This afternoon, I was telling a friend how poor my memory has been of late. And it has. I don't know if it's a focus thing or, you know, an early-onset dementia thing, or what, but I've been struggling to remember stuff I shouldn't be forgetting. But on the way home from work, while driving past a house ablaze with Christmas lights, I found myself traveling down a rather pot-hole-y part of Memory Lane... right to a holiday party I'd rather like to forget...
Several years ago, I dated this guy -- a college professor. He was very nice and funny and attractive... and he drank. A lot. An awful lot (which I didn't actually realize until several months in, as he was rather experienced at hiding it).
Anyway, for the sake of this story, we'll call him Buzz, 'k?
So, as I mentioned, Buzz was a professor and, as such, he had several professorly-type friends. I met them all at once, at a university function, and found everyone to be nice and very friendly; they all seemed to like me. Two of them in particular -- a married couple -- liked me quite a bit.
Quite a bit.
If you get my drift.
They were older than Buzz and myself by a few years, but not many. They were quick with innuendo and double entendre, quick to fill your glass, should you find yourself lacking a boozy drink, and quick to express how much they liked you...
They were both rather, shall we say...
For the sake of this story, we'll call them Mr. and Mrs. Touchy-Feely, 'k?
Though the Touchy-Feelys were quite friendly and hands-on, they were not over-the-top. They let their fingers do the walking in fairly subtle ways -- not quite enough to make you feel really uncomfortable, but just enough to make you...
Fast forward from the start of the school year to December. There was going to be a big party at the Touchy-Feely house and Buzz was all abuzz (as normal) with excitement about it (open bar, natch).
So we got dressed up and we went. We socialized... we ate... we drank (some of us more than others)... we took a tour of the Touchy-Feely's house...
And in the bedroom was a photo of a slightly younger Mr. and Mrs. Touchy-Feely... all naked. All the important bits were covered, true, but they were naked. And it was a big photo. In a frame. On the wall. All naked.
Now, I'm no prude. I quite like photos of an erotic nature. I write stuff of an erotic nature. But I have to admit, I was not prepared to see a photo of our hosts... all naked. It threw me a bit. But I admired it duly, as you do, even when you're surprised by a picture of people you know... all naked.
Then we got to see the hot tub. And as I was commenting about how I wished I had a hot tub, Mr. Touchy-Feely put his arm around me, his hand dangerously close to my backside (and by 'dangerously close,' I totally mean, 'on'), and informed me that I could use their hot tub anytime I'd like. Mrs. Touchy-Feely nodded, with a wink and a lewd little smile, and Buzz just stood there, looking all boozy and very un-PhD-like.
Then Mr. T-F informed me that if I liked, we could stay after the party and have a soak. I said the first thing that came to mind, which was something regarding the fact that I didn't have a swimsuit with me... and I was informed immediately, by way of a decidedly lecherous, breathy little whisper in my ear, that swim suits were completely optional in their tub.
Hello! Of course they were. What was I thinking?
And so the party went on. And because Buzz wasn't keen to leave the open bar, we wound up the last couple still present at the end of the night. I was helping Mrs. T-F clean up a bit when Mr. T-F padded into the kitchen... in a robe and barefoot.
The robe? Not quite open. Not quite. Small favors, people.
But that man? Had some of the ugliest feet I've ever seen in my life.
They were troglodyte-esque, all knotted and gnarly and hairy, with thick yellow nails which needed trimming. Badly. They were like gory accidents affixed to the ends of his legs -- you wanted to look away, but you couldn't. They were feet that should have never seen the light of day, people.
I fought back the grimace... and the urge to throw up a little in my mouth.
Then Mr. T-F grinned a lascivious little grin and asked if we were all ready for our soak in the tub.
I laughed nervously and replied that I really needed to get Buzz home, as he was fading fast. Both Mr. and Mrs. T-F looked disappointed and protested. Buzz, thankfully, looked drunk and appeared incapable of putting up a fight (or he'd known me just long enough to understand the seriousness of the Stink-Eye).
I'd like to tell you I didn't stay because the Touch-Feelys were libidinous degenerates and they made me feel all weird, especially after seeing that picture of them... all naked.
I'd like to tell you that.
It was the feet.