laughtermech
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Exclusive excerpt from my new erotic short story, With Foot Love From Chinatown’ to be published in the next 48 hours (see below):
Link will be provided on my Instagram @laughtermech and website at: https://thelaughtermechanic.wordpress.com.
Thanks for stopping by, and thanks for your interest in my stories.
Kindest regards,
TLM
Excerpt follows:
Chapter 1
Walking To Chinatown
Helen asked me at breakfast on a Friday morning as we were both enjoying our raspberry muesli and rice milk that we both purchased at the same Inner Sunset Market on Irving Street, 'Want to meet up for lunch sometime?!'
I loved our cozy little mornings in our cozy little kitchen with our cozy little sunlight over our cozy little table.
Cozy.
The salt in the air, the fog hugging our neighborhood, the hop, skip, and a jump over to Golden Gate park from our doorstep, the Pacific Ocean...All of it. I loved all of it. I loved being in San Francisco.
San Francisco is still one of my all time favorite places on the planet, and I get nostalgia every time I drive through the Inner Sunset.
I swallowed and said to Helen, 'Sure.'
It didn't even remotely dawn on me that Helen might have some feelings for me when she asked me out to lunch that day.
She may very well not have. I’ll probably never know.
I was still reeling from a break up from one lovely woman I’d dated for 4 years, and had already started dating another lovely woman that I'd met in Reno, Nevada where I'd been living previously.
I couldn't even put 2 and 2 together so to speak at this point in the morning that Helen might have been interested in me.
Helen and I both worked in separate office buildings close to one another in San Francisco's Financial District.
She took the Muni every morning.
I rode my bike.
I worked on Pine Street.
She on Sansome (I think?).
We decided to meet around noon at this little soup and salad cafeteria on the corner of Pine and Battery Streets.
We talked about her job as a law librarian and how she liked listening to the reporting of Sylvia Poggioli (pronounced ‘puh jo lee’) on National Public Radio or NPR, and was considering taking an Italian language class because she wanted to go to Italy.
I made some terrible impersonation of Linda Wertheimer, one of the NPR anchors at the time, in an attempt to show solidarity with her love of public radio...She quickly, yet kindly, rebuked me and reiterated her love was squarely with Ms. Poggioli.
I self-corrected, but not without feeling a little of this legal librarian's scorpious sting.
Somehow, in the course of that conversation I told Helen that I needed to walk over to Chinatown after work to pick up a book at their public library branch.
She said she'd love to come along.
She'd actually never been to Chinatown.
I liked Helen's company, and we quickly made two 'dates' out of one.
After work, we met again at Pine and Battery Streets.
Helen's maybe 5'3" on a good day with heels.
I spot her immediately in the crowd of people waiting at the corner with her nerdy ‘Tina Fey’ librarian glasses on.
You’ve heard of ‘gaydar’?
Well, one straight version of ‘gaydar’ I would imagine is ‘Tina Fey-dar’.
For reasons I can’t fully explain, I have the uncanny ability to laser focus on women who wear these sexiest of accessories...the 'Tina Fey' frames.
I imagine if I were ever granted superhero status and I absolutely HAD to have kryptonite built into the script, my weakness would be those glasses.
They’d make me weak in the knees and unable to leap tall buildings in a single bound.
I’d only be able to regain my superpowers when the lovely women who wore such eyewear would allow me to suck all of their toes for at least 20-30 minutes.
A superhero can dream
But...I digress and get ahead of myself somewhat.
Let’s back up.
Back to the corner…
Helen's olive skin, dark hair, dark eyes, angular nose, and slim hips physically appeal to the male energy of my being.
But, again, my mind is not so much tuned to Helen’s frequency so to speak at the moment, rather, I'm still very much in ‘rebound mode’ as they say with my new love from Reno.
Despite this fact, it's not lost on my then mid 20s heterosexual male body that Helen is someone who takes good care of hers.
No amount of baggy clothes on her could hide that fact.
Plus, we only have one bathroom in our small Inner Sunset flat, and...full disclosure...I've inadvertently caught glimpses of Helen exiting our shared bathroom more than a few times.
Photo above courtesy of :
https://images.pexels.com/photos/42...=pexels-efigie-lima-marcos-4285578.jpg&fm=jpg
It doesn’t take much time for the male brain in these glimpses to make lots of mental notes of shoulder and leg muscles not covered by terry cloth and gently rippling as they get Helen from shower to bedroom and bedroom back to shower.
And all of it via the quickly shuffling bare feet of a foot goddess.
Yes. I looked. Yes, I'm human. Yes, I'd most likely do it again.
Helen and I begin our slight ascent toward Powell Street where my new book is waiting.
Photo above courtesy of Ignacio Pales at: https://images.pexels.com/photos/29...gb&dl=pexels-ignacio-palés-2913771.jpg&fm=jpg
'So, what book are you picking up?!', she asks nonchalantly, but with an air of excitement.
Helen's a true bibliophile.
I've already been intimidated by her book knowledge and Niles's independent movie knowledge having lived with them for the past month or so.
As she’s asking me this question I think about how many really smart, really beautiful women are just walking around on any random day here in San Francisco.
I am a lucky, lucky man.
We continue our brisk pace.
She's already asked THE question I KNEW I'd have to have a good answer for.
And even though I’d prepared for this moment, I am a bit tongue tied as they say.
I continue to put one synchronized foot in front of the other on this beautiful fall afternoon as Starship's DJ reprise in 'We Built This City' plays inside my head, 'The City that rocks, the City that never sleeps!'
I've been anticipating this moment all day.
Of course she'd ask what book I was picking up.
That's normal.
But the book I’m picking up and its title don't necessarily produce a normal response.
‘Helen, do you ever listen to this program on NPR called Fresh Air?'
‘Yeah, I love Terry Gross! She's great!'
‘Well, I heard an interview last week with this author, Geoff Nicholson. Have you heard of him?'
'No, doesn't sound familiar.'
I'm immediately emboldened that my bibliophile flatmate hasn't heard of an author that I have?!
Minor victories!
'Well, anyway, this author has a new book out called, Footsucker. That’s the book I’m picking up.’
I let the weight of the book title settle in for a moment.
I watch out of the corner of my eye as we are walking briskly for any signs in Helen's deep brown eyes that she's alarmed by this book title or perhaps titillated.
I get no such signs.
I continue…
'It sounded kind of interesting from Terry's interview. It's kind of a psychological mystery about a guy who goes down a dark path with his foot fetish.'
I watch again for any signs of life as I drop those two words I’ve so rarely voiced in public much less to a living breathing very attractive adult female human being.
Helen and I are still both walking quite vigorously; me, with my head down, her, glancing out and back into the sidewalk.
I wait.
I wait some more.
Oh, Tom Petty, Rest in Peace, you were so right (see The Waiting)...
Finally…
'Wow. That's SO interesting [pause]...John, do you have a foot fetish? Is that what drew you to check out this book?'
'Oh my God! She just went for the juggler! I didn't quite prep appropriately for this ABSOLUTE directness!
I love it though.
Helen’s displaying what I like to refer to as the ‘I AM A WOMAN GET THEE IN LINE AND WITNESS THE FULL POWER OF MY SEXY BATTLE STATION OF FORWARDNESS’ behavior
Thank you, Peter Cushing, Rest In Peace Dear Sir, as Grand Moff Tarkin in Episode 4! Google it. You're welcome.
I am thinking hard, scrambling to come up with an answer.
I pause and gather. Gather and pause.
I continue walking...
'Ummm, well, you know, actually, Helen, I kind of...do.'
I release the Helium/Lead Hybrid Balloon that's been tied up inside of me for decades and watch to see if it floats or thuds.
The sounds of our shuffling feet on pavement are all I hear as we continue walking synchronously; time is standing still and floating above my head.
Another moment passes, but this time...there is less of the Tom Petty song I have to cue up…
She blurts out quickly, nonchalantly, 'That's cool! I do too!'
There may not have been a more powerful shock wave with 5 words attached to it that went through my brain in this moment.
I desperately try to thwart an information overload with those magical five words and 'bombshell revelation' if you will by my sexy housemate.
I somehow am able to will my brain circuitry into keeping its electrons flowing in a safe and non-pressurized manner; a calm voltage stream of neurons pulsing that provides for calm responses when hyperventilation and full blown 'spaz out' mode would have been the normally ordered up response.
For some reason though, I can't stop looking down at my feet after absorbing her beautiful audio shockwave.
I keep watching both of our pairs of covered feet; hers in those god-awful opaque, black as night, Doc Martens lace up boots...
Photo above courtesy of John Rocha at: https://images.pexels.com/photos/23...s=srgb&dl=pexels-john-rocha-239362.jpg&fm=jpg
Me, in some equally opaque, thick soled, somewhat dressy, dark brown Clarks.
Somehow I formulate this sentence and try to expunge its content into the universe…
'Oh wow, REALLY?!'
The delayed reaction and look into Helen's piercing, yet playful dark brown eyes must have been a little awkward.
Not missing her own beat and probably sensing how awkward a revelation this is to me, Helen gets the 'needle' put back on the record so to speak, leans in, walks closer to me, and voices something that I'll never forget...
‘John...[deliberate long pause]...It's ok to be kinky! Makes us humans WAY more interesting, right?!'
Again, my brain circuitry needing a delicate tamping down at this point inside my what has to be boiling over, feverish 104 degrees Fahrenheit jiggling gray matter, I manage another barely coherent sentence…
'Oh wow, yeah, you're right. Hadn't thought of it that way before. I'm just kinky. Kinky like this author is.'
Whew.
I look down. See Helen’s boots. Wish we were in that Broadway play together, Kinky Boots
An image like the one below comes into my mind:
Photo courtesy of Rosa Gattuso at: https://images.pexels.com/photos/60...rgb&dl=pexels-rosa-gattuso-6046252.jpg&fm=jpg flashes thru my mind:
Helen continues what has to be a heavy airlift so to speak keeping our conversation going (God Bless Her!)...
'Exactly! I'm convinced even the most vanilla among us are at least in some shape or form...kinky. They just don't know it...[deliberate pause]...
...YET!', Helen states.
Link will be provided on my Instagram @laughtermech and website at: https://thelaughtermechanic.wordpress.com.
Thanks for stopping by, and thanks for your interest in my stories.
Kindest regards,
TLM
Excerpt follows:
Chapter 1
Walking To Chinatown
Helen asked me at breakfast on a Friday morning as we were both enjoying our raspberry muesli and rice milk that we both purchased at the same Inner Sunset Market on Irving Street, 'Want to meet up for lunch sometime?!'
I loved our cozy little mornings in our cozy little kitchen with our cozy little sunlight over our cozy little table.
Cozy.
The salt in the air, the fog hugging our neighborhood, the hop, skip, and a jump over to Golden Gate park from our doorstep, the Pacific Ocean...All of it. I loved all of it. I loved being in San Francisco.
San Francisco is still one of my all time favorite places on the planet, and I get nostalgia every time I drive through the Inner Sunset.
I swallowed and said to Helen, 'Sure.'
It didn't even remotely dawn on me that Helen might have some feelings for me when she asked me out to lunch that day.
She may very well not have. I’ll probably never know.
I was still reeling from a break up from one lovely woman I’d dated for 4 years, and had already started dating another lovely woman that I'd met in Reno, Nevada where I'd been living previously.
I couldn't even put 2 and 2 together so to speak at this point in the morning that Helen might have been interested in me.
Helen and I both worked in separate office buildings close to one another in San Francisco's Financial District.
She took the Muni every morning.
I rode my bike.
I worked on Pine Street.
She on Sansome (I think?).
We decided to meet around noon at this little soup and salad cafeteria on the corner of Pine and Battery Streets.
We talked about her job as a law librarian and how she liked listening to the reporting of Sylvia Poggioli (pronounced ‘puh jo lee’) on National Public Radio or NPR, and was considering taking an Italian language class because she wanted to go to Italy.
I made some terrible impersonation of Linda Wertheimer, one of the NPR anchors at the time, in an attempt to show solidarity with her love of public radio...She quickly, yet kindly, rebuked me and reiterated her love was squarely with Ms. Poggioli.
I self-corrected, but not without feeling a little of this legal librarian's scorpious sting.
Somehow, in the course of that conversation I told Helen that I needed to walk over to Chinatown after work to pick up a book at their public library branch.
She said she'd love to come along.
She'd actually never been to Chinatown.
I liked Helen's company, and we quickly made two 'dates' out of one.
After work, we met again at Pine and Battery Streets.
Helen's maybe 5'3" on a good day with heels.
I spot her immediately in the crowd of people waiting at the corner with her nerdy ‘Tina Fey’ librarian glasses on.
You’ve heard of ‘gaydar’?
Well, one straight version of ‘gaydar’ I would imagine is ‘Tina Fey-dar’.
For reasons I can’t fully explain, I have the uncanny ability to laser focus on women who wear these sexiest of accessories...the 'Tina Fey' frames.
I imagine if I were ever granted superhero status and I absolutely HAD to have kryptonite built into the script, my weakness would be those glasses.
They’d make me weak in the knees and unable to leap tall buildings in a single bound.
I’d only be able to regain my superpowers when the lovely women who wore such eyewear would allow me to suck all of their toes for at least 20-30 minutes.
A superhero can dream
But...I digress and get ahead of myself somewhat.
Let’s back up.
Back to the corner…
Helen's olive skin, dark hair, dark eyes, angular nose, and slim hips physically appeal to the male energy of my being.
But, again, my mind is not so much tuned to Helen’s frequency so to speak at the moment, rather, I'm still very much in ‘rebound mode’ as they say with my new love from Reno.
Despite this fact, it's not lost on my then mid 20s heterosexual male body that Helen is someone who takes good care of hers.
No amount of baggy clothes on her could hide that fact.
Plus, we only have one bathroom in our small Inner Sunset flat, and...full disclosure...I've inadvertently caught glimpses of Helen exiting our shared bathroom more than a few times.
Photo above courtesy of :
https://images.pexels.com/photos/42...=pexels-efigie-lima-marcos-4285578.jpg&fm=jpg
It doesn’t take much time for the male brain in these glimpses to make lots of mental notes of shoulder and leg muscles not covered by terry cloth and gently rippling as they get Helen from shower to bedroom and bedroom back to shower.
And all of it via the quickly shuffling bare feet of a foot goddess.
Yes. I looked. Yes, I'm human. Yes, I'd most likely do it again.
Helen and I begin our slight ascent toward Powell Street where my new book is waiting.
Photo above courtesy of Ignacio Pales at: https://images.pexels.com/photos/29...gb&dl=pexels-ignacio-palés-2913771.jpg&fm=jpg
'So, what book are you picking up?!', she asks nonchalantly, but with an air of excitement.
Helen's a true bibliophile.
I've already been intimidated by her book knowledge and Niles's independent movie knowledge having lived with them for the past month or so.
As she’s asking me this question I think about how many really smart, really beautiful women are just walking around on any random day here in San Francisco.
I am a lucky, lucky man.
We continue our brisk pace.
She's already asked THE question I KNEW I'd have to have a good answer for.
And even though I’d prepared for this moment, I am a bit tongue tied as they say.
I continue to put one synchronized foot in front of the other on this beautiful fall afternoon as Starship's DJ reprise in 'We Built This City' plays inside my head, 'The City that rocks, the City that never sleeps!'
I've been anticipating this moment all day.
Of course she'd ask what book I was picking up.
That's normal.
But the book I’m picking up and its title don't necessarily produce a normal response.
‘Helen, do you ever listen to this program on NPR called Fresh Air?'
‘Yeah, I love Terry Gross! She's great!'
‘Well, I heard an interview last week with this author, Geoff Nicholson. Have you heard of him?'
'No, doesn't sound familiar.'
I'm immediately emboldened that my bibliophile flatmate hasn't heard of an author that I have?!
Minor victories!
'Well, anyway, this author has a new book out called, Footsucker. That’s the book I’m picking up.’
I let the weight of the book title settle in for a moment.
I watch out of the corner of my eye as we are walking briskly for any signs in Helen's deep brown eyes that she's alarmed by this book title or perhaps titillated.
I get no such signs.
I continue…
'It sounded kind of interesting from Terry's interview. It's kind of a psychological mystery about a guy who goes down a dark path with his foot fetish.'
I watch again for any signs of life as I drop those two words I’ve so rarely voiced in public much less to a living breathing very attractive adult female human being.
Helen and I are still both walking quite vigorously; me, with my head down, her, glancing out and back into the sidewalk.
I wait.
I wait some more.
Oh, Tom Petty, Rest in Peace, you were so right (see The Waiting)...
Finally…
'Wow. That's SO interesting [pause]...John, do you have a foot fetish? Is that what drew you to check out this book?'
'Oh my God! She just went for the juggler! I didn't quite prep appropriately for this ABSOLUTE directness!
I love it though.
Helen’s displaying what I like to refer to as the ‘I AM A WOMAN GET THEE IN LINE AND WITNESS THE FULL POWER OF MY SEXY BATTLE STATION OF FORWARDNESS’ behavior
Thank you, Peter Cushing, Rest In Peace Dear Sir, as Grand Moff Tarkin in Episode 4! Google it. You're welcome.
I am thinking hard, scrambling to come up with an answer.
I pause and gather. Gather and pause.
I continue walking...
'Ummm, well, you know, actually, Helen, I kind of...do.'
I release the Helium/Lead Hybrid Balloon that's been tied up inside of me for decades and watch to see if it floats or thuds.
The sounds of our shuffling feet on pavement are all I hear as we continue walking synchronously; time is standing still and floating above my head.
Another moment passes, but this time...there is less of the Tom Petty song I have to cue up…
She blurts out quickly, nonchalantly, 'That's cool! I do too!'
There may not have been a more powerful shock wave with 5 words attached to it that went through my brain in this moment.
I desperately try to thwart an information overload with those magical five words and 'bombshell revelation' if you will by my sexy housemate.
I somehow am able to will my brain circuitry into keeping its electrons flowing in a safe and non-pressurized manner; a calm voltage stream of neurons pulsing that provides for calm responses when hyperventilation and full blown 'spaz out' mode would have been the normally ordered up response.
For some reason though, I can't stop looking down at my feet after absorbing her beautiful audio shockwave.
I keep watching both of our pairs of covered feet; hers in those god-awful opaque, black as night, Doc Martens lace up boots...
Photo above courtesy of John Rocha at: https://images.pexels.com/photos/23...s=srgb&dl=pexels-john-rocha-239362.jpg&fm=jpg
Me, in some equally opaque, thick soled, somewhat dressy, dark brown Clarks.
Somehow I formulate this sentence and try to expunge its content into the universe…
'Oh wow, REALLY?!'
The delayed reaction and look into Helen's piercing, yet playful dark brown eyes must have been a little awkward.
Not missing her own beat and probably sensing how awkward a revelation this is to me, Helen gets the 'needle' put back on the record so to speak, leans in, walks closer to me, and voices something that I'll never forget...
‘John...[deliberate long pause]...It's ok to be kinky! Makes us humans WAY more interesting, right?!'
Again, my brain circuitry needing a delicate tamping down at this point inside my what has to be boiling over, feverish 104 degrees Fahrenheit jiggling gray matter, I manage another barely coherent sentence…
'Oh wow, yeah, you're right. Hadn't thought of it that way before. I'm just kinky. Kinky like this author is.'
Whew.
I look down. See Helen’s boots. Wish we were in that Broadway play together, Kinky Boots
An image like the one below comes into my mind:
Photo courtesy of Rosa Gattuso at: https://images.pexels.com/photos/60...rgb&dl=pexels-rosa-gattuso-6046252.jpg&fm=jpg flashes thru my mind:
Helen continues what has to be a heavy airlift so to speak keeping our conversation going (God Bless Her!)...
'Exactly! I'm convinced even the most vanilla among us are at least in some shape or form...kinky. They just don't know it...[deliberate pause]...
...YET!', Helen states.
