Feeture meets Camille - A work of fiction
Posted: Sat Jun 30, 2007 6:22 pm
FEETURE MEETS CAMILLE - A Fable from the Future
This is a work of fiction taking place in 2010, in a universe where there is no Nyllover.com!
I am known as Doc Feeture on the Internet. My claim to fame is my guidebook to scenes of shoeless women in more than 12,000
movies. I have been retired a couple of years, having worked most of
my life as a librarian and more recently as a freelance editor.
I have two goals in my retirement: 1. To pick up DVDs of obscure movies from around the world; and 2. To visit what I call quasi-countries, countries that are either surviving fine, such as Taiwan, but not
recognized as legitimate countries; countries under international
control, such as Kosovo; and countries that claim independence and
are recognized but not functioning as such, for instance, Western
Sahara. The quasi-countries can be from the past or present.
My most recent journey was to Eastern Europe, to visit some of the areas that were international plebiscite territories after World War I or had attempted independence during the Russian Revolution.
I found myself at Heathrow Airport in London, awaiting a flight on BalticNorth Airways, which had adopted the business model of
Southwest Airlines (cheap fares, no reserved seats), to Eastern Europe, via the airline hub in Rostock, Germany. It was about four
hours before the scheduled departure time. But the airline staff was
conducting a wildcat strike, or industrial action, as the Brits call it. The
departure time had been moved back another four hours. So here I was
at Heathrow at 2:00 p.m. and the flight would not depart until 10:00.
The departure area was fairly crowded with people who had
arrived on international flights, as I had earlier in the day. We had been
able to check in with the airport ticket agents (who did not work for the
airline) and had our recyclable boarding passes. I looked around, trying
to find someone with whom the time would pass enjoyably.
And I saw her, a brunette young enough to be my daughter, very pretty and attractively dressed in a dark skirt and white hose. To top it all off, she had her legs crossed and was slightly dangling a slingback.
All that was fine, and she was holding a paperback book as well, but
not really reading it. To tell the truth, she seemed a bit bored.
I walked over and asked if she would mind if I sat there. She
indicated it was OK. After sitting down, I made some small talk about
how it was a shame we had chosen that day to travel. I asked her destination and it turned out she was also headed to the Baltics on business. She asked why I was going to Eastern Europe and I said to visit some of what I called quasi-countries. Then I said I did not want to keep
her from her reading, and she answered that it was for her job and
was not very interesting.
Next I introduced myself and she said she was Camille. I
said it was a very nice name, and I had never met a Camille before.
I asked what her job was, that it required reading, and she said she
was an administrative assistant for a publishing firm. Her
boss was interested in a new author and had asked her to read the
book and let him know what she thought of the
author's style. This was a nice opening for me to explain what I used
to do.
I explained my interest in quasi-countries and
that I knew many areas that formerly were controlled by Germany had a special status after World War I.
I said I hoped her work was interesting. She said not very but
it paid the bills. I noticed that Camille's accent betrayed that she was not a native speaker of English, but I congratulated her on her fluency in English; she said she found some words funny. She stretched out a long
hosed leg (the one with the dangling slingback) and said, "For instance,
why are women's high heels often referred to as 'pumps'? Do they
have anything to do with pumping water?"
I laughed and said, "Maybe the name came because women's
legs can give a sort of pumping motion in such shoes." Since she
had drawn my attraction to her legs and feet, I added, "With your
fashion sense and attractive legs and feet, you could be a model."
Camille just smiled and blushed.
We talked a little more, and I finally said, "Since we are going to be here a few more hours, may I buy you dinner before we board the
plane? I would enjoy the time and as they will not serve food on the
plane, we will be very hungry." Camille agreed and we left the waiting area and found a nice restaurant in the terminal, where we could have a
liesurely meal before departing.
We ordered our meals and I was able to convince her to have
some wine as well (it would wear off before we were in the air). While
we sat waiting for the food to be served, Camille said her feet were
tired from being in high heels longer than she had expected and she just
had to slip them off. I heard the sound of nylons rubbing together and
then felt her soft foot against my leg as she crossed her legs.
As we ate, I mentioned that I had compiled a guidebook that I
sold on the Internet. I wondered if a publisher might be interested in
it. I said it was rather specialized and maybe just continuing to sell it
myself might be the best course. Camille asked what is was about, and
I told her. Her response was, "Really? Is there that much interest?"
This was a better reaction than I could have hoped for, and it may have
been just my imagination, but I think her foot bounced against my leg
in some excitement as she talked. I mentioned some of the very
famous actresses and their shoeless scenes that have been
discussed in detail on the Internet. She was very interested and
confessed that she found women's feet beautiful at times. I agreed
they could be very beautiful and that it was always nice to see them
without shoes. I told her I had found a simple truth early in life: women
are much more likely to tell the truth when they are not wearing shoes.
Camille laughed at that.
Then it was time for her to slip her shoes back on and for us to
head back to the waiting area. We found the 10:00 departure time was
still in effect, so we decided to head for our gate. We had to pass through
security and I had a good view of Camille's pretty nylon-clad feet as she
removed her shoes to put them through the scanner. She decided to carry
them afterward as we walked on the carpet to the gate.
We sat down to await boarding, and Camille asked if I had been telling the truth when I thought she could be a model. I said I certainly believed that. And for sure she could, for instance, model shoes and foot jewelry on a shopping channel or in catalogs. She stretched out her shoeless feet and contemplated them with a serious look. I just had to
say, "Not many women have such adorable feet, so perfectly shaped and
with straight toes, not too long and not too short. Very nice ankles too."
Camille smiled and patted my shoulder.
Soon enough we were on the plane and it just seemed natural that I would sit with her. She picked her seat and I claimed the one next to it. We buckled our seat belts and were lost in our own thoughts until the plane took off. As soon as the Fasten Seat Belts lights were out, Camille asked if it was OK if she tucked her legs up. I said, "Certainly, make yourself as comfortable as you can." She slipped off her heels and tucked up the legs, with her soles resting lightly against my thigh. I felt a reaction between my legs. It was really nice just then to be in that place at that time and not have to think about anything else. I reached down my hand and lightly stroked her toes. They were warm and slightly moist from her shoes. Through the nylon, I could feel the very smooth nails covered in polish. And the ridges on the bottom of the toes. What a privilege to be allowed to touch such magnificent feet. I left my hand
lightly touching her feet until we got the news we were landing. Camille
flexed her toes slightly and then put her legs down and slipped on the shoes again.
It was after midnight when we landed in Rostock and there was not much of a terminal. Not many flights from such a small airport. Our connecting flight would not take off untl 6:00 a.m. The few passengers from our flight who would be continuing on in the morning scattered around the terminal to spend the night as best as one could. Camille and I found a secluded couch and I said I would sit up and watch our belongings. She could lie down and try to get some sleep. I said I was old and did not need as much sleep and it would do nothing for my looks. Besides, she should be as well rested as she could be for her arrival at her business meeting. I would simply be making my way to
Klaipeda and no one would care if I looked haggard. I sat at one end of the couch and she lay down with her head at the other, using a jacket from her carry-on bag as a pillow. Her feet were in my lap (I was perfectly satisified at this situation) and I covered her stockinged legs with a jacket from my carry-on.
Camille was restless and nervous, so I began to massage her feet. Very lightly at first, but as she relaxed and said it felt good, I massaged a little harder. Her feet felt so good beneath my hands. I explored every inch of them. Soon she fell asleep. I kept lightly rubbing her feet all night. I felt much like the hero of an Indian movie I had seen. He had broken into a sleeping compartment on a train. There was one woman passenger asleep in the compartment and her foot was
sticking out of the covers. He sat there and stared at her foot all night. She had bells on her ankles. The next morning when she awoke a note was stuck between her toes, telling her how much the guy loved her feet. Later in the movie, she kept rereading the note. I hoped Camille would remember this night fondly.
Early morning arrived and the airport came to life. We boarded our flight on time and Camille was very lively, telling me what she knew of the sights in the area and food I would have to try. She kept her shoes on (mostly, some dangling just to tease me, I think). All too soon, we landed. We said good-bye on the plane and wished
each other luck in our pursuits. The last I saw was Camille headed for the exit. I went in search of information on transportation to my first destination and further adventures. But I knew I would never forget Camille.
This is a work of fiction taking place in 2010, in a universe where there is no Nyllover.com!
I am known as Doc Feeture on the Internet. My claim to fame is my guidebook to scenes of shoeless women in more than 12,000
movies. I have been retired a couple of years, having worked most of
my life as a librarian and more recently as a freelance editor.
I have two goals in my retirement: 1. To pick up DVDs of obscure movies from around the world; and 2. To visit what I call quasi-countries, countries that are either surviving fine, such as Taiwan, but not
recognized as legitimate countries; countries under international
control, such as Kosovo; and countries that claim independence and
are recognized but not functioning as such, for instance, Western
Sahara. The quasi-countries can be from the past or present.
My most recent journey was to Eastern Europe, to visit some of the areas that were international plebiscite territories after World War I or had attempted independence during the Russian Revolution.
I found myself at Heathrow Airport in London, awaiting a flight on BalticNorth Airways, which had adopted the business model of
Southwest Airlines (cheap fares, no reserved seats), to Eastern Europe, via the airline hub in Rostock, Germany. It was about four
hours before the scheduled departure time. But the airline staff was
conducting a wildcat strike, or industrial action, as the Brits call it. The
departure time had been moved back another four hours. So here I was
at Heathrow at 2:00 p.m. and the flight would not depart until 10:00.
The departure area was fairly crowded with people who had
arrived on international flights, as I had earlier in the day. We had been
able to check in with the airport ticket agents (who did not work for the
airline) and had our recyclable boarding passes. I looked around, trying
to find someone with whom the time would pass enjoyably.
And I saw her, a brunette young enough to be my daughter, very pretty and attractively dressed in a dark skirt and white hose. To top it all off, she had her legs crossed and was slightly dangling a slingback.
All that was fine, and she was holding a paperback book as well, but
not really reading it. To tell the truth, she seemed a bit bored.
I walked over and asked if she would mind if I sat there. She
indicated it was OK. After sitting down, I made some small talk about
how it was a shame we had chosen that day to travel. I asked her destination and it turned out she was also headed to the Baltics on business. She asked why I was going to Eastern Europe and I said to visit some of what I called quasi-countries. Then I said I did not want to keep
her from her reading, and she answered that it was for her job and
was not very interesting.
Next I introduced myself and she said she was Camille. I
said it was a very nice name, and I had never met a Camille before.
I asked what her job was, that it required reading, and she said she
was an administrative assistant for a publishing firm. Her
boss was interested in a new author and had asked her to read the
book and let him know what she thought of the
author's style. This was a nice opening for me to explain what I used
to do.
I explained my interest in quasi-countries and
that I knew many areas that formerly were controlled by Germany had a special status after World War I.
I said I hoped her work was interesting. She said not very but
it paid the bills. I noticed that Camille's accent betrayed that she was not a native speaker of English, but I congratulated her on her fluency in English; she said she found some words funny. She stretched out a long
hosed leg (the one with the dangling slingback) and said, "For instance,
why are women's high heels often referred to as 'pumps'? Do they
have anything to do with pumping water?"
I laughed and said, "Maybe the name came because women's
legs can give a sort of pumping motion in such shoes." Since she
had drawn my attraction to her legs and feet, I added, "With your
fashion sense and attractive legs and feet, you could be a model."
Camille just smiled and blushed.
We talked a little more, and I finally said, "Since we are going to be here a few more hours, may I buy you dinner before we board the
plane? I would enjoy the time and as they will not serve food on the
plane, we will be very hungry." Camille agreed and we left the waiting area and found a nice restaurant in the terminal, where we could have a
liesurely meal before departing.
We ordered our meals and I was able to convince her to have
some wine as well (it would wear off before we were in the air). While
we sat waiting for the food to be served, Camille said her feet were
tired from being in high heels longer than she had expected and she just
had to slip them off. I heard the sound of nylons rubbing together and
then felt her soft foot against my leg as she crossed her legs.
As we ate, I mentioned that I had compiled a guidebook that I
sold on the Internet. I wondered if a publisher might be interested in
it. I said it was rather specialized and maybe just continuing to sell it
myself might be the best course. Camille asked what is was about, and
I told her. Her response was, "Really? Is there that much interest?"
This was a better reaction than I could have hoped for, and it may have
been just my imagination, but I think her foot bounced against my leg
in some excitement as she talked. I mentioned some of the very
famous actresses and their shoeless scenes that have been
discussed in detail on the Internet. She was very interested and
confessed that she found women's feet beautiful at times. I agreed
they could be very beautiful and that it was always nice to see them
without shoes. I told her I had found a simple truth early in life: women
are much more likely to tell the truth when they are not wearing shoes.
Camille laughed at that.
Then it was time for her to slip her shoes back on and for us to
head back to the waiting area. We found the 10:00 departure time was
still in effect, so we decided to head for our gate. We had to pass through
security and I had a good view of Camille's pretty nylon-clad feet as she
removed her shoes to put them through the scanner. She decided to carry
them afterward as we walked on the carpet to the gate.
We sat down to await boarding, and Camille asked if I had been telling the truth when I thought she could be a model. I said I certainly believed that. And for sure she could, for instance, model shoes and foot jewelry on a shopping channel or in catalogs. She stretched out her shoeless feet and contemplated them with a serious look. I just had to
say, "Not many women have such adorable feet, so perfectly shaped and
with straight toes, not too long and not too short. Very nice ankles too."
Camille smiled and patted my shoulder.
Soon enough we were on the plane and it just seemed natural that I would sit with her. She picked her seat and I claimed the one next to it. We buckled our seat belts and were lost in our own thoughts until the plane took off. As soon as the Fasten Seat Belts lights were out, Camille asked if it was OK if she tucked her legs up. I said, "Certainly, make yourself as comfortable as you can." She slipped off her heels and tucked up the legs, with her soles resting lightly against my thigh. I felt a reaction between my legs. It was really nice just then to be in that place at that time and not have to think about anything else. I reached down my hand and lightly stroked her toes. They were warm and slightly moist from her shoes. Through the nylon, I could feel the very smooth nails covered in polish. And the ridges on the bottom of the toes. What a privilege to be allowed to touch such magnificent feet. I left my hand
lightly touching her feet until we got the news we were landing. Camille
flexed her toes slightly and then put her legs down and slipped on the shoes again.
It was after midnight when we landed in Rostock and there was not much of a terminal. Not many flights from such a small airport. Our connecting flight would not take off untl 6:00 a.m. The few passengers from our flight who would be continuing on in the morning scattered around the terminal to spend the night as best as one could. Camille and I found a secluded couch and I said I would sit up and watch our belongings. She could lie down and try to get some sleep. I said I was old and did not need as much sleep and it would do nothing for my looks. Besides, she should be as well rested as she could be for her arrival at her business meeting. I would simply be making my way to
Klaipeda and no one would care if I looked haggard. I sat at one end of the couch and she lay down with her head at the other, using a jacket from her carry-on bag as a pillow. Her feet were in my lap (I was perfectly satisified at this situation) and I covered her stockinged legs with a jacket from my carry-on.
Camille was restless and nervous, so I began to massage her feet. Very lightly at first, but as she relaxed and said it felt good, I massaged a little harder. Her feet felt so good beneath my hands. I explored every inch of them. Soon she fell asleep. I kept lightly rubbing her feet all night. I felt much like the hero of an Indian movie I had seen. He had broken into a sleeping compartment on a train. There was one woman passenger asleep in the compartment and her foot was
sticking out of the covers. He sat there and stared at her foot all night. She had bells on her ankles. The next morning when she awoke a note was stuck between her toes, telling her how much the guy loved her feet. Later in the movie, she kept rereading the note. I hoped Camille would remember this night fondly.
Early morning arrived and the airport came to life. We boarded our flight on time and Camille was very lively, telling me what she knew of the sights in the area and food I would have to try. She kept her shoes on (mostly, some dangling just to tease me, I think). All too soon, we landed. We said good-bye on the plane and wished
each other luck in our pursuits. The last I saw was Camille headed for the exit. I went in search of information on transportation to my first destination and further adventures. But I knew I would never forget Camille.