James Barton: Door to door teaser

Panties just don't disappear! she told herself as she started the engine of her car and pressed the gas. As she wheeled out of the circular driveway, she glanced to her right to see the old man standing with a pair of hedge clippers in his hands; he waved, and Pam felt her face burn hotly… Old Tom, my ass! she thought, and cut the wheel sharply and headed across town where her next customer awaited delivery from the new Lotus Lady.

As Pam drove slowly towards her next address, she was struck by the question: Is this all there is? Two days in the field and she had experienced almost as many sexual encounters as she had in her entire lifetime. She had never considered herself naive, but now she was having second thoughts. But having them reinforced a certain image she had of herself – aware, self-assured and capable. So she had been a bit naive with Colonel Mitchum… and come to think of it, with Marge herself. Then, the more recent happening of "Old Tom", and his son Jed. Old Tom who turned out to be an old faker looking for quick sex. Well, she concluded and sighed, once burnt, twice shy. She would damn well be on her toes in the future! If anyone tried to take advantage of her eagerness to please, she would most certainly let them know she was her own person and that she would not be deceived!

Turning onto the wide boulevard, Pam became aware of a sudden tiredness and a peculiar thirst. She had not planned to stop for lunch, but as she glanced at her watch, she saw that it was just a few minutes past noon. If she drove directly to her next appointment, the chances were that she might find the family eating lunch, and she did not want to get off on the wrong foot with any of her customers.

Ahead, she saw a drug store and decided to stop – she had lost her panties and it might not be wise to enter someone's home without underwear… it would be terribly hard to explain if someone were to notice it. Pulling into a parking slot, she rolled up the windows of her Torino, locked the car, and entered the drug store. She found a pair of panties from a rack, paid for them, and walked back to the street. Now she needed somewhere to put them on in private.

Two doors from the drug store, Pam saw the simple sign: BAR amp; GRILL. Fine, she thought, she could have a light lunch, use the restroom, then be on her way! Entering the dim establishment, she was take aback – there didn't seem to be any customers. A lone bartender sat at the far end of the bar watching a small TV, and he turned slowly as she entered.

Slipping onto a stool, Pam inquired about lunch.

"Sorry, honey," the bartender told her, "unless it's liquid I can't help you… closed down the grill a couple of months ago…" He shrugged. "Not enough lunch trade to warrant paying a cook and a waitress."

A bit bewildered, Pam scanned the back bar, then made up her mind: "Well, just a drink then… something with vodka in it."

"Sure," he said, and winked as he turned and began mixing her a drink in a tall glass. As he did, Pam slipped off the stool and walked briskly to the women's restroom where she removed the cellophane from the package and slipped into the briefs. She felt far more comfortable and secure now that she was fully clothed – or nearly so; she had only been going braless since she had taken the job with Lotus – the sales manager had made the insinuation that girls who sold exotic Lotus Products should be just a bit exotic and liberated themselves. It had not gone without notice, for the next day, four of the six new Lotus Ladies had shown up braless with skirts that seemed daringly short.

Back at the bar, Pam noticed that the bartender had set her drink at the near end, rather than the place she had been sitting. He was just being friendly, she thought absently as she slipped onto the stool and smiled. She tasted her drink and found it both pleasant and thirst-quenching. "Ummmm… what is it?" she inquired as she reached for a bill from her purse.

"It's on the house, that's what it is," he said, smiling, then added, "Not too often I have a pretty girl like you all to myself without a dozen wolves trying to score for a quick lay…"

Pam felt her cheeks color at the man's candor, but she nodded and accepted the compliment with the drink and told him, "It is delicious, how is it made?"

He chuckled. "Sort of like a woman…" and he caught her quizzical look as he went on, "There's ice to make it cold, vodka to make it hot… lemon to make it sour, sugar to make it sweet… it's designed to fill a need, but in each case, the person who drinks one has a different need." He shrugged. "Just like a woman."

Pam giggled at his philosophical explanation, then asked, "What do you call it?"

"I call it a Norman Normal…" He extended his hand. "I'm Norman."

Pam accepted his hand and his light manner as the alcohol began coursing through her body and she felt an unusual warmth in the pit of her stomach. "Well, Norman – are you normal?"

He laughed loudly. "Damned if I know – I like kids and cars and tending bar. I like girls… and especially pretty blondes who come in around this time of day…" He shrugged again and wrinkled his brow reflectively. "Except my girl thinks I'm a little kinky when it comes to sex."

Pam leaned forward as he spoke; she liked him and she was intrigued by his last statement. She really didn't know kinky sex from straight sex, and at that moment, a definition was preferable to an explanation, so she asked him, "How kinky?"

Norman looked around a bit apprehensively, then dropped his eyes. He hesitated, then asked, "You're really interested?"

"Uh-huh," she said, and nodded, her head. "Really."

"Well, that's a switch – I usually have to stand here and listen to my customers. They seem to think I'm some kind of a psychologist… none of them ever seem interested in my problems…" and he dropped his eyes again.

Pam drained her glass, and without questioning, Norman lifted the shaker and refilled it for her. She patted his hand and said in an understanding tone, "Well, I'm interested!"

"I have a fetish…" he confessed, and leaned closer to her across the bar. "A… a…" He shook his head. "I can't say it."

"Please… you wont shock me, I promise," Pam told him, crossing her heart. Then she lifted her glass again; the warmth had spread to her thighs and lower legs and she was suddenly relaxed.

"Well… it's a… a foot fetish."

"A foot fetish…" she repeated, and blinked. "Ummm, what exactly is a foot fetish?"

"Sure I won't embarrass you?"

She shook her head and he lifted the partition that separated the bar from the lounge area; as he stepped around, he glanced at her crossed legs, smooth and full, and he licked his lips.

"Well, the simple truth of the matter is that I'm aroused by women's feet… I… ah… I can actually get off just looking at them… touching them… Jesus, to touch them is beautiful… but the greatest thing of all is to… to…"

"Yes?" she asked with interest.

"To kiss them! To put them on my face, to lick them… to love them!"

Pam blinked at the intensity of his words and she felt a deep sympathy for this poor man who no one seemed to understand. "Ummm… won't your girl friend let you… ah, love her feet?"

He shook his head abjectly. "She tells me I'm perverted."

"Oh, poor Norman," she said, and placed a hand on his cheek. Then the thought struck her – his was a harmless compulsion and yet it seemed to mean so much to him. They were absolutely alone in the dim bar, and sitting there at the end away from the door, someone could walk in and still not see them situated as they were. "Norman," she said seriously, "I… that is, I wouldn't mind if you wanted to touch my feet… if it would help you…" and as she said it she realized just how lightheaded the two drinks had made her.