is a will, there is a way. Maybe James's GP could
refer him to some sort of counsellor. Or even to a hypnotist, as outlandish
as that might sound. Or, as a last resort, maybe put him on some sort of
medication, some kind of ... mind-altering substance.
was: James didn't have the will.
anyway, Debbie wouldn't hear of it, either. She'd kicked each of her mum's
well-intentioned suggestions right into the long grass.
thought she'd found the perfect man her Mr Right. Debbie was a very sexy,
and sex-loving young woman. She loved all of the feet-based foreplay ... and
the hot and passionate sex that invariably resulted from it; resulted from
her saucily ratcheting up James's desire to fever-pitch levels, making him
crazy for her. And she didn't want to go jeopardising all of that, by having
her James put on some sort of medication, as her mum kept on suggesting.
Some kind of ... inhibitor.
understood, that James's foot fetish was ingrained. Understood, that it was
too inherent; too much a part of who he was, to go meddling with the balance
of his psychological make-up. Understood, that it was ... intrinsic.
and her mum, with their blue eyes and blonde hair, were strikingly similar
in appearance. In fact, when James had first met Doris, he'd assumed that
she was Debbie's older sister her eyes, just as sparkling, her hair, just
as lustrous, her figure, just as (well, almost) well-toned until Debbie
had revealed the amazing truth, when she'd introduced Doris as her mum.
almost as amazing, to James, was that Doris was still a single mum. But this
was because, when the sixteen-year-old Doris had told Debbie's father that
she was pregnant, he'd made a sharp exit, disappearing faster than fumes
from an exhaust pipe, never to be seen or heard of again. And after that,
even though she'd received several offers of marriage, Doris had declined
each of her besotted suitors' proposals, choosing instead to remain single.
was the 'Domestic Goddess', Nigella Lawson. She was in her kitchen, creating
yet another of her to-die-for, awesome chocolaty confections and looking
good enough to eat, herself.
James wasn't paying much attention to Nigella's cookery programme. And it
was no wonder ... What, with the highly agreeable distraction of Debbie's
bare feet in his lap: watching the lovely long toes of her right foot,
scrunching and splaying in response to his fingertip strokes; and feeling
the toe pads of her left foot repeatedly stroking his sensitive inner thigh,
sending wave after wave of sensual shivers through his whole body ... how
diminishing James's ability to concentrate on the sultry Domestic Goddess's
culinary pronouncements, was Debbie's look-alike mum, Doris. Just beside
James, Doris was sitting in the armchair to the right of the sofa and, with
her feet propped up on her squishy dark red leather footstool, ankles
crossed, one of her mule slippers was slap-slap-slapping against the bottom
of her bare heel.
noticing James's ... divided attentions, Debbie raised her right leg, and
gently placed the ball of her bare foot upon James's left cheek, firmly
pressing her toe pads against the side of his forehead. And, to James,
Debbie's toe pads were like five electrodes, connecting directly to ultra
sensitive receptors in his brain. Plugged into his neural pathways, her toe
pads seemed to emit a mild, regulated charge, that was like a gently
pulsating, 'brainwashing' electric current. James closed his eyes, in
ecstasy at the exquisite sensation.
just as Debbie knew he would, James turned his face to his left, facing
towards her ... and facing the sole of her bewitching bare foot.
toe pads, Debbie played with James's lips; pressing and probing, and pulling
and tugging, before finally cupping his nose in her long toes.
just as Debbie knew he would, James moaned softly, in his lustful pleasure
at inhaling her intoxicating, in-between-the-toes foot scent.
Debbie, Debbie," moaned James, quickly getting carried away. "I'm ... oh
god, oh god, I'm ... I'm"
I hear you are in trouble again at work, James," said Doris, breaking the
spell, and snapping James back into the here and now. "I don't suppose
you've mentioned it to Deborah though, have you? Julia was telling me all
about it. Haven't you got any control over yourself at all, James? I mean
was Julia Carson. She was a long-time friend of Doris, and their friendship
went back to their high school days.
was Julia Carson, of Julia Carson & Associates. A small firm of south London
insurance brokers, at which James was the only male member of staff.
little over two months ago, it was only as a special, for-old-times'-sake
favour to Doris, that Julia had taken the then unemployed James on as a
junior member of staff he knew about as much about insurance, as the Man
in the Moon.
Julia Carson had created a new, minimum-wage (she couldn't justify paying
more at least, not as a starting salary), menial position to accommodate
James on her staff. James's duties would entail performing the simplest and
most mundane of office chores. And to make the tea, keep the office clean
and tidy, and to run errands for Julia and her office girls. In other words:
to be at the beck and call of all of his female colleagues their general
dogsbody and gopher. James would earn his corn, by freeing up some of
Julia's office girls' valuable time, thereby increasing their productivity
... At least, that had been Julia Carson's thinking.
Carson had already given James numerous 'final warnings', and she was now
fast approaching the absolute limit of her tolerance with him. And the only
reason that James was still hanging on to his job by the skin of his teeth,
was because she was loath to risk upsetting her long and valued friendship
with Doris ... by sacking her old friend's daughter's boyfriend. But the
clock was ticking, for James.
problem was that he was too easily distracted, in the open-plan office. He
found his work as dull as dishwater. But nonetheless, he spent far too much
time, watching the absentminded, under-the-seat shoe-playing antics of his
black leather office pump, dark pantyhose wearing, female colleagues ... and
far too little time, getting any work done.
slightest of under-the-seat movements, would attract James's ever-alert
eyes, and the faintest ruffle of dark pantyhose feet, toying with leather
pumps, would reach his finely tuned ears.
was very grateful to her mum, for managing to wangle an unlikely job for her
boyfriend at Julia Carson & Associates. Really, she was. But she didn't want
to hear it, not now not again!
Mum! Leave James alone. I'll I'll talk to him, okay?" said Debbie,
removing her teasing bare foot (unplugging her five electrodes) from James's
face, and returning it to his (now steeply-tented) lap.
"Oh, you'll talk to him. You'll talk to him,
will you? And what good, Deborah, do you think that will do when you are
always encouraging him? Look! Even now, you're still ..."
Come on, James," said Debbie, swinging her feet to the floor. Lets go to
the pub. I need a drink!
might need a drink. But it's treatment, that James needs, Deborah.
Debbie slipped her bare
feet into a newish pair of flats, and grabbed her handbag. "We won't need
our coats, James it's warm out," she said.
couldn't you ask Mr Marsden, at work, if he knows of any ... nullifying
drug, that might help James? I mean, he's a pharmacist, so maybe"
see you later, Mum," said Debbie, as she leaned over the back of Doris's
armchair and gave her an affectionate peck on the cheek. "I won't be late,
I'll maybe see you tomorrow then, Mrs Morris," said James. He still couldn't
bring himself to call her Doris ... he wouldn't dare.
right, James. See you tomorrow, love," replied Doris.
then, James," said Debbie, taking hold of his elbow, and steering him
towards the door.
the street, walking to the pub, James said, "How come you were so keen to go
out, Debs? We could have stayed in, and had a glass of wine with your mum."
I wanted a chance to talk to you, about Mum ... about her birthday, in two
weeks' time? And we could hardly talk about that, right in front of her,
Friday night, and the Cock and Bull was busy. Debbie and James were lucky
though another young couple were vacating a table just as they were coming
in. Debbie sent James to the bar, and she sat at the circular-shaped table,
waiting for him. The young couple who'd just vacated the table had left a
copy of the local newspaper behind, and Debbie picked it up, turning to the
classified advertisements pages.
counter was crowded with Friday-night drinkers; the end-of-the-working-week
crowd, either propping up the bar, or sitting upon the high, chrome, red
leather topped bar stools.
spotted a small gap, between two young women perched upon bar stools, and he
squeezed himself into it. On the bar counter in front of the two young women
were half-pint glasses of lager, almost empty. They were both stunning,
Beauty-Queen gorgeous, thought James, when they both turned to ... assess
him, as he invaded the small space between them.
beauties were a couple of years or so older than him, thought James, at
maybe twenty-four or twenty-five. And they both had blue eyes, and blonde,
shoulder-length hair, that was of a similar shade to that of Debbie and
Doris's. Added to that, they both had the beautifully tanned, curvy,
gym-toned figures of glamour models, that he'd found hard to look away from
as he'd approached the small gap at the bar between them ... especially, as
they were both wearing flip flops. James then felt himself blushing
furiously, under their combined, frank regard. Under their ... appraisal.
with a £10 note in his hand, vied to catch the eye of the
rushed-off-her-feet, brunette, and busty barmaid ... who then gave him a
don't-hold-your-breath look on her way to the row of optics with two
glasses, her flip flops slap-slap-slapping against her bare heels in a
busy-busy-busy sounding rhythm, en route.
stunning blonde to James's right her friend and herself having now
finished their drinks then took a £10 note from her handbag ... but she
made no attempt to attract the barmaid's attention.
James's eyes almost popped out of his head, when the barmaid, who James
thought couldn't be any taller than about 5' 4", reached right up on tiptoes
to push the rims of the two glasses into the adjacent vodka and dark rum
optics. It was a lovely sight: the skin of the barmaid's arches, stretched
taut and smooth; her heels, round and prominent.
vodka and dark rum were being dispensed into the two glasses, the barmaid
looked over her shoulder ... and then frowned, upon her seeing where James's
avid gaze was being directed. And then, upon her noticing that the stunning
blonde to James's right was holding out a £10 note, she distractedly
acknowledged her, "I'll I'll be with you ... in a sec, Sharon."
worry, Joan. There's no rush, sweetie," replied Sharon.
she'd served the drinks and put the takings in the till, Joan the barmaid
came over and, after giving James a funny look, said, "Same again, Shaz
two halves of Stella?"
two Bacardi and Cokes, please, Joan," replied Sharon. "Oh, and grab us a
couple of bags of crisps, too. Cheese and onion flavour, for Jennifer, and
prawn cocktail flavour for"
"Um ... I think I was first," interrupted
James ... And then wished he'd kept his mouth shut.
Joan the barmaid, who James thought was maybe
twenty-five, gave James a bleak look, and the stunning blondes on either
side of him Jennifer and Sharon turned their gazes on him again ... and
they didn't look very happy with him, either. And as Joan the barmaid walked
over to the Bacardi optic, to James's ear, the slap-slap-slapping sound of
her flip flops against her bare heels now seemed to have an ... angry,
quality to it.
When Joan the barmaid had served the two
Bacardi & Cokes, put Sharon's £10 note in the till and given her her change,
neutral-voiced, she then addressed James. "Right then, what can I get you?"
"A pint of Stella, and a glass of dry white
wine, please," replied James.
At hearing the dry white wine part of James's
drinks order, Jennifer and Sharon half-spun around on their bar stools to
see who the glass of wine was for, and they saw Debbie, sitting with her
back to them, and engrossed in reading something in the left-behind local
Joan the barmaid reached up, and grabbed a
wineglass from the overhead rack, and then reached down, and grabbed a
bottle of dry white House wine from the under-the-counter chiller cabinet.
She poured out the glass of dry white wine, and placed it on the bar counter
in front of James. Then, when she was pouring James's pint of Stella, the
stunning blonde to his right, Sharon, said, "So ... what's with the flip
flops tonight, Joan? What happened to your new shoes, those awesome red
Joan the barmaid's face contorted, as though
at painfully remembered, fresh-in-the-mind agonies, and she stopped pouring
James's Stella, mid-pint. She slipped her right foot from her flip flop, and
raised her leg up behind her, displaying her rather angry-red looking bare
sole. "See here, Shaz, Jen," she said, pointing to the back of her heel,
"they've been rubbing the hell out of my heels ... And, see here, and here,"
she said, pointing to the ball of her foot, and to the bottom of her heel,
that were also the same sore-looking, pinkish-red colour, "they've been
crippling me," she complained. "And it certainly doesn't help, that Janice
has been off sick."
Sharon and Jennifer tut-tutted, and made the
appropriate sympathetic noises.
"My other foot's the same, look ... I'll wear
the red pumps again, on a quieter night," she said, as she resumed pouring
James's pint of lager.
Well! That was certainly an unexpected treat,
thought James. Joan the barmaid certainly had a lovely pair of shapely,
dainty feet ... And he'd certainly love to rub lotion into her hard-working,
tired and achy soles, after one of her hard night slogs behind the busy Cock
& Bull's bar, he thought, as he brought the drinks over to the table where
Debbie was waiting for him. He took a seat opposite her, facing towards the
"You took your sweet time. Where have you
been, James to Bordeaux, to press the grapes? Ah, the lengths you will go
to for me ... such devotion," said Debbie teasingly.
"Oh! Ha ha! Very funny, Debs. I was lucky to
get served this quickly ... And, anyway, I would walk to the ends of the
earth for you, Debs, you know that ... What's that you're reading, anyway
the local rag?"
"Yes. I'm reading through the classifieds
you know, the items for sale section. You just never know what you'll see in
James picked up his pint of Stella, looking
forward to that first, ice-cold, nothing-else-like-it, ultra refreshing gulp
of lager ... but it didn't reach his lips.
For James's eyes had been drawn, as though by
some kind of magnetic pull, and become fixated upon the captivating, awesome
sight directly in front of him. The
two stunning blondes, perched upon their bar stools, had both let their
thin-rubber flip flops Jennifer's, pink, and Sharon's, yellow fall from
their feet, to the floor. And both of them were displaying their bare soles,
albeit at a rather acute angle, as they hooked their toes around their bar
stool's chrome, rounded stretcher bar.
And then Joan the barmaid, seemingly having a
quiet minute between serving customers, came over and started chatting to
her two drop-dead-gorgeous friends ... And then James's hand actually began
to shake; the lager in his glass spilling over the rim, so that he had to
put it back on the table.
Because Jennifer and Sharon, who were now
engaged in an animated conversation with Joan the barmaid, were leaning
slightly forward on their bar stools and, for counterbalance, they had both
put their feet behind their bar stool's rounded stretcher bar ... totally
exposing, to James, the bare soles of their suntanned, shapely feet.
The soles of Jennifer and Sharon's bare feet
were slightly grimy, from wearing their flip flops all day, assumed James.
And, as they chatted with Joan the barmaid, James avidly watched Jennifer
and Sharon's toes, as they variously scrunched, splayed, and wiggled, in
apparent accordance with the differing stimuli of their lively conversation
... of their girl-talk. And the two stunning blondes' sexy soles show was
quickly becoming too much, for James.
"You know it's Mum's birthday in two weeks'
time, James," said Debbie, obliging James to tear his eyes away from the
super-sexy antics of the two stunning blondes' beautiful bare soles. "Have
you decided on a present yet? This is your chance to really get into her
good books. I know you think Mum has got a bit of a downer on you, because
she's always going on about your ... well, you know, 'problem'. But Mum
likes you, James. Really, she does. She says you are Noble by name, and
noble by nature."
"Did she really say that, Debs? That really
means a lot to me ... But no, I've been thinking and thinking, but I haven't
decided on a present yet. I want to buy her something unusual, not just
boring old, run-of-the-mill flowers and chocolates although I'll probably
give her those as well. No, I want to give her something that's, you know,
not only useful and long-lasting, but a bit ... off-the-wall, as well.
Something that, whenever she looks at it, it'll remind her of me."
"Hmm ... very thoughtful, James, I'm sure,"
replied Debbie dryly. "Well, maybe I've found just the thing, James here,
in the classifieds. It's a mirror. But not just any old mirror although
it's certainly old. An antique piece, in fact."
Debbie rummaged in her handbag, found a Biro,
and circled the item. "Here. Have a read, James, and see what you think,"
she said, passing the twice-folded newspaper across.
Debbie watched James's face as he read the
item. She thought she'd stumbled upon just the right thing, and she was
hoping James would think so, too.
"Debs, this is just the right thing!"
exclaimed James. "Seventeenth-century artefact, it says here, and in
remarkable condition ... Wait a minute, though. This price must be a
misprint, mustn't it? Only twenty-five pounds, for something like that?
Besides, it's probably been sold by now this is yesterday's paper."
"It isn't. It is. And it's not," replied
Debbie, rather cryptically.
"What?" said James, his face contorting in
"It isn't a misprint. The mirror is,
only twenty-five pounds. And it's not been sold yet," Debbie
"I phoned the contact number on my mobile
while you were at the bar. Actually, James, it was all rather odd ... The
lady who answered said she's still got the mirror, and that she can't wait
to be rid of the damn thing not that there is anything wrong with it, 'as
such', she'd hastened to add. 'As such', she'd said ... whatever
that's supposed to mean. In fact, she said if we can come and look at the
mirror tomorrow, she'll let you have it for just twenty pounds."
"Well, that's brilliant, Debs! It's Saturday
tomorrow, we're both not working ... that's settled, then! Looks like I've
found your mum's birthday present, Debs."
"Yes, James," agreed Debbie. "I can't help
wondering, though, why the lady is so keen to get rid of it. I mean, after
all, it's just a mirror ... isn't it?"
* * *
"I'll have a look at the entertainments page,
shall I, James, see what's on at the cinema tomorrow?" Debbie suggested.
"Yeah, okay, Debs," said James, returning to
his own idea of entertainment: watching the exciting antics of the two
stunning blondes' sexy feet. And Joan the barmaid, apparently having another
quiet minute, had just stopped to chat to them again.
Oh, and Jennifer and Sharon's feet were
certainly worth watching, thought James talk about entertainment value!
Still resting behind their bar stool's chrome, all-the-way-around, rounded
stretcher bar, their gorgeous bare soles were still being displayed, totally
exposed, to James. Unconsciously, Jennifer and Sharon were pushing his
buttons ... If only they knew!
And oh, what awesome soles, they both had!
Lightly suntanned, and shapely, with nice, generous arches, longish toes,
prominent heels ... sexy as all hell! Eye-candy, at its finest. And, the
fact that their soles their heels, the balls of their feet, and the pads
of their toes were slightly begrimed, from a mixture of work-a-day dirt
and sweat, only served to enhance James's rising excitement. His growing ...
But then, Joan the barmaid, chatting to
Jennifer and Sharon at the bar, and positioned in between them, happened to
look past them ... and she saw the look on James's face.
She beheld his dreamy expression. An
expression that seemed, at the same time, to be both unfocused, and yet
sharply focused. Joan the barmaid saw where James's avid,
unfocused/sharply-focused gaze was being directed ... and frowned.
Upon their seeing Joan the barmaid's frown,
Jennifer and Sharon looked over their shoulders, to where her gaze was being
directed ... and they also frowned.
But, so totally engrossed, was James, and so
oblivious was he, to the fact that his voyeurism had been well and truly
rumbled, that he continued to stare ... and stare ... and stare.
Until something made him look up ... and
James saw three pairs of indignant eyes, looking right back at him. Glaring.
"Had a good eyeful, have you, eh?" shouted
Joan the barmaid, loud enough to stop conversations, and attract the
attention of everyone in the Cock & Bull ... including Debbie, a look of
oh-no-not-again dread, immediately clouding her lovely features.
"I thought he'd been looking at my feet,
earlier!" said Joan the barmaid, hotly. "At first, I thought I must be
mistaken ... well, you would, wouldn't you? But now I've caught him staring
at your feet, too!" she informed Jennifer and Sharon and all the rest of
the Cock & Bull's Friday-night drinkers.
Joan the barmaid's flip flops went
slap-slap-slap-slap in rapid fire as, face flushed in umbrage, she marched
to the end of the bar counter. She lifted the flap (that allowed access to
the customer side of the bar), latched it open, and stormed over to James
and Debbie's table. Looming over James, her ample bust on a level with his
now bright-red face, she demanded of him, "What's your game, then? Eh? I
mean, what's with you? Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn't ban
James had no answer. Shamefaced, he looked
into the amber depths of his as yet untouched pint of Stella ... he couldn't
bring himself to look at the mortified Debbie.
The two stunning blondes, Jennifer and
Sharon, slipped down from their high bar stool perches. They slipped their
feet into their flip flops, and joined Joan the barmaid, standing to either
side of her at Debbie and James's table.
"So ... what have you got to say for
yourself, then? Don't you know, that it's rude to stare?" said Jennifer, who
then drew back her arm, and administered her summary punishment: a sharp,
resounding slap to James's left cheek.
"Yes. How dare you?" demanded Sharon, who
then also drew back her arm, and delivered an equally stinging slap, to
James's right cheek.
At first, the patrons of the Cock & Bull were
stunned into a near, hear-a-pin-drop silence, broken only by a few females'
gasps, ranging from surprise to shock, by the no-nonsense, retributive
actions of the two stunning blondes. And then some of the tipsy tipplers
started to giggle. And the more inebriated drinkers, to laugh, and
wolf-whistle, and clap their hands delightedly.
Debbie looked at James's stricken face. She
watched stark white imprints of Jennifer and Sharon's hands appearing,
superimposed upon his otherwise bright red cheeks, and she wished that the
proverbial hole in the ground would swallow her up. But, worse was to come
Joan the barmaid, performing the coup de
grace, picked up James's still untouched pint of lager, and she slowly
poured the entire, almost ice-cold contents over his head. "There ... Maybe
now, you'll learn some manners!" she told him.
And now the Cock & Bull erupted. Erupted into
a bedlam of giggles, delighted laughs, wolf-whistles, approving and
appreciative hand-clapping, and drunken shouts of encouragement, urging Joan
the barmaid and the two stunning blondes to further and yet more severe
comeuppances, for the caught-red-handed, denounced and disgraced voyeur.
Debbie had seen enough, heard enough ... and
had enough. She abruptly stood up, grabbed hold of James's shirt collar, and
dragged him up and out of his chair. "Come on," she said through gritted
teeth. "We're going."
Out on the street, and
once out of earshot of the uproarious commotion in the pub, James said
mum is right about me, Debbie. You should give me the boot.
don't tempt me! I know where I'd like to kick you right at this moment!
And, I keep telling you: Mum doesn't say that about you, James. She just
thinks you need to seek treatment, that's all. And, well ... maybe she's
right, James. Don't ... don't you think? After tonight? Maybe it's for the
best. I mean, maybe there is, something you could take. Something
your GP could prescribe. To, you know ... take the edge off."
James made no reply, Debbie sighed and said, "Come on. Walk me home, James."
he saw Debbie safely home, not for the first time, James wondered what
it was that Debbie saw in him.
did she stick with him, through thick and thin? Through rough and
smooth. Through rain and shine ... When there was so much thin, and so
little smooth, and she was always getting douched on. Any other girl, he
thought, would have dumped him well before now him, and his "problem".
"I'll see you tomorrow then, James," said Debbie, giving him a decidedly
chaste peck on the cheek, as she let herself into the house.
a great, inward sigh, James told himself that the best thing he could do
now, was to get home to his flat. Take a shower, and have an early
night. Tomorrow, was another day.
Tomorrow, he had a mirror to buy.
continues,in Part 2.
story is written by David, please send comments and appreciation to