The WASH

SPREADING REBECCA

Hello I am Raymond. I was sent by FETEMEET.

Hello. I am Rebecca, I was sent by FETEMEET.

Happy to meet you, Rebecca.

Happy to meet you, Raymond.

May I say, You have lovely FEET?
Thank you...likewise… I …

Yes?

I wonder....

Yes?...Is something wrong?

Oh, no. Nothing wrong with you Raymond but I'd like to stray from the script. Do you mind?

Oh. You saw ‘the Tutorial’, too…

I did. I got the app and I played the script but I just get so tense. I have a stomach ache…One shouldn't have to work this hard. You know?

I think. Yes, I understand. If I make you uncomfortable perhaps...

No! Please. I thought I stated that quite clearly. There is nothing wrong with you Raymond, it's just the script ! I can't get with the stupid script. I'm no actress. This is me, not ‘Level Four’.

I’m a newbie. I never got to ‘Level Four’. I didn't know there WAS a Level Four. Wow. There's a script for that?

Not for ‘the Act’, itself, Raymond…but, yes...for the foreplay?...there is. After that you’re…we’re…on our own.

But the FETE script…they say it’s binding…

Look, I'm sorry, these are my feet and if I am going to let a stranger...in this case, I sense a very gentlemanly stranger...however, if I should allow them to caress my feet, then I should allow myself to determine the conduct and the pleasure. Besides, who knows what kind of creep writes this stuff? Whoever it is, he's not getting between the cracks of my toes, I'll tell you that!

Wow.

Ah, gees…sorry Raymond. I didn't mean go off like

that…

Are you kidding? That was great! I came quite close to ‘going off’ myself...heh...heh..um...

OH! You’re blushing! Well there you go! We just buried the script in that little moment right there.

Now?

Now is fine.

They kissed passionately. A tad clumsy, as most first times tend to be. There are bodies, awkward angles, and protrusions… noses…chins, teeth, tongues... There are soft lips, thins lips, loose and tight lips...eyes open? Eyes shut?…all that to deal with...but, if you Get Lost in that kiss, you got a chance....if you both Get Lost, you just got lucky. Raymond dropped to his knees as Rebecca took a seat, perched on the lip of the thick cushion in anticipation of the private view. She extended her right foot...the good one, the pretty one, the ‘better ankle’ … her best angle, and Raymond gasped in adoration as she expected he might…not the first to do so.

What do you do Raymond? - she cooed.

I make my own peanut butter....

Is that a euphemism?

I don't think so, I use a blender and nuts, mostly....roast them myself…

Raymond?

Yes?

Enough about your nuts for now. Say hello to my toes....please.

Raymond, not needing to be asked twice, dove headlong into his task, pouncing upon each peachy pinky and devoured them from pearlescent blue pedi to the musty cusp of the crease.....

Then Raymond reached for his attaché.

Raymond? What are you doing?

It’s my secret treasure box. (click) I'm going to take my homemade peanut butter – mmmmm - and apply it, with this ebony handled spatula…beautiful isn’t it? …between each delicious toe, as if mortar between golden bricks, then dust them lightly with fine chocolate powder and flakes of gold leaf…

OH!

Then I shall suck them clean...spotlessly clean in every nook, cranny and cuticle.

Raymond you DO know you are driving me mad, don't you? ….just talking like that...oh!

Shhhh, no more talking....

Ohhhh....and when you are through....what will you do?

I will bathe your feet, massage them, dry with this fine chamois, then rub them in these fine lotions....

Yes?! And then...?

Then I will go home.

You will go home?!

Yes. As is my custom. Tidy up and go home…

What about Me?

Yes…?

What are you going to do about me?

But I tried to explain. This is not about you.

Well then what the hell is this about?....YOU ?!

Noooo. Not exactly.

Well then that leaves....!?

That's right. This is all about the peanut butter.

I don’t know if I can play by those….OH! RAYMOND!

When it was over Rebecca craved a cigarette for the first time in 12 years.

May I offer you a cookie instead? – Raymond asked, holding a small silver platter.

Oh, yes! Are they…?

Yes, they are…

You know, Raymond…I, too, have a blender and utensils, perhaps you could make your butter here….?

Oh, no. I have prime nuts shipped in weekly from Virginia and utilize my own custom roaster. It’s quite a methodology I’ve perfected over the years…I-I-I couldn’t…I’m sorry.

Well, I suppose I am rushing this a bit…

Oh, but it was enjoyable! The best I ever had!

You’re not just saying that?

Oh, no. I take it much too seriously to jest. They were Simply Delectable!

Oh…(tee-hee)…are you busy Fridays?

Fridays? Perfect! I roast my nuts on Fridays! Friday evening my butter is silky smooth and still warm.

In that case, Raymond, Fridays shall be Our guilty secret.

UNFOLDING IRVING

I first met Irving at a dress rehearsal. My first impression was that he did not fit ‘the part’… and secondly, he definitely did not fit the suit. You see, Irving was to play the part of “The Troll Residing Under The Bridge”. Not only did the suit not suit him but the bridge was three feet tall at the peak of it’s arch, so there had best be some nifty fitting all the way around. In reality, Irving was just shy of 6 ft. and just out of grade school.

No one. Not Irving, the actors, the students, the parents the teachers, the janitors, the passers by….no one, believed this horrible miscasting, including I, but the final decision rests with Miss Christie and she put her foot down and insisted, and when she put down it was a heavy sound. She had a vision. We can only assume, in her mind, she saw Irving folded just right, like some origami crane, tucked tight under flimsy little bridge, taut in that short little tunnel only to Emerge!!!! Unfolding gracefully to become a most magnificent bird! A heron. A crane. But this crane collapsed, and of course it was all a disaster.

But within the calamity caused by the crashing crane, there was a transformation of sorts, even though the dust had not settled, Irving took to stage front and addressed the attendees and apologized with grace. “I’m oh so sorry, I just can’t fit in that space!”

The audience roared in appreciation and gave Irving a standing ovation. Is was as festive as it could be, for all in attendance, except Miss Christie.

Find your own stature in life. Stand tall. Don’t let someone try to squeeze you, where you know you don’t belong.