No Laughing Matter

F/f - While high on laughing gas at the dental clinic, Jill shares her attraction for the cute Moroccan assistant's pretty feet. 35k words.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Copyright © 2021 themaneloco

No Laughing Matter

“You know, I could easily fix those up for you and I’d even give you the friends discount.” He flashed that perfectly, chiselled smile at me. There was not a single blemish on any of his pristine teeth. He took another sip of his coffee, his second cup already that morning. His pearly-white teeth would convince all that he never touched a single drop in his life.

“You know how I feel about that place,” I said, with a tremble running down the length of my spine. “It has the same effect as snakes and spiders.”

“Oh, come on.” He smiled again. “It’s just me. How long have we known each other?” He leant in closer and stared at my mouth. “In six months we’ll have that gap closed up.”

“I just don’t like needles or anything like that, especially near my mouth.”

“Jill, there’s no needles involved. You don’t need an anaesthetic for me to fit a brace. It’s a fairly simple procedure, it just takes a little time to fit and a bit longer to see results. But we have kids coming in all week and getting fitted without any problems. You can just come back every week to have it tightened.”

My jaw dropped. “Every week? You cannot be serious, Bob. Once a year is enough for me and that place.”

He chuckled and rolled his eyes. “I’ll roll the red carpet out for you, I swear.”

“I’d rather not. You know how I hate the dentist, and I only ever come to you when there’s really no other choice.”

He shrugged. “I’m just saying, you’ve spent the past hour or so complaining about how long you’ve been single and that you get no interest from guys. I’m telling you, as a guy, if you walk around with a glowing smile then you’re gonna have endless men knocking down your front door.”

“I just don’t know…” I was still hesitant, as I really did hate everything about the dentist. However, the thought of walking around with a set of perfect teeth and the subsequent attention they’d draw was honestly enticing.

“You’re probably the hardest-working person I know. How many years have you dedicated to your career? It’s about time you spent some of that money you’ve been earning on yourself.”

Bob was right, I had pretty much given my life to my work. Straight out of college, I’d taken a role in my aunt’s real estate business and had never looked back. With her retirement, I had taken over the company and had progressed to one of the leading brands in our district. It had been a lot of hard graft, but these days I had a team beneath me and was able to relax a lot more while still enjoying the profits. Perhaps Bob was right, maybe it was about time I focused on myself.

“We can even whiten them up first. Your smile will belong in a magazine once everything is finished up,” he added, just to cement his case even further.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. If that was the outcome, then would the short-term pain of actually attending a dental clinic be worth it? I pictured myself at my own future wedding, a handsome groom stood at my side while I beamed a beautiful smile. No longer were my teeth stained yellow or sporting that annoying ever-present gap which had made me the butt of jokes ever since my teens. Buck-tooth Jill they called me, as well as likening me to various cartoon rabbits.

I’d met Bob during college, and though we’d never had a romantic relationship, we’d been the closest of friends. Even back in those days, Bob had been dating a beautiful girl named Sandy, whom he had subsequently married shortly after graduation. Sandy was such a confident force that she never felt threatened by me, therefore, my friendship with Bob had remained strong.

From the first time I met him at a freshman party in college, Bob had enthusiastically informed me that he was studying dentistry and I should consider getting some work done. This wasn’t an insult, though at the time I was slightly taken aback that he just came out and vocally highlighted something that I was incredibly anxious about. Thankfully, he phrased it in a complimentary, rather than insulting way.

“You have such beautiful eyes and a cute nose,” he had said. “I can tell you’re self-conscious about your teeth, but that can be fixed!”

I’d played along and acted like I was interested, but every time Bob tried to convince me to get the work done; I’d make up some excuse and wriggle my way out of it. Perhaps now, sat in his own clinic, there was no more need to wriggle.

I took a deep breath and looked Bob in his friendly eyes. “Fine,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

My long-time friend clapped his hands in celebration.

I nervously opened the door to the clinic with all sorts of thoughts running through my head. It had been a week since Bob had visited my home and performed the teeth-whitening treatment. I was thankful that it was a possibility for it to be completed in the comfort of my own place, and I appreciated Bob for going out of his way. It had been a painful experience, and at times I had felt like changing my mind and calling the whole thing off. The thought of my perfect smile kept me going through it, though my teeth remained extremely sensitive a few days after. I was pleased with the outcome however, and my teeth had never sparkled more. I’d asked if I could have the braces fitted at home too, but unfortunately that wasn’t an option.

Stepping into the dentist caused a stirring in my tummy, the sort you get as you hit one of those dips on a rollercoaster. My first thought was the pain I’d felt during and after the whitening treatment. Why was I going to put myself through even more misery? At least that had been in my own home, but now, in the clinic, I couldn’t shake the idea of drills and scalpels, buzzing and poking around inside my gums. As a child, I’d had a bad experience where a dentist had accidentally caught my gum with a hooked instrument and it had stung and bled for hours. Ever since, I’d been reluctant to attend and if I had no choice and had to undergo a procedure, I’d always pay extra so that I could be put under anaesthetic. Bob had often joked about how he had to use up expensive medicine to put me to sleep so that he could complete the most minor of procedures.

Upon entering the waiting room, I was greeted by the receptionist desk where there was a young girl talking on the phone. She had long, dark hair with a sheen-like surface and a pair of green eyes that mesmerised. Her skin was a light brown made up of a smooth, blemish-free complexion with thick eyebrows that matched her beautiful hair. I inwardly smirked and rolled my eyes at the transparency of Bob’s hiring decisions. Pretty face to welcome the clients in and all.

I stood and waited patiently until she had finished with her phone call. “Hello,” she said with a bright smile. She was almost a commercial for the clinic itself. “Welcome to Apple Tree Dental Clinic. Do you have appointment?”

“I do, indeed,” I said while putting a slip from my purse. “I’m a friend of Bob. He should be expecting me.”

She smiled again, then glanced at her computer screen and clicked a couple of times. “You are Miss Matheson?” There was a light accent to her voice that sounded almost French-like.

“That’s me,” I said with a nod. “I’d say I’m happy to be here, but I’m really not.” I could hear a warble in my voice as I spoke, no doubt giving away just how nervous I was.

She dipped her head. “Oh, no, you do not like dentist?”

“Not at all!”

She giggled and then eased my concern with a smile. “We take care of you.”

I glanced over her shoulder and noticed a bunch of flyers pinned to the wall. There were all sorts of treatments listed: fillings, veneers, crowns, and root canals. Each of which made me shudder and I was on the brink of just chickening out and running away. I tried to compose myself, took a breath, and looked back towards the receptionist instead. She was still sat there, eyeing me with that same welcoming smile. I focused in on her teeth. Were they how my own smile would look once this was all over? If so, the momentary judders I felt would definitely be worth it. I just needed a distraction so my mind wouldn’t overthink things and lead me to scarpering. The perfect distraction was sat right before me. I was used to small-talk and idle conversation through my job. It stopped the mind wandering and I found it effective when trying to keep potential buyers away from negativity. The sort of negativity that paralleled sharp objects being poked in my mouth.

There was a badge fastened to the girl’s blouse which bore the name Hind. At least, I figured that was her name since it was one I was unfamiliar with. “That’s a beautiful name,” I said while pointing at the badge. “It matches your smile perfectly.”

“Thanking you,” she said while showing her teeth, which seemed white as snow against her light brown skin and purple lips. “You very kind.” I wondered whether Bob had undertaken some work on her teeth or whether they were naturally just that perfect.

I already felt better now that I was focused on something else other than the treatment I was about to undergo. I wanted the conversation to continue to maintain the distraction, but Hind seemed quiet and polite. I realised I was the one that would have to put the effort in. “Your eyes are just gorgeous,” I added. “They’re so green, like emeralds.”

I saw Hind blush, then she smiled and once again said, “Thanking you.”

“Is that an accent I detect?” I asked, while cocking my head. “French?”

“Oui.” She licked her purple lips with a moist, crimson tongue. “I speak French, but I am not from France.”

“Oh? Where are you from?” My interest was certainly piqued by the delicate tone of her voice.

“Morocco.”

“Oh wow,” I said with genuine surprise. “And you speak French?”

She giggled and rolled her eyes. “Yes, we speak French and also Arabic.” She said a few words in what I presumed was Arabic, however I couldn’t understand and simply smiled politely. “I from Casablanca, do you know?”

“Well, I’ve seen the movie.”

“I here to study,” she said. “I want be dentist like Dr Jacobs.”

“So, one of the best then?”

She smiled again. “Yes, he very kind. He sponsor to study and learn in clinic.”

I looked Hind up and down. Her smooth, blemish-free skin with a light brown pigment. Her shiny, cared-for hair. Her enrapturing green eyes and her slender physique with a narrow waist, yet ample bosom. She had pretty, colourful string bracelets tied around both thin wrists and extravagant earrings dangling from each ear. No wonder Bob had been keen to sponsor her. I shook my head at having such a cruel thought. Bob was completely infatuated and devoted to Sandy, he always had been, and it was unfair to judge Hind in such a way. She was more than her appearance, surely, and as a fellow member of the female clan, I was better than such judgements. Yet, I’m sure of the male customers were suddenly booking more appointments than usual.

“How wonderful,” I said. For some reason, I then gestured towards her hair. “But you don’t wear a headscarf like the other pretty Moroccan girls?” I then saw the confusion in her eyes and realised that I had crossed a line and was being incredibly rude. I’d watched plenty of videos of Morocco on YouTube and had been considering it as a holiday destination, particularly Essaouira and Marrakech. I loved the beaches and all of the markets where you could haggle for a bargain. However, I noticed that even in the heat that a majority of the women wore the headscarves, though, there were some younger women like Hind who didn’t. I was always fascinated by the women in the headscarves, they seemed so beautiful, especially the way hiding their hair seemed to highlight the beauty of their eyes further. There was something exotically mysterious and enticing about them, even to a woman such as myself.

“You mean hijab?” she asked, with a look on her face that I couldn’t read. “I don’t wear. My mama and sisters wear but I do not wear.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be nosey.”

She shrugged. “I used to wear, but I no longer wear. Not since I come here.”

“Oh, well I hope you haven’t been made to feel unwelcome. We’re a free country and you should be able to express yourself however you like here.” I smiled, and hoped I was helping her to feel at ease with my friendliness.

She dipped a hand into her elegantly patterned blouse and for a moment I panicked and thought she was about to bare her breasts. However, she seized a necklace and presented it to me as it dangled from her fingers. “This Fatima,” she said, while showing me a pendant. It was a blue-shaped hand which appeared to have an eye at its centre, which she caressed with her thumb. I noted her manicure was neat, though unpainted. “You know Fatima?”

I glanced between the necklace and Hind’s piercing green eyes. “No, I do not, but it is certainly very pretty.”

“It is watchful eye,” she said, while looking at me curiously. “It protects from evil eye.”

“Oh.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say as I felt awkward. It was wrong of me to mention her lack of a headscarf; however, I didn’t really understand what the necklace had to do with anything. The conversation had progressed beyond that between a receptionist and patient.

“I not wear hijab since I arrive this country,” she said, thankfully with a smile. “It not easy for…integrate.” She tucked the necklace back between her breasts. “But Fatima protect me from eyes of men.”

“Oh,” I said, still with the same awkwardness. “Well, that is good.” I smiled and nodded my head to show I understood, though I was never one for superstitions and didn’t believe in any of that stuff. I wasn’t about to tell her that though. She was right to be careful of the men in our town. They were often drunk and acted as letches. A girl as pretty as Hind would be ripe for harassment, though I doubted bars were her chosen hangout.

“Well, I’m sure you look very pretty with your headscarf. If you want to wear it, you should have the right to do so.” I nodded my head to affirm my point. “I’m sure Bob would have no problems with you wearing it here.”

Hind was silent for a moment while she eyed me with intrigue. She then reached across her desk and picked up her phone, then she scrolled through her gallery and showed me a picture. It was one of her, though from many years ago, and her hair was hidden beneath a multi-coloured headscarf. She looked cute and pretty, with those same bright, green eyes. “When I wear,” she said. “But no more.”

“Very pretty,” I said, and Hind’s eyes narrowed as she cocked her head. “You look beautiful with it, your eyes really shine, and it’s such a pretty design.”

Hind blushed again and her cheeks became all rosy. She then looked back towards the computer screen and said, “I have alert Dr Jacobs of arrival. Please take seat.” She then offered me that same pretty smile from before and I took a seat across the room.

There were a few magazines on the table, though none were of interest, all topics like cars, horses and gardening. I then glanced around the waiting room and noticed a few pictures on the wall. They were various people smiling and laughing with each other, then I saw a notice board with a few articles pinned on. There was one with a picture of a mouth where all of the teeth were decaying. Immediately, I felt a shudder down the hairs of my neck as I remembered where the hell I was. I’d been so distracted talking to Hind that I’d kind of forgotten I was actually in a dental clinic, somewhere I hated. I looked towards the girl, and worried that I’d been so nervous during my nattering that I’d kind of bombarded her with questions and perhaps she thought me odd. Still, the worry was nothing compared to my impending treatment at the hands of Bob.

I felt nauseous as I thought about Bob probing around in my mouth with his fingers and various dental instruments. I almost gagged as I imagined them going so far back in my mouth to the top of my tongue. I hated visiting the doctors when they stuck that stick in your mouth at the base of your tongue and asked you to say: ahhh! I’d always retch near the point of vomiting.

My mouth suddenly felt dry, and I dashed to the water cooler and poured myself a cup, before necking it and resuming my seat. However, the nausea persisted and I wanted to leave before even seeing Bob.

I looked back over to Hind and thought about distracting myself with another conversation. She had done a good job so far, despite not knowing of her effect, and I longed for my mind to become occupied with thoughts of headscarves and the beaches of Morocco, instead of needles and sharp instruments digging away at my teeth. Perhaps I could ask her all about Morocco and what it was like for foreigners and tourists. I had long been fascinated by the country’s culture. Maybe she even had family back there that could help me book a trip or rent a room. As Bob said, it was about time I focused on myself and a trip abroad may have just been the ticket.

I was about to leave my seat and approach her, when something sparkled and caught my eye at the base of her desk. The desk was made up of metal legs at each corner, with a wooden panel at the front and either side. However, there was about a five-inch gap between the floor and each panel. In that gap, there was something shiny and eye-catching.

I narrowed my eyes and focused in on whatever had sparkled and noticed it was coming from what must have been Hind’s feet. I could just make out the shape of her toes with what appeared to be red polish. She shifted her feet slightly, and I noted that she was wearing a silver ring on the second toe of one foot, which was what had sparkled and caught my attention in the first place.

For some reason, I found the spectacle intriguing. Why was Hind barefoot beneath her desk? That seemed completely unprofessional, especially in the setting of a dental clinic where she was the first point of contact. I imagined Bob wouldn’t be pleased if he knew that his receptionist was baring her feet for the whole waiting room to witness. Perhaps it was a part of her Moroccan culture to go bare foot and she didn’t realise that it was a faux pas and against all etiquette over here.

I narrowed my eyes further so I could get a better look, however, my vision was strained and became blurred the harder I tried; I was simply seated too far away. It didn’t help that it was dark beneath her desk, and with her light brown skin tone, her feet seemed to fade in and out of view with only that toe ring gleaming in the shadows. I instinctively shuffled over a few seats so that I could move closer and get a better look. Why did I need a better look? I couldn’t explain, but something within me wanted to see. She hadn’t been wearing any rings on her fingers, yet, there was one right there on her toe. What was so special about a toe ring? In the process of moving, while keeping my eyes beneath Hind’s desk, I accidentally kicked one of the chairs and the leg squeaked on the tiled floor.

Hind’s head shot up and she glanced over at me. Her eyebrows raised with curiosity as she noticed I’d moved to a closer seat for no apparent reason. I placed my hands on my knees, and looked about the waiting room aimlessly as if I was merely passing the time. I could see in the corner of my eye, Hind looking around the empty waiting room, then back towards me, before she shrugged then returned her attention to the computer screen. She likely just thought I wanted to be more comfortable, who knows what she’d think if she knew the truth, that I wanted a better view of what was going on beneath her desk. God, why did I want a better view so much?

At my nearer vantage point, within a couple of feet of Hind’s desk, I was granted a greater view of her feet. I noted that her toes weren’t only polished red, but they were immaculately cared for to the same level as her manicure. There were no abrasions or dry skin, and that toe ring was thick and appeared to be made from silver. I found it curious that Hind had unpainted fingernails, yet had a bright red colour on her toes. I’d worked part-time as a receptionist during college, and it was drilled into us that we were never to paint our nails. It was considered unprofessional and gave the wrong image. It seemed Hind had adhered to that rule with her hands, however, what was the point if she was going to freely show-off her polished toes in the waiting room? It was just so inappropriate.

It was only at this closer range that I saw there were a pair of sandals beneath her feet, which she gripped at the straps with her toes. They appeared old and beat up with darkened sweat prints in the shape of her footprint. I watched intently as her toes fidgeted and tugged at the straps. Occasionally, she’d slip one foot into a sandal, wiggle her toes around, then immediately slip it off once more and play around with the straps again.

I felt a strange feeling as I watched. It was as if I was seeing something that I shouldn’t. Was Hind even aware that there was a gap at the bottom of the desk and I could see her feet unimpeded? She was playing with her sandals as if she thought her feet were completely hidden beneath the desk, yet, here I was, watching the whole thing. I knew it was weird that I was watching, but still, for some reason, I couldn’t look away, and I continued to gawp at her toes as they flexed and wiggled. She placed both feet atop her sandals while she answered the phone, then as she spoke, she once again tugged at the straps and slightly lifted one. She laughed at something the patient said on the other end, then dropped the sandal so its sole slapped on the tile.

I wondered if those sandals had travelled with her from Morocco. I zoned out while staring at her feet, imagining Hind walking around the humid streets of Casablanca while the sun roasted up above in the sky. Beads of sweat collecting on her forehead while her toes itched beneath the leather straps of her sandals. How many days of her foot sweat had that leather soaked up? Yet here she was, in a different country, freely allowing a patient to witness the sweaty stains etched into the shape of her feet.

I looked at my own feet. I was wearing a pair of flats that hid them completely from view. I’d never been comfortable with the appearance of my feet, just like my teeth. I found them to be unsightly, and anyway, feet weren’t really something that a guy paid attention to, right? Who cares how they looked? That’s why I’d never bothered painting them or going for a pedicure or anything. They were just things that I used to walk around.

Yet, Hind, who came from a country with a harsher climate, had immaculately soft feet that looked perfectly pampered. How was that even possible? Had I been doing something wrong all these years?

“Earth to Jill,” I suddenly heard, which shook me from my daydreaming. I’d been so zoned in on watching Hind’s feet, that I hadn’t even noticed Bob had come out to greet me.

I darted my eyes away from Hind’s feet, and noticed both her and Bob were looking at me. Bob glanced towards Hind’s desk, then returned his eyes to me. “All okay?

“Oh, hi,” I stuttered out.

“You looked lost in thought there,” he said. “Bit worried, are you?”

“Something like that,” I said. I momentarily sneaked another look at Hind’s feet beneath her desk, all the while she was still looking at me. I don’t know why I did it, especially as she was watching me, but for some reason I couldn’t help but look one more time in case this was the last chance I’d ever get to see them. Hind’s feet crossed at the ankles, and I could see the soles of her feet for the first time. There were black marks seeped into the wrinkles, as if the leather of her sandals had been turned to a paste by her foot sweat. Did that happen every time she wore them? Surely, she would know if that was the case, so why would she bare her dirty soles like that while she was working? It was somewhat offensive, that she’d come to our country and do such a thing, yet I was fascinated that she had the audacity. Was she that comfortable in her job that she thought she could just kick off her sandals and act like she was at home? I mean, I couldn’t blame her, even with all of the dirt on the bottom they were still probably some of the prettiest feet I’d ever seen.

“Are you okay, Jill?” Bob asked.

I realised what I’d been doing again and snapped out of it. I looked at Hind in a panic, hoping she hadn’t realised what I was staring at. Her head was cocked with her eyebrow raised with intrigue, though she didn’t seem to realise I had been fully focused on that small gap beneath her desk. “Miss Matheson does not like dentist,” she said to Bob with a concerned grimace. “I think she worried.”

Bob chuckled. “Oh, I know. Me and Jill go way back. You won’t realise how difficult it was to get her here at all!”

Hind giggled at that, and I felt somewhat at ease and joined them both in laughter.

Bob led me to his treatment room and I had to fight the urge to look back beneath Hind’s desk one last time. I tried to keep my eyes on her own, as she was watching me as I left the waiting room, with a little smile on her face. But just as I was about to enter Bob’s treatment room, I caved and dropped my attention to the foot of her desk in full view of her watchful eyes. There they were, those red-polished toes, once again playing with her sandal straps. As Bob closed the door behind me, I swear I saw Hind lean over and look at the side of her desk with interest.

Once in the room, my mouth fidgeted to speak, and I had to bite my tongue to avoid blurting everything out there and then. Bob should know, shouldn’t he? He should know that his receptionist felt it was okay to just display her bare feet so openly in his clinic. I mean, they weren’t ugly or anything, they actually seemed pretty well pampered, however, it just went against customer-facing etiquette. I was about to say something, but then I thought about Hind and what the consequences could be. She just wanted to learn and better herself, who was I to risk that for her over something so ultimately trivial? It almost felt like a betrayal, that Hind had allowed me to see something so intimate, that no one else had seen, and I was about to spill the beans. She seemed too nice and friendly for me to do that to her. Plus, if I told Bob, he’d likely reprimand her, and on my next visit, I wouldn’t get to see her feet again. Wait? Did I actually want to see them after all? I gripped my handbag and kept my head down as headed to his desk.

He took a seat and gestured for me to sit in the one opposite. “Right, how are you feeling?”

“A little weird,” I said, while the thought of Hind’s feet were still rolling around my head. What the hell was going on? I was about to have work done in my mouth, yet here I was, thinking about some Moroccan girl’s feet in the other room. Was she still playing with the straps at this moment, clutching and gripping them with those delectable, talented toes? Was I even offended that she was showing them off? I mean, they weren’t ugly at all, if anything, they were beautiful. Wait…could feet be beautiful?

“Yes, you seemed a bit lost in thought out there. That’s to be expected though with the way you feel about this place. I’ll try to make it as easy a process as possible for you.”

I shook off my strange thoughts about Hind and took a deep breath. “Thank you, Bob.”

He leant forward and smiled. “Well, the whitening treatment has certainly done the job. No stains at all.”

I was looking at his face, but his words were kind of going in one ear and out the other. Did he say something about stains? There were stains all over Hind’s sandals. Stains of sweat that had probably been built up over many years. How could feet that pretty sweat so much? It must have been due to the Moroccan climate. Could feet that sweat that much still be considered beautiful?

“Right. I’ve thought things through, and I feel the best treatment for you today is nitrous oxide. Now, we typically wouldn’t use the gas when applying dental braces as it’s a fairly straightforward procedure, however, with your clear anxiety, I think it would be best just to relax you and help you feel at ease.”

“Ugh, nitrous oxide?” I asked while glancing towards the door and wondering if Hind was still bare foot. “Is it, is that, uh, is it dangerous?”

“Not at all. We regulate the dose. You might just laugh a bit and sometimes your hearing can become a bit echoey and tinny. No long term effects. It’s just something that will help you relax and make the work easier for me. I don’t want you tense and on edge while I’m fitting the braces. Hopefully you won’t laugh too much though!”

“Is that…is that laughing gas then?” I’d heard lots of stories about laughing gas and how it left you in a fit of giggles, but I’d never actually tried it before. Honestly, the thought was somewhat exciting if I could laugh my way through the procedure, but I did wonder how Bob would get any work done if I was constantly laughing.

Bob grinned. “Sure is. You might actually enjoy the experience. Anyway, so I’ll be applying the braces to each tooth and the wires will be tightened to gradually reshape your teeth over the next weeks. Over time, that gap will be narrowed and eventually disappear. You’ll need to wear a retainer at night to maintain the new shape though.”

“Sounds fine,” I said while attempting to sound composed.

“Great, hop up onto the chair and we’ll get you started on the gas.”

I took a seat and Bob fiddled around with a canister and a bunch of tubes. He messed with a few dials, then eventually put what looked like an oxygen mask over my mouth.

“Breathe in,” he said. I took a breath, then Bob removed the mask and handed it to me. “You can breathe in as much as you like. As much as you need to help you relax. You can take some breaths every time I’m not working in your mouth. If things get a bit much, echoey or whatever, just take a break from the gas and let me know, okay?”

“You got it,” I said, and I took another deep breath from the mask. I continued to do so while Bob brought out the braces on a tray and arranged all of his instruments. The gas began to take effect, and I noticed my arms and legs were tingling right down to my fingertips and toes. I felt at ease and almost like I was drifting away from the room and floating near the ceiling. It was an odd feeling, yet one I liked, and I suddenly wasn’t at all bothered about the impending treatment.

While I took another breath from the mask, my thoughts lingered back to the desk outside, and I had to shake my head to keep focus. “So, how is Sandy?” I asked, then for some reason, I just started laughing. It was uncontrollable, as if the thought of Bob’s wife was the most hilarious image in the world. I just couldn’t stop. I kept laughing on and on until Bob turned a notch down on the gas tank.

“Think it might have been a bit high,” he chuckled to himself. “But you’ll be happy to know that Sandy is just fine.”

I took a few more breaths of the gas over the next few minutes, before Bob eased my mouth open and began working on my teeth. We continued in this order for a while. I’d take a breath and feel at ease, then while I took a break from the gas, Bob would work on my teeth. At times we exchanged small-talk, which occasionally would set me off in a fit of giggles. We moved between various topics, and all the while, I wasn’t at all bothered that I was at a dentist and having various tools poked and prodded around my mouth. As far as I was concerned, laughing gas was the best thing I’d ever experienced.

The more I breathed in, the more I felt completely relaxed and as if my internal filter had been removed. I spoke to him about all sorts, how I missed sex and longed to have a boyfriend again. Bob was professional and polite, noting that getting my teeth looking beautiful was likely going to help with that.

But then, during a lull in the conversation, and after a few shallow breaths of gas, my thoughts drifted back to Hind out in the waiting room with her bare feet beneath her desk and I began laughing. Why had I been staring at her feet? Why had I made such a big deal about it? Why the hell had I thought her feet were beautiful? That was god damn hilarious! I looked at Bob, his face filled with amusement as I laughed, and he asked me what was so funny this time.

Bob was one of my oldest friends, we shared all sorts of intimate details in the past, why couldn’t I tell him what I was thinking?” I began laughing out loud at the thought of sharing what was on my mind. “Oh my God, hahaha, you know, back in the waiting room I couldn’t stop looking at your receptionists’ feet! Hahaha, how funny is that?”

Bob’s eyebrows went all crooked above his facemask. “Wha…what?” He too then began laughing, and seeing him do so, kind of spurred me on to share more details.

“I could see them beneath her desk. Hahaha. Bright red toenails!” I knew what I was saying was ludicrous, but for some reason, I couldn’t stop myself, and the more I said, the greater I laughed along to the words. “I was watching her feet beneath her desk, hahaha, slipping in and out of her sandals. Those red toes on those tanned little toes. Wow! Hahaha. I can’t believe she goes bare feet in your office.”

Bob sniggered and rolled his eyes. “Jill, what the hell are you even talking about?”

I took another breath of the gas. “Hahaha, don’t tell me you’ve never noticed, Bob? Hahaha!”

He held a gloved hand to his chest. “I can honestly say I’ve never looked at Hind’s feet in my life.”

I burst into an even greater bout of laughter. “Well, maybe you should from now on!”

Bob sniggered. “Apparently I should leave that to you.” He shook his head, then leant in and focused his attention on my mouth. “Take a break from the gas for a moment.”

For the next five minutes, Bob worked around in my mouth while the laughing gas gradually wore off. As the tingling stopped and his voice stopped echoing, I thought back to what I’d shared. My face flushed in a tinge of embarrassment. Oh God, what the hell had I just been saying? All that stuff about Hind’s feet? I cringed and was absolutely mortified. Bob must have thought I was a complete weirdo.

He glanced up at me while retracting his hand from my mouth. He must have noticed my reddening cheeks. “You okay?”

“A bit uncomfortable,” I said, and he handed me the gas for another breath, and another, and another until that euphoric feeling returned and I was lost in the tingling again, as if floating up above the chair without a worry in the world. What I’d been saying about Hind hadn’t been so bad, had it? I was just stating the truth, and Bob didn’t seem that weirded out? I began laughing again in a fit of giggles. “Do you think she brought those sandals with her from Morocco?” For some reason that made me laugh even louder, imagining Hind wearing those sandals on the plane, arriving in our state and seeing nothing but clouds and rain.

Bob rolled his eyes and ignored the question, instead continuing to apply the brace to the next tooth while I took a break from my nattering. While he worked, my thoughts were completely filled with Hind and her feet. The way they twisted and flexed beneath her desk, the way that toe ring sparkled like some treasure that lured in the eyes of all around. She had to know the effect her feet had on people, so why would she show them so freely? She put those shoes on every day, so she knew there were sweat stains all over them. Yet, still, she kicked them off at work so patients could see the dirt!

Bob turned to pick up another instrument, and I immediately laughed while saying, “You can see the sweat stains on them. She must have worn them for years.” I laughed again, my chest vibrating in a triumphant giggle. “But have you seen how pretty her feet are? I can’t believe such pretty feet leave sweat stains like that.” Another barrage of laughter followed, and I just couldn’t stop myself from sharing more. It was just all so funny. “Wow, that Hind has some beautiful feet. I didn’t even know feet could be beautiful until today!” I gave a final laugh, but then trailed off as I saw panic in Bob’s eyes.

He paused and sat back, then he glanced towards the door. I followed his line of sight, and saw Hind frozen in place, holding a tray of dental instruments. She looked at Bob with puzzlement in her eyes, though her mouth was hidden behind a blue medical mask. “What is it?” she asked. “I do something?”

“Nothing,” Bob said, while snapping a rubber glove from his hand. “Just a case of the old laughing gas giving someone the giggles.”

Hind’s face relaxed and she muttered, “Oh.” The puzzled looked then returned and she said, “I just thought…you talk about me.”

“Nothing to worry about,” Bob said. “Just gibberish.”

“Okay.” Hind smiled beneath her mask then brought the instruments over and placed them on the table next to Bob.

The gas had started to wear off and my cheeks were on fire again in embarrassment. Oh God, I thought, she must have heard what I was saying. She heard me saying that her feet were beautiful! I wanted to die right there and bury my head in shame. How humiliated could a person be? It was bad enough that I’d said all that stuff to Bob, but for Hind to overhear too? Total cringe moment. While she walked to the corner of the room and clicked a few things on a computer screen, I avoided eye contact with her and looked towards the breathing mask again. My saviour! I locked it to my face and took a number of deep, slow breathes, trying to steady my nerves and stop the panicked thoughts that were racking my brain.

The gas did its work again, and suddenly, it didn’t really matter that Hind had overheard me. I felt far away from it all, even from the room and dentist chair. I was floating up on a higher plane of existence where shit just didn’t matter. I’d said Hind had beautiful feet and she’d heard, who the hell cared? It was the truth! I craned my neck and looked down towards the floor. I was just able to make out that Hind was wearing crocs now, instead of those sandals from beneath the desk. She must have slipped them on before coming into the treatment room. Bare feet must have only been appropriate at her desk. In here, it was only crocs.

And that set me off laughing again, because how could a pretty girl like Hind, a pretty girl with such beautiful feet, wear crocs? “Oh, don’t keep them hidden from us in those ugly shoes,” I shouted over to her with another laugh, prompting her to turn and look me in the eye. “Where’s your beautiful feet? Hahaha!”

Hind’s green eyes narrowed above the face mask. “My feet?” she asked, before looking at Bob with a perplexed expression.

I was biting my lip to the point that I thought it was going to bleed. I could feel a giggle about to burst out, and I tried all I could to supress it and hold it in. I’d gotten away with the rubbish I was talking. Bob had even smoothed things over for me, but for some reason, I had an urge inside me to say it all again in front of Hind. I don’t know why, but the thought was damn hilarious. Surely, she’d find it hilarious too.

“I was looking at your toes,” I said, then I began convulsing in a fit of giggles while laid out in the dental chair. “I was thinking about how smooth your skin is. Oh my God, hahaha, what am I even saying?”

Hind turned and looked down at her crocs. “My toes?”

I let out a high-pitched shrill. “Yes! Beneath your desk when you kicked your sandals off.” I had to cover my mouth before rampant laughter burst through my fingers. “I couldn’t stop looking at your bare feet.”

I noticed a flush evident on Hind’s cheeks. She glanced towards the door awkwardly, then I saw panic in her eyes. Hind looked at me, her curiosity causing her brow to twist and forehead to wrinkle. She then looked towards Bob and he let out a sigh and shrugged. “I tried to stop her,” he said. “Jill, what are you even talking about? I think you’ve had enough gas for today!” He tried to take the breathing mask from me, but I bat his hand away and instead took another deep breath.

“Your receptionists’ feet!”

I heard Hind tut. “I’m not just reception,” she said with an annoyed tone, seemingly more focused on that smite than the ridiculous subject of my blustering. “I’m dental assistant too.”

For some reason, that made me burst out in laughter even more. “Are you also a foot model? Hahaha! How do you have feet that pretty living in the Moroccan heat!”

Hind looked at Bob again and raised her arms in a perplexing shrug. “What she talking?”

Bob grinned, rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Don’t take what she’s saying as gospel. She’s under the influence!” He too began laughing, which seemed to spur me on even more.

“Hahaha. No. Hahaha. I really mean it! Your feet are beautiful. Hahaha. I couldn’t stop looking at them.”

I noticed Hind’s cheeks were blushing even more red at my attention. She looked down and slipped one of her feet from her crocs, then leant to look at her toes with curiosity as she wiggled them.

“Oh, there’s that beautiful toe ring,” I said amongst even more laughter.

Hind blushed once more, then quickly inserted her foot back into her croc. “Need anything?” she asked Bob in a flustered gasp of exasperation.

“No, no. You can carry on at your desk,” he said. “There’s another patient due shortly.”

And in an almost dash, Hind left the room.

It was at this point, Bob managed to wrestle the breathing mask from me. He held onto it for the rest of the treatment, offering me a few breaths between the work in my mouth. He kept me to the bare minimum, just enough to relax me with the occasional laugh, but not in the clown-like barrage I’d undergone before. We continued that way for over an hour, while he finished up and had the braces all set. It was during the final ten minutes that my thoughts steadied and I realised I’d been talking complete rubbish throughout the entire appointment. I thought about the words I’d said, and how truly embarrassing they were.

Bob seemed completely professional and didn’t mention anything when we finished up. I thanked him for the work, but then as I was about to leave, my hand paused on the door handle. Hind was no doubt sat outside at her desk, and I was going to have to face her after everything I’d said. I wondered whether she was going to still be barefoot, or if I’d made her self-conscious to the point that she’d put her sandals back on.

I tentatively opened the door, and peeked through the gap. Hind was sat at her desk, facing away and typing something onto her computer. I thought that perhaps I could sneak passed and reach the exit before having to look her in the eye, however, as soon as I walked out, she turned. I recognised my own embarrassment in the flushed cheeks of her face. Her green eyes darted about, and she was about to look back to her computer before she seemed to collect herself and offer me a huge smile.

“Thanking you for visit,” she said. “Take care.”

“Thank you,” I said in relief, while I lingered at her desk. It seemed Hind was prepared to pretend nothing had happened, which I was more than happy to go along with. I smiled back, then, my eyes dropped to the floor instinctively and looked beneath her desk. I did it almost without thinking as if to check whether she was wearing her sandals or not, but her feet were beneath the desk and I couldn’t see anything.

“Why you look at my feet?” Hind whispered, and my eyes shot back up to see her leaning back into her seat with curious, narrowed eyes. We’d been looking straight at each other before I looked down, and there was no denying my eyes had been drawn to her feet once again. Also, the fact she’d called me out made me cringe at my own behaviour.

I then saw something creep into view from the bottom of her desk and I couldn’t resist looking down again, even though she was watching me the whole time. Her red toes were poking out and they wiggled playfully. That toe ring glittered under the ceiling lights. The sandals lay to the side, away from her feet. “You like?” she asked, her head cocked to the side.

My face went bright red and I stumbled away in a flustered hurry.

Once home, I frantically bashed the keyboard of my computer while I endlessly searched through Google. I was swigging on a glass of wine while I replayed my embarrassing scene over and over again in my head. Even though Bob had specifically told me to stay away from the drink while the braces set, I was too full of nerves to comply. I couldn’t get over my actions. What the hell had I even been saying? From the minute I’d noticed her feet beneath the desk, I’d turned into some kind of weirdo. Then once the laughing gas hit my head it was all downhill. I searched a multitude of questions in hope of an answer.

What are the effects of laughing gas?

Does laughing gas make you say stupid stuff?

Does laughing gas make you reveal the truth?

Does laughing gas reveal your darkest secrets?

Does laughing gas bring out the real you?

Why do Moroccan girls have nice feet?

I shook my head when I realised what I’d typed for the final one and quickly deleted it before initiating the search.

I spent most of the evening staring into my computer screen while I desperately searched for some kind of confirmation that what had happened wasn’t my fault. I wanted the proof that the words that had left my mouth had nothing to do with my internal thoughts. That my confession had been because I was completely inebriated from the gas and had no control over my mouth. I physically cringed as I thought over everything I had said and done.

But, another thought shook me from my delusion; I had been staring at Hind’s feet while in the waiting room, before I’d even touched any gas! Her red toenails and that gleaming toe ring had been some sort of distraction that had distanced my thoughts away from the anxiety I felt while being in the clinic. I hated the dentist, and while I was staring at Hind’s feet beneath her desk, and the way her toes clutched at the strap of her sandals, I was taken away to some other place and felt at ease. It was almost hypnotic the way she fidgeted with her toes while her attention was focused on events above the desk.

Was it weird that I was staring at this Moroccan girl’s feet? Of course, it bloody was! But that was fine, I was alone in the waiting room and no one else had played witness to my voyeuristic crime. Even Hind had been so busy answering the phone and tapping away into the computer that she hadn’t noticed I was basically gawping over her feet as they twisted and squirmed beneath her desk.

My staring had been a secret. Until I had gone and bloody confessed it all loud and clear. What the hell had been going through my head? It had to have been the laughing gas, it just had to have been. Why the hell would I share such weird information with the very person whose feet I had been staring at? It literally made no sense. The gas had made me do it!

However, while I perused through Google I was only drawing a blank. Page after page stated that while laughing gas was a relaxant and often left people in giggles, which paid to its name, it wasn’t some kind of gaseous truth serum. Laughing gas wasn’t a magical weapon that would somehow encourage a person to reveal their darkest secrets or talk complete gibberish. It made people feel at ease and slightly lowered inhibitions, but no more than a couple of drinks would. So, why the hell had I felt the need to tell Bob, and then Hind herself, that I had been staring at her feet the entire time I was waiting for my appointment? I’d clearly embarrassed the girl, almost to the level I’d embarrassed myself.

I gulped another mouthful of wine. Oh, God. I’d even taken it further. I’d talked about her in Morocco wearing those sandals, and even that I’d noticed the sweat stain in the leather. I must have sounded like the biggest weirdo in the world. My only hope was that Hind hadn’t fully understood what I was saying since English clearly wasn’t her first language. Surely Bob wouldn’t have clarified anything for her, so perhaps I would have gotten away with it. But then…I recalled her final words as I had left the clinic…you like? I’d looked at them again, and she’d called me out on it straight to my face. Rather than shut her down and deny it, I’d fled the scene like a total coward. Why? Did that mean it was true; I liked Hind’s feet?

I awoke the next morning with a hangover. It took me a moment to remember what had happened the day before, then it all came to me at once. I was a weirdo, and both Bob and his assistant, Hind, knew it. Still slightly feeling the alcoholic high, I dialled the clinic intent on putting things straight.

“Apple Tree Dental Clinic,” came Hind’s merry voice in that wonderful accent.

I slammed the phone straight down. She’d surely recognise my voice as the weird woman who had been staring at her feet the day before. Maybe her and Bob had been discussing it all morning? Maybe my friendship with Bob was now over and I was going to be banned from the clinic. I had to right things with Bob before he got the wrong impression.

I dialled again, and this time when Hind answered, I put on a high-pitched voice as a disguise. “Please could I speak to Bob, err, to Dr Jacobs?”

“Dr Jacobs busy,” she said. “Would you like make appointment?”

“No, no. Could I speak to him now, please? It is an emergency!”

“Emergency?” she asked with concern in her voice. “What is emergency?”

I almost growled in frustration. “It is just an emergency! Please put him on. He’s my friend.” The longer I was on the phone with Hind, the more worried I was growing that she was going to figure out who I was.

She hesitated for a few seconds, before saying, “Please hold for moment.”

“Hello,” came Bob’s voice. “I understand there’s an emergency?”

“Bob!” My own voice was frantic. “It’s Jill. I need to speak to you.”

“Oh, hey darling,” he said on the other end of the phone. “What’s the problem?”

I felt my words catch in my throat. “I’m just a bit embarrassed if I’m being honest.”

“Why’s that?” he asked with concern. “You not happy with the braces?”

“No, that’s all fine. It’s just…the stuff I said during the appointment. It’s very embarrassing.”

Bob quietly laughed. “Oh, you silly thing. Don’t worry about any of that. We’re professionals and whatever happens in the clinic stays in the clinic. I’ve heard weirder stuff than that over the years.”

“Really?” I found that hard to believe.

“Trust me, you should hear some of the rubbish that comes out of the mouth from those that have been anaesthetised.”

I clutched the phone receiver tighter. “Is…uh…is Hind okay about everything?”

Bob chuckled again. “Perfectly fine,” he said. “If anything, she’s flattered.”

“Did she say anything?”

“She was a bit confused that’s all. But don’t worry, she’s a professional and it’s no problem.”

“Oh, that’s a relief.” I straightened my back and breathed a sigh. “I was worried that I’d offended or weirded her out.”

“No problems at all. Like I said, it’s no biggie. We actually had to blacklist a patient last week who kept hitting on her, so don’t worry, a bit of gas-talk is the least of her problems. She’s here to learn, nothing else. It’s a great opportunity for her. She has plans to open her own clinic back home eventually.”

“Wow, that’s impressive.”

“Yes, so don’t you worry. Anyway, how’s the braces?”

“All fine so far. No problems at all.”

“That’s great to hear. I have you pencilled in for a tightening next week, but if anything should change in the meantime, you just give me a call okay? And of course, feel free to raise anything on your mind.”

“Really?”

Bob chuckled. “Of course, Jill, how long have we been friends?”

I was about to move the conversation on, but then a worrying thought crossed my mind and I felt comfortable sharing after Bob’s reassurance. “Okay, well, there is something…”

“What is it?”

“It’s just…you don’t think I really meant it, do you?”

“In what way?”

“You don’t think I like Hind’s feet, you know…like that?”

Bob offered a light chuckle again. “Hey, Jill, it’s none of my business. You do you.”

“You haven’t…err…told Sandy, have you?”

“Come on, Jill. I do believe in patient confidentiality, you know. Like I said, what you do in your own time is none of my business.”

I suddenly felt extremely defensive, especially owing to the way that Bob was being so cavalier with a sensitive subject. “No, for real, I don’t like feet. I honestly don’t know why I said any of that stuff. It was just, her toe nails were so bright and that toe ring kept sparkling and I couldn’t help but notice it.”

“Like I said, what happens in the clinic stays in the clinic. Just forget about it.”

I raised my voice slightly and tried to sound stern. “No, listen, Bob, I really mean it. I don’t what you to think I meant any of that rubbish I was speaking. I don’t want Hind thinking I’m some weirdo or anything. I just thought her feet looked cute that’s all, and for some reason, the gas made me say it out loud.”

“Listen, Jill, I have an appointment and I’m going to have to get off. I’ll catch up with you later. You take care, alright? Just give me a call if you’re having any problems with the braces.”

“No, Bob, wait, I really want to—” I was unable to conclude my protestations as I was interrupted by Bob putting down the phone. “Hello? Bob? Hello?” I asked into the silent line. However, even though Bob had disappeared from the call, he hadn’t been replaced by a dial tone. “Are you still there? Hello?”

I heard someone breathe down the phone, then the call clicked off and the dial tone sounded.

I worried for the next few days that Hind may try to contact and confront me. After all, she had access to the patient database and my contact details were right there in the records. I was dreading the call coming or her even showing up on my doorstep and didn’t have a clue how I’d react. I don’t know why it was concerning me so much, considering it would be completely unprofessional of her and break all privacy laws, likely resulting in her expulsion from college and deportation, but still, the possibility hung over me.

Though, when I’d heard nothing after a couple of days, things settled down for a while. Everything was fine with the braces and I had no reason to contact Bob or interact with Hind again until the dreaded tightening appointment the next week, but I hoped that everything would have died down by then. There was even the possibility that Hind would move on in her career in the coming months and switch to another clinic or even return home. She appeared young, probably early to mid-twenties, but there was the possibility that this was the final year of her studies. Maybe I’d only have to face her on one or two occasions of brace tightening. I crossed my fingers in hope that was the case.

Of course, I’d occasionally remind myself of what happened and cringe in shame. Sometimes I’d replay the appointment in my head and think about all of the ridiculously embarrassing things I had said. How I thought Hind’s feet were so pretty and that she should be a foot model. That wasn’t what made me blush though. It was more the fact that I’d noticed her feet in the first place, and Hind now knew that was the case. That while in the waiting room, I’d spent the whole time staring beneath her desk while she flexed her toes atop her sandals. That was the part that made me cringe the most. Hind knew I’d been staring at her feet instead of worrying about my appointment. I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing her again. As soon as I looked into her eyes, I’d know exactly what she was thinking; I was the woman that was staring at her feet and seemed completely obsessed with them.

Then, the next day, I was brushing my teeth and really struggling to get out a grain of rice that had become lodged behind the wires. However much I used my toothbrush to get into the gaps, I just couldn’t dislodge it. I’d switched to an electric toothbrush at Bob’s recommendation, as he mentioned it would be easier to clean around the braces rather than with a manual brush. I’d gone all out and bought the top of the range model, yet, while vigorously cleaning my teeth, the grain of rice remained. I reached over and picked up a pair of tweezers, figuring I could just stab it out from behind the wires. I tried again and again, and it wouldn’t budge, so I pushed a bit deeper and twisted the tweezers, but then my mouth vibrated with a twang. I looked into the mirror mortified, something had gone wrong and I’d snapped one of the wires along the top row of the braces. As a result, the entire set had loosened and there was no tension at all. I was devastated, not so much because of the mishap, but rather, because I’d have to go back to the clinic sooner than expected. I still had another three days until my first tightening appointment. Oh God, what if Hind thought I had broken them on purpose just so I could come back to look at her feet again?

I put off phoning for a couple of hours because I was too scared to see Hind again, but eventually, the snapped wire was beginning to irritate my gum and the inside of my lip. I had no choice to call, and as I dialled the clinic number while crossing my fingers and praying that Bob would answer. Perhaps he’d be on his way out of the office to his lunch break and would instinctively pick up the phone. Maybe there was even another receptionist working there. I laid in hope as I listened to the phone ring.

“Hello, Apple Tree Dental clinic, how can help?” asked the familiar, feminine voice of Hind in that delicious accent. A cold sweat immediately flushed down my spine. This time I was stone-cold sober and I struggled to mask my voice.

She’d know it was me instantly, wouldn’t she? I was probably nothing more to her than the weirdo woman who had been staring at her feet and boldly announced so during my treatment. She probably thought I was a rampant foot pervert with no shame who lusted after her feet with my tongue hanging out. Here I was, ringing for an appointment days before it was due.

“Hello?” Hind asked again. “Is there?”

“Hello,” I managed to croak out. “I’m, errr, phoning to make an appointment.” I crossed my fingers and hoped she wouldn’t recognise my voice.

“Of course. May take name and birth date so can bring up file?”

“Sure.” I took a breath and waited for the inevitable recognition and subsequent laughter. “It’s Jill Matheson and my date of birth is the ninth of July, nineteen eighty.”

I heard Hind tapping away on her keyboard and then humming to herself. I could feel droplets of sweat tickling their way down my back and my heart thumped in my chest as the countdown to her remembering who I was ticked away. Surely, she was going to remember, right? I waited in anticipation for that moment when she’d gasp and realise who I was. However, she just said, “When like appointment?”

My skin instantly cooled as I realised Hind was completely oblivious to my identity. I supposed it made sense, she probably dealt with hundreds of calls on a weekly basis and likely couldn’t put a face to each one. With my face being such an average and plain one too, I was hardly going to stand out. It was my weird behaviour that was notable, so I just had  to keep a low profile and I was good.

“Ummm, how about…” my thoughts suddenly became hazy as I thought about Hind sat at her reception desk. Was she wearing those same old sandals or had she slipped her feet out of them like last time? I wondered whether she was grasping at the straps with her toes right at the moment we were speaking, that as she was booking my appointment, those red-polished toes were fidgeting and flexing beneath the desk. Was it becoming sweaty between her toes as she absent-mindedly played with her shoes? Perhaps there was another patient in the waiting room, and they were looking right at that moment, watching Hind’s feet beneath her desk, just as I did. I hoped that wasn’t the case, that had been something I wished to keep all to myself.

“Are still there?” she asked, which shook me from my thoughts.

“Umm, yes, sorry, what was the question?”

“When like appointment?”

“Oh, as soon as possible.”

“Mmm,” she said before a couple of clicks of her mouse. “There appointment tomorrow at nine in morning. A patient cancellation. Would like?”

“Oh, yes,” I said a bit too excitedly. “That would be perfect.”

“And what is problem?”

The hairs stood up on my neck. Why would I have a problem? Had she realised it was me? Did she think I had some kind of problem where I was looking at her feet? “Umm…what do you mean?”

“Problem with teeth for appointment.”

“Oh,” I said with relief. “My braces have broken.”

“Oh no,” she said. “Not good. Seeing you tomorrow Miss Matheson.” I could feel Hind’s lovely smile through the phone and I felt comfortably at ease. She had no clue who I was after all.

“Thank you so much,” I said, then for some reason, I added, “Say hello to Bob for me.”

“Bob?” she asked. “Oh, Dr Jacobs? Yes, I will. Oh…” She went quiet for a moment. “You Dr Jacob’s lady friend? The one—”

“Thank you,” I said again as my face began to burn with embarrassment. She had realised who I was, because once again, I’d said something I didn’t need to. I didn’t even have the gas this time as an excuse. I put the phone down before she could ask another question.

The next morning, I was sat in my car and looking at myself in the rear-view mirror. “Jill, do not look down,” I said, while staring at my own eyes with conviction. “Whatever you do, do not look down. Say hello to Hind, say you are here for your appointment, but do not, under any circumstances, look down beneath her desk. It is that easy.” I had been saying the same words over and over to myself for the past ten minutes while I watched the clock count down to my appointment. It was a self-pep-talk that I had to absorb and follow through on. If I walked into that clinic and looked straight down at Hind’s feet, it was all over.

As I passed through the door, I could feel my cheeks trembling from the effort of trying to look at Hind without glancing down. It was harder than I realised, and I had a total urge to just give in and glance down, to see if those feet were bare again in the office. It was so tempting to look down, so easy to drop my eyes, in comparison to the effort it took to keep them up and looking at Hind. I even had some strange desire to look down and let her see me do it, as if I was giving into her and wanted her to experience that victory. Where the hell were these thoughts coming from?

“Good morning, Miss Matheson,” Hind said with a smile, though it seemed forced and less enthusiastic than our first meeting “How feeling this day?”

My neck was almost juddering from the effort of remaining straight. I kept having to fight to keep my eyes on her and I could feel sweat collecting on my hairline. Meanwhile, Hind was sat completely relaxed with a neutral expression. She had her long hair tied back in a ponytail, and I could see her exquisite jawline. It appeared that she wore little make up so her beauty must have been natural. Her green eyes were almost judgemental as she watched me from beneath those dark, thick eyebrows. “Are okay?” she prodded.

Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore, I sort of crumbled beneath Hind’s unbroken stare and I just had to look down and beneath her desk. I tried to disguise it as a sideways glance, but as I did so I noticed that Hind was still looking straight at me. I turned away at speed, but not before catching sight of a pair of black-sneakered feet beneath her desk. For some reason that left me disappointed. I’d expected to see her playing with her sandals again, grasping the straps with her toes while she focused on her work. I’d expected her to do it on purpose, as if testing me to see if I’d react. However, her feet were hidden away in those clunky sneakers and her posture seemed uncomfortable.

Oh my God, I thought, she’d recognised me from the phone call the day before and she’d deliberately worn sneakers so I couldn’t look at her feet. My worst fear had come to fruition: Hind thought I was a total foot weirdo. I’d offended her so much while high on the gas that she felt uncomfortable going barefoot in the office anymore. She had probably been baring her feet for a long time, without anyone noticing or commenting, then I’d come along and made a big deal out of the whole thing.

“Dr Jacobs ready,” she said, while still looking at me, no smile in sight. “Can go through.”

I knew I should be polite and pretend as if nothing had changed, that I hadn’t noticed she was wearing sneakers, but part of me needed to know if it was indeed because of me, but I tried to fight it off. I knew mentioning she was wearing sneakers would be awkward and a whole new level of weirdness, despite my curiosity. I took a few steps towards Bob’s treatment room, and I was just about to reach for the door handle when the urge became too strong. I turned, and asked, “No, ugh, sandals today?” Even as I said the words I realised it was a totally inappropriate thing to say, but I couldn’t help myself. There was silence that followed, and I knew there was now no going back. I gulped while laying completely across the judgement block.

Hind’s eyes narrowed and I could see they were filled with annoyance. “No,” she said. “I not allowed no more.” Then that forced smile returned. “Please go through. Dr Jacobs ready.”

My mouth parted to say something else, I’m not entirely sure what. Perhaps some kind of apology? But Hind had already turned back towards her computer and remained in silence. There was an awkwardness between us lingering in the air and I felt it best to escape to the safety of Bob’s treatment room.

As I entered, he welcomed me with a smile, then a look of concern. “I hear something has gone wrong with the braces?”

“Yes,” I said, before baring my teeth and pointing to the malfunction.

Bob put on his glasses then rolled his chair over towards me. He leant in and took a closer look at exactly what had happened. He was silent for a few minutes while he analysed how the braces had broken.

While he did so, my thoughts wandered to Hind back out in the reception area with her soft feet cramped into those stuffy socks and sneakers. That was all my fault, wasn’t it? Maybe kicking her feet free from her sandals was good for her well being and allowed her to relax. Maybe it was the one small part of her culture that she’d actually felt comfortable maintaining in our country, and I’d come along and taken that away from her having stuck my nose into her business. She had already given up wearing her headscarf because she wanted to fit in better, and perhaps airing her bare feet was the compromise. Maybe that was something she did a lot back in Casablanca and it reminded her of being home? But, no more, she couldn’t wiggle her toes or feel the air between them because I’d taken that away from her.

I then cringed thinking about how I’d brazenly asked her why she wasn’t wearing sandals today? I was genuinely curious, and actually careless for asking such an inappropriate question. I’d thought Hind’s blunt response was because she too thought it was a weird question, however, thinking about it, perhaps she thought I was mocking her? She now couldn’t wear her sandals or show her bare feet anymore because of me, and I’d walked into the office and asked why she wasn’t wearing them? She probably thought I was rubbing my victory right into her face.

“Did you say something to Hind?” I asked Bob, while he was still crouched and looking in my mouth.

He sat up and had a confused look on his face. “About what?”

“Her wearing sandals in the office.”

“That’s a strange question.”

“It’s just, I noticed she was wearing sneakers today is all.”

Bob paused for a moment and looked at me curiously. “This is like the third conversation we’ve had on the topic now. Is there something going on?”

My mouth suddenly went dry and I could feel my temperature rising. He was right of course, this was another occasion where I’d brought the subject up. It seemed the more I tried to rectify and explain myself, the worse I made things. But I couldn’t help it, I just kept digging myself deeper and deeper.

“No, I just don’t want it to be because of me.” I gestured towards the dental chair. “Because of the stuff I said while I was on the gas. I didn’t mean any of it.”

“Oh, well, yes, it’s not our policy to be bare foot in the office. I hadn’t realised it was happening, so I asked her to wear more appropriate footwear.”

I gasped. “Oh my God, I feel so bad.”

“Don’t. it’s not your fault. She’s not in trouble. She’s just changed to footwear more fitting of a clinic. There’s health and safety guidelines we need to abide by anyway.” He leant in again. “If I’d paid as much attention to her feet as you, perhaps I’d have noticed it earlier.”

I sat up straight. “What do you mean by that?”

Bob chuckled. “I’m just kidding, Jill. Now, let’s have a better look at these braces and see what’s happened here. Did you jam a fork in them or something?”

I didn’t answer because I was too busy thinking about the consequences of my loose lips. I had completely ruined Hind’s work environment. She seemed so happy and full of life when I had arrived for my first appointment. Yet, now she seemed cold and aloof, as if I had wronged her in an ultimate act of betrayal. I had, hadn’t I? I’d brought attention to something that had been a secret. I’d announced it to her boss and now he’d put an end to it. Also, it had been almost a week since my first appointment; had Hind been forced to wear socks and sneakers at work ever since? She must have had so much resentment built up towards me.

It wasn’t even as if Hind had her feet up on the desk or anything. She had merely taken her shoes off beneath her own desk, something she should have been allowed to do, until I had got involved with my staring. I was the problem, not her, and she was the one suffering the ramifications. I felt so terribly responsible and I wanted to apologise.

“I feel so bad she can’t show off those pretty feet anymore.” Those had been the words going through my head, yet, for some reason, I’d said them out loud. I glanced at Bob, mortified and he was sat with his mouth hung up.

Suddenly, his face seemed to screw up with annoyance. “Jill, for God’s sake. What’s got into you? If you like Hind’s feet that much then why don’t you ask to see them? But can we please make this the final comment on the matter. This is beginning to become very awkward.”

I blushed at hearing Bob make sure a ridiculous suggestion, though, it had the desired effect of silencing me in embarrassment. But could I really ask her to see them again? Would she actually let me? Maybe if I was polite and apologised for causing her problems first…maybe. I spent the rest of the appointment thinking about how I should go about apologising to Hind while Bob fixed my braces. I responded politely to whatever small-talk he brought up, but my mind was on Hind throughout, and how I could rectify the situation and possibly see her feet again. I figured the best way was simply apologising straight up. Yet, once the appointment was over, I chickened out. I was too worried that an argument would start and Bob would get involved. I didn’t want him to think I was still obsessed with the issue. I left the clinic without saying a word to Hind, who didn’t bother to look up from her computer anyway.

Once home, I continued to dwell on the situation. It was eating me up inside for multiple reasons. Firstly, because I’d caused Hind a problem in her work environment. And secondly, more selfishly, because I almost felt like I’d betrayed her feet. It was an odd sensation, but they’d been so beautiful while they had performed beneath her desk, and I’d been gifted the opportunity to watch. Instead of being thankful, they were now hidden away because of me. I was no better than the bigoted people that had forced her to abandon her headscarf. I didn’t even care that Bob likely would I was a weirdo too now, all that mattered was making things right with Hind.

I tried to put it out of my mind for the rest of the afternoon, but I couldn’t. I needed to make things up to Hind and I found myself parked up outside the clinic around closing time. Bob had already left; however, Hind was still inside and about to lock up. When she finally appeared, she set the alarm and locked the exterior door.

I noticed that she was dressed differently from earlier. She was no longer wearing the loose blouse and pants that had been present for each of my appointments, but instead a prettily patterned dress which came down to her knees. It looked exotic and most likely Moroccan in design. Most noticeable however, was the absence of those socks and sneakers that she’d been wearing all day. Instead, she was wearing the sandals that I’d seen that very first day. She must have changed after her shift finished, which was just further evidence that I had messed with her daily comfort. It was only now I saw them on her and not kicked-off beneath the desk, that I realised the extravagance of the straps. They actually tied all the way up her shins towards her knees, looping around her strong calf muscles and tied off in a bow at the top.

Suddenly things made sense, no wonder she liked to kick them off during work hours. I once bought a similar pair and I had spent most of the day stopping to retie them. However tight I’d loop the straps, I’d always find them slipping down to my ankles after I began to walk. It must have been easier for Hind to just let the straps fall loose while she was sat at her desk.

I left the car, and shuffled over towards her. “Hind,” I said, as I approached.

The girl spun around, startled and wide-eyed as if I’d crept up to attack her. For a moment there was confusion in her green eyes, until I stepped further into the light. There was a brief flash of relief when she realised I was a woman, though this was rapidly replaced with indifference when she recognised who I was. “Please phone for appointment,” she said, before arranging some loose hair behind her ear and moving to walk past me. “Clinic closed.”

“I wanted to apologise,” I said with a tremble in my voice, before she left me standing all alone in the street.

Hind froze mid-stride, then looked back over her shoulder with an eyebrow raised. “Apologise?” She then completely turned to face me and folded her arms across her breasts. “For what apologise?

“You know,” I said, motioning with my eyes towards the clinic. I was hoping that would be enough to communicate what I was talking about without actually having to say it.

“What mean?” It was clear she wasn’t about to make this easy for me, though I suppose that was the least I deserved. Maybe she genuinely had no clue what I was talking about, and her having to wear sneakers wasn’t as big a deal for her as I was making it for myself.

I looked down towards her sandaled feet. Her toes were still painted a delicious red; it must have been her favourite colour, which made sense since it sat so well with her lightly browned skin. I was fascinated by the way the straps of her sandals looped around her calves and shins and remained fastened in place just below her knees. On the second toe of her left foot, there was that toe ring still glistening in the night. As she shifted on the spot, I noticed those dark, sweaty impressions her toes had left in the leather.

Hind followed my gaze and looked down at her feet too. “Why look at feet?” she asked. “In clinic, in appointment, and now in street, you look at feet.”

I looked up in a panic and saw that she was now looking me in the eyes. “I, ugh, it’s just because I’m sorry you’re not allowed to wear your sandals at work anymore.” I swallowed under the scrutiny of her stare. “I know it was because of me.”

I saw the weight shift in her posture, and she leant onto one leg, her purple lips pursed, unamused. “Yes.” She glanced towards where Bob usually parked his car as if checking if he was lingering nearby. “It your fault,” she added. “Because stare at feet.”

“I feel really bad about it. I’m sorry.”

Hind shrugged while her face remained emotionless. “It is done. Cannot change now.”

“I’m really sorry.” I couldn’t bear to hold her unimpressed gaze, and I broke eye contact and looked back towards her feet. It seemed safer to focus on her red-painted toes. They were cute and welcoming, unlike the intensity of her piercing green eyes.

“Why look again?” I heard Hind say in a slightly annoyed tone, while I was doing exactly that and staring at her pretty toes. “No one ever look at my feet. But you always look.”

“I-I-I…really don’t know,” I said, while still looking down and unable to pull my eyes away and fully join Hind in the conversation. I was surprised no one else had ever looked, because they were just so pretty and enticing. Perhaps everyone looked, but Hind had just never noticed, because unlike me, no one else told her afterwards. I continued to look, almost hypnotically lost in their beauty. “But I just can’t stop,” I whispered. “Ever since I noticed you were bare foot at your desk…”

“You have evil eye,” she said, and I immediately looked up at her.

“What do you mean?”

She tapped her necklace through her dress. “Fatima cannot protect from an eye as evil as you.” There was seriousness in her expression, as if she truly believed her own words.

“I do not have an evil eye,” I said. “That’s preposterous. Why would you say such a thing?” I was completely offended that Hind would liken me to some kind of pervert or letch. The sort that hung off a bar stool and drooled while ogling scantily-clad women.

“You cannot control eye,” she said. “You always look.” She moved one of her feet towards me, and I immediately dropped my gaze and looked at her cute, red toes. “See, you cannot control.” She wiggled them and I found myself intensely captivated. “Evil eye controls you.”

“No,” I gasped while still looking at her toes. They wiggled and flexed in the most delightful way beneath the spirals of the leather straps. The toe-ring gleamed and lured in my attention however much I tried to break free. “It’s not like that at all,” I said in an almost whine. Yet, I continued to stare at her perfectly-shaped feet as she lifted her heel and applied pressure to her toes. It felt right to look, as if I was melting inside and looking upon something for the first time and feeling truly smitten.

There was silence, and after a moment, I managed to pull my eyes free from Hind’s feet and look up. There was still a complete lack of emotion on her face, but I could tell she wasn’t impressed by my behaviour. She dropped her hands free from her chest, and adjusted her bag on her shoulder. “Should go,” she said. “Please call for appointment.”

“Wait,” I said, before reaching out and grasping her thin wrist. When her eyes widened at my touch, I immediately released her arm and felt regret at having touched her. “I’m just, I’m sorry that I caused you problems at work.”

Hind glanced around the parking lot again, then she dipped her head. “We have professional relationship. We should not speak. It is done.”

“Could I make it up to you?” I asked, then I felt my forehead wrinkle at the words that had just left my mouth. What the hell was I talking about? I hadn’t planned to make it up to her other than to apologise. However, Hind seemed reluctant to accept my apology and therefore I still felt pretty bad about the whole situation that I’d caused for her. I’d made her look unprofessional in a position where she was trying to impress and I wished to make amends. Also, I couldn’t bear the thought of those beautiful feet being hidden away in her sneakers on a daily basis because of me.

“What mean make up?”

I too then glanced around the parking lot, and whispered in a hushed tone, “Is there something I could do for you so that you’ll forgive me?”

“You really want?”

“Yes, Hind.” I grew excited that she was actually hearing me out. “It’s a crime you have to cover those pretty feet up at work, and it’s my fault.”

There was a hint of amusement in Hind’s lips, coupled with a gleam in her eyes. She raised a single finger towards me. “I will think. Give one moment.” She then took out her phone from her bag and moments later she was animatedly speaking Arabic to someone. All the while, she offered me little glances, as well as a few sniggers. Once the call concluded, she looked at me with a satisfied smile. She folded her arms across her chest once more, glanced at me from head to toe, then looked me in the eyes. “You admit you wrong?”

“Yes, Hind, I was wrong.”

She smiled at my acceptance, then looked at her fingernails before asking, “You admit you have evil eye?”

I mumbled, “I don’t like you thinking I have an evil eye or whatever, but if you say I do—”

“You do.” She shrugged. “Your eye must look, and I suffer.” Her face turned to a frown and my guilt wracked up a few levels. “You took important thing from me.”

“Did I?” I was astonished she’d accuse me of being a thief. I had wronged her, but in a minimal way, I had not stolen anything from her.

“I like to have feet free in privacy of desk. It help for concentrate on work. It remind of home in hot weather. After I walk all day on Casablanca street it is relax to free my feet and I enjoy. Now I cannot do because you had to look. Dr Jacobs said not professional. I try hard to do job but now I worry he will not sponsor.” I saw her lip tremble as if she was about to cry.

“Oh, God, Hind. I am so, so sorry.” I felt like a total retch.

“It is done,” she said once more with another shrug. She touched at the corner of her eye with her fingertip. “It cannot be change.”

“I am so sorry,” I said again.

“Goodnight.” She turned to leave again, though didn’t progress to taking a step, she kind of hovered in place, as if waiting for me to react, which of course, I did.

“But I was being serious.” My voice sounded desperate, but I couldn’t let it end like this. I was pretty sure Bob wouldn’t dismiss her over something so trivial, but she wasn’t to know that. In her eyes she was a young girl over here in a foreign country, all alone, and on a strict visa. “I’d like to do something for you to win your forgiveness and make things right.”

“There is nothing for forgive. I not professional and it is done.”

“Nooo.” I reached out and touched her arm again, though this time with a gentle caress rather than a grasp. “It is not your fault at all, Hind. It is all my fault. You should be free to do whatever you like beneath your desk. I mean, you kicked off your shoes, why is that crime?”

Her face brightened. “Yes, why you make big problem?”

“Ummm, I really don’t know.” I broke eye contact again with her through shame. “But it was my fault. I shouldn’t have been looking, and I definitely shouldn’t have said anything to Bob. You are good at your job, and what you wear on your feet shouldn’t matter. I mean”—I looked down at her red toenails, presented to the world in those strappy sandals. They wiggled again beneath my stare—“you have beautiful feet, Hind.” I said the words, but I felt so weird in this whole situation. I was uncomfortable, telling this girl she had beautiful feet, out in public, but still, I couldn’t stop.

“Then why make so I hide? You think Muslim girl must be covered?”

I felt my face flush at the connotations of such an accusation. There were no racist undertones in my focus on her feet. There was no way I’d ever demand a girl had to cover up. I was a feminist, yet, wasn’t that exactly what I’d done pretty much by making Bob aware of Hind’s penchant for being bare foot? She did have to cover up her skin after all, and all because of me and my big mouth. “That really wasn’t my intention, I swear. I didn’t know Bob was going to make you wear different shoes. I’m so sorry. It was the gas, I didn’t realise what I was saying. I just kept looking at them in the waiting room, and for some reason, after the gas, I couldn’t help saying what I was thinking.” The words were running away from me. I knew I was saying too much, but in my desperation to be forgiven, I couldn’t help it.

I was starting to become uncomfortable by the exchange. We must have been stood outside the clinic for a good ten minutes by this point. I had only wanted to apologise so that Hind wouldn’t have any hard feelings, but I never thought something so simple would be this difficult. I mean, ultimately Hind was in the wrong, it was unprofessional for her to kick off her shoes in that way while at the reception desk so that all of the patients could see her bare feet. Sure, I could have kept that to myself and I was a snitch for alerting Bob, but that hadn’t been my fault. It was the laughing gas! There’s no way I would have told him if I’d been of completely sound mind. Plus, while on the gas, I’d actually be complimenting her, not trying to cause her problems.

Also, in the grand scheme of things, this was hardly a big deal. We were talking about a girl having to change her shoes after all? But, for some reason, I was the one that had made it a big deal, right from the first moment that I’d noticed her bare feet beneath her desk. I was the one that had stared so intently, I was the one that had thought about it so much then announced what I was thinking during the appointment. Later, I was the one who had phoned Bob and reminded him of what happened, and I was the one who had brought it up again in the second appointment. Now, here I was, the one who had accosted Hind outside of her work and raised the issue once more. It was all me; was I completely obsessed by the thought of Hind’s bare feet or something? I was starting to wonder myself. I mean, I thought they were pretty, I’d already accepted that. But they were starting to become the sole focus of my life or something.

Hind eyed me curiously, then a little smirk settled on her lips. “What you think when you look?”

I was caught cold by the unexpected question and I mumbled something in response. However, when Hind continued to stare at me expectantly, I thought for a moment before answering properly. “I was just surprised that you showed your feet off so freely, right there at your desk, and that…how…umm…pretty they were. You have much prettier feet than I do. I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it.” I glanced at Hind, then down at her feet. While I stared at them, something compelled me to be honest. “I just can’t help looking at them.” I felt completely humiliated admitting such a thing, especially since she would never have known I’d even been looking if it hadn’t been for the laughing gas.

I looked up and realised Hind was glaring at me. “I did not know could see under desk,” she said through gritted teeth. “I would not if I know.”

I looked away in shame. “I know, and I’m sorry I looked.”

“Yes, very wrong. You should not look.”

I suddenly felt like a child that was receiving a stern telling off. It was odd and I squirmed on the spot. Here I was being made to feel about an inch tall by a much younger girl who was here from a different country. “I’m sorry I looked at your feet, Hind.” I wanted to die right there on the spot for apologising for something so ridiculous. I was supposed to be apologising for causing her problems at work, not for merely looking at her feet. What the hell was happening?

“You have evil eye.”

I gulped, then nodded with shame. “Yes, I have the evil eye.”

I glanced at Hind and saw that she was smiling. “It is good you accept.”

“I accept it,” I said. “I have the evil eye. I’m sorry for looking.”

“I accept apology,” she said with a smirk. She shifted her position so she seemed more relaxed and less stern. Her eyelashes fluttered and she peered down her nose at me. “So, why you like to look at feet?”

My words caught in my throat at her asking such a thing. It almost felt like we’d progressed to somewhere completely unexplored. I looked down at them again, even after everything we’d just discussed, I still couldn’t resist having another glimpse. I felt shy and blushed. “Ummm, I err..” I looked up at her, and the judgement in her eyes made me forget what I was trying to say.

Hind raised an eyebrow. “You said that they beautiful.”

I looked between her eyes and her feet, those tanned, perfectly-shaped, red-toenailed feet. I gulped. “Well, because they are.”

“Was that gas?”

“Huh?”

“Did say because of gas or really mean?”

“It was the gas…” I momentarily looked her in the eyes, but I had to blush and dart my eyes away. “But I kind of mean it too.”

“You like my feet?” She crossed her arms and nodded her head encouragingly. “Tell truth!”

The question was so blunt, yet there didn’t appear to be any air of hostility, that I melted and gave in. “They’re just so pretty. Soft, with beautiful nails and a pretty ring. When I see them, I just want to keep looking. Especially the way you played with your sandals beneath your desk. I was mesmerised that you were confident enough to do that while I was sat in the waiting room.” I squirmed again having admit such an embarrassing thing, but still, there was an urge to disclose further. “I keep picturing you walking around in those sandals beneath the Moroccan sun.”

Hind lifted a hand to her mouth, as if attempting to stifle a giggle. She then took a deep breath, and once composed, she said, “Then look close.” She moved the one foot towards me again. “Lady with evil eye.”

I was about to say something in my defence, as even though I’d admit I had an evil eye under Hind’s stern look, I still didn’t like the meaning behind it. However, as I did as she told, and looked at her gorgeous foot, I felt at home. There was a throbbing of excitement in my chest, because this time, I wasn’t looking sneakily, I was doing so in full view of Hind and at her direction. There was acceptance and encouragement to my gawping. I instinctively dropped down onto one knee, so that I could gain a better look.

As if responding to my action, Hind lifted her sandaled foot and presented it to me and I grasped the bottom of its sole and lifted it closer to my face. From this distance, I was granted a complete, unhindered close-up view of her foot for the first time. My nose twitched at the distinctive scent of sweaty girl-feet, something I hadn’t smelled since the days of the locker room in high school. She wiggled her toes as I grasp her sandal and the fragrance seemed to increase in its intensity. It was an odour I’d never expect to grace my nose again after my years of success, yet, here I was, breathing it right in and almost feeling light-headed at being able to smell Hind’s private scent so closely.

I trembled at the privilege, and couldn’t believe that my staring beneath her desk had progressed to this. I felt naughty and there was a rush running right the way through my body, because this was weird. I knew it was weird, but I liked it and it was the most excitement I’d had in a long time. Here I was, the owner of my own successful company, and I was kneeling in the street of my own country and staring at a Moroccan student’s foot while breathing in its intoxicating sweaty smell. Someone, anyone, could walk along the street and catch me in this compromising act. Even Bob could turn up, maybe because he’d forgotten something at the clinic and see me on my knees and staring at his assistant’s foot.

But still, even with that risk lingering over me, I remained on one knee because I liked that I was being allowed to look at this girl’s foot, a girl I barely knew but who had captivated my curiosity and attention since the first moment I’d watched her toes playfully tug at her sandal straps.

My eyes lingered over each toe, and the way in which they were expertly painted, without a hint of polish spilling onto her smooth, tanned skin. Her toes flexed and gripped the front of her sandal, right there, mere inches from my face, and somewhere inside me, I had the thought of leaning down and kissing them. Why? I’ve no clue, but the thought was there, and it was growing the longer I looked.

I reached out with my free hand, grasped her toe ring between my fingers and twisted it around on her toe. I marvelled at the way it glistened and sparkled beneath the moonlight. If a stranger had come along, they’d have probably thought this was some kind of odd proposal between two women that appeared at odds with each other. I was about to run my fingertips along her shapely ankle, when she wiggled her foot free from my grip and returned it to the floor.

“Have good evening,” she said, which I hadn’t expected having just bared my most cringey inner thoughts and knelt before her. She turned, and then began walking down the street with a confident sway in her step.

Down on one knee, I felt desperate, and I didn’t want the exchange to end there, especially when I had admitted to liking her feet and she’d allowed me to see them so closely. It was as if she’d opened the door for me and I was excited where this could lead. I had a sudden, inner-cringe moment where I realised I must really like her feet, right? Like, really like them. Especially with the way I couldn’t stop looking at them, and how I had seemingly obsessed about them ever since I’d first caught sight. I’d never before looked at feet in that way, especially another woman’s, but there was something about Hind’s feet, the naughtiness of seeing them beneath her desk when she didn’t realise I could. It had left me infatuated and wanting more. Was I actually a lesbian? Was that the reason I had little interest from guys? All of these questions were coming at me at once.

“Wait,” I called out to her.

Hind was a few metres away by this point, yet, she stopped and turned, again with that eyebrow raised. She no longer seemed apprehensive or that quiet girl in an unfamiliar country that I’d first encountered at the clinic. The sort of girl that didn’t wear a headscarf because she was worried about the opinions of others. That girl didn’t exist to me anymore.

I realised I hadn’t actually thought about what I was to say next. Our discussion was over, Hind had accepted my apology and we were good. She’d even allowed me a closer look. Yet, once again, I had to open my big mouth and prolong my agony even more. What did I want to talk about? Obviously, the subject was going to be about her feet again, leading her to think I was even weirder than she already did. She knew that I liked them, but now she was going to know I was desperate for them too.

I thought about her pretty little tanned feet being encased in those socks and sneakers all day and itching to be set free like she usually liked them. It probably felt so unnatural to her having them stuffed away in those cramped shoes, and why were they hidden away like that? Because of me. If Hind had her way, they’d have been free all day with her toes eagerly tugging away at the straps of her sandals, just like she did back home in Morocco. I had denied her that enjoyment, so it was only right that I provided some comfort for her, wasn’t it?

“Umm, would you like a massage?” I asked, my tongue almost taking on a life of its own and making the most ridiculous suggestion. It had felt natural to offer such a thing while I’d been thinking about her feet in those sneakers, and it being my fault, but still, once vocalised it was an extremely odd offer. Even I recognised that.

Hind cocked her head and those green eyes narrowed with intrigue. “What? What you say?”

“Ummm, could you use a massage for your feet?” I could feel my face growing redder as I fumbled over my words. “You know, since you’ve been in those sneakers all day, and it being my fault.” I only then realised that I was still down on one knee as I’d made the offer and I awkwardly rose to my feet.

Hind nodded her head enthusiastically and a tiny smile crept onto her face. She took out her phone and began typing a message. She glanced my way and said, “Yes, your fault.”

“My fault,” I agreed. “All my fault.”

Hind continued to type into her phone, while occasionally smiling to herself, nodding her head, lifting her foot so she could clearly see it under a street light and then offering looks my way. She even recorded a voice message to whoever she was speaking to, but I couldn’t understand as it was spoken in Arabic. She played the response out loud, but again, I couldn’t understand other than it was a woman speaking. But, whatever was said, it made Hind laugh while she stared at me with those green eyes. Finally, she put the phone away, looked at me said, “So, massage?”

I nodded with enthusiasm. There was a salon just a few blocks away that I’d visited in the past to get my hair done. Now, I’d never had my nails done there as it just wasn’t the sort of thing I’d ever consider. I did know that they offered that service though as I’d seen other women there and the service always came with a massage beforehand. I figured it wouldn’t cost much for Hind to receive just the massage, since her nails were already perfectly polished and wouldn’t require touching up. She’d enjoy the massage and my conscience would be put at ease, then I could move on and leave all of this behind me. I’d probably still think about her feet once we parted ways, but at least I’d be able to keep my dignity and not continue to embarrass myself. Plus, I’d get to watch while she had those feet pampered and taken care of. It was a wonderful thought.

Hind’s face was unreadable. “You want massage my feet? This how you make good the problem? First you look, now you want touch?”

My eyes widened. “Wait, well, no, that’s not exactly what I—”

“I cannot accept offer,” Hind said before I could finish my sentence. “This not appropriate with patient. I will report to Dr Jacobs. I should not let look closer.” She gestured towards me with a flick of her wrist. “I try be kind, and now want more.”

Suddenly I felt my tummy turn at the thought of where this was going. Bob already thought I was acting weird but this would be the icing on the cake. There was ample evidence of me mentioning Hind’s feet to him, and now she was going to tell him that I propositioned her for a foot massage? After he’d said I should ask to look at her feet as an off-the-cuff comment? “Hold on, I meant I would take you—”

Hind raised an eyebrow. “Take me?”

I squirmed on the spot. The thought of rubbing her feet was actually tempting, even though it wasn’t what initially had come to my mind. I was all in favour of paying a small fee for her to get her feet professionally rubbed, but what the hell did I know about doing it myself? Though, the thought of actually touching her feet for some reason made me tremble in anticipation. “I mean, I was offering for you to get a massage at a salon, not from me. I’d be happy to pay as an apology.”

Hind’s face softened and she furrowed her brow as if considering my offer. She glanced down at her feet and wiggled her toes in those strappy knee-length sandals. “That sound nice, but still not appropriate…you could make more trouble. You tell Dr Jacobs that I allow you to do and I lose job.”

“I swear I will not tell anyone.”

Hind shrugged, then rolled her eyes and dismissively waved me away with her hand. “I cannot trust. You already share beneath desk.”

I put my hand to my chest. “Please, I swear, that was a mistake and it will not happen again.”

She folded her arms across her chest again. “I do not believe.”

I dipped my head and said in a whisper, “Please, Hind, let me do this for you, please.” The desperation in my voice was cringeworthy. I was starting to wonder whether this was about apologising and making up to Hind at all. Was I persisting with this for my own weird desires?

There was silence as Hind stood watching me while considering my offer. I could tell there was the slightest amusement in her green eyes, but also, there was something else dancing around in them. There was a growing sense of comfort and ease in her posture and expression. I knew from my cringey behaviour that the dynamic was changing between us. She had been the employee and me the patient, however, that seemed to be shifting.

“Mmm,” she said as she nodded her head. “Maybe if were no longer patient…then maybe…I accept offer.”

I looked at her with wide eyes. No longer a patient? But that would mean I would have to betray Bob by requesting to be removed from his clinic. He would likely take huge offense to such a request. I mean, how would I even approach the subject? I suppose I could argue I was doing it out of shame after embarrassing myself on the gas and subsequently causing Hind problems, but still, Bob would be upset. “I don’t think I could do that to, Bob,” I said. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

Hind began to turn away again. “Well,” she said offhandedly. “If do not want to accept, then—”

“No! I do want you to accept.” My reasoning was enough, right? I left Bob’s clinic because I embarrassed myself and couldn’t face turning up there again. That was reason enough to switch. “I’ll leave,” I said. “I won’t be a patient anymore.”

Hind grinned, and had to visibly stifle a giggle. “I could do now,” she said without hesitating. She removed the clinic keys from her bag. “I remove and if he ask, you say you phone and ask to do. You want new clinic after say funny things about feet.”

I felt my face rising in temperature at hearing her say that out loud. “Umm, sure, I guess,” I said, before finding myself following Hind back into the clinic. I then stood next to her desk as I watched her log in and pull up my patient profile. She clicked a few things, then a box popped up asking if she was sure she wanted to discharge me as a patient.

“You sure to do?” she asked, while her finger hovered over the keyboard and she looked at me with intrigue. “All because cannot stop look at feet?”

I didn’t want to leave the clinic, even though I hated the dentist. I was loyal to Bob, but with every passing moment, I was feeling greater loyalty to Hind’s feet. “Yes, do it,” I said, almost salivating at the thought of watching Hind getting those beautiful feet pampered, and all at my expense. There was something oddly satisfying knowing I was going to be the one responsible for her receiving a massage. As if it had been an inevitable progression ever since I’d seen her feet playing beneath her desk. It was almost as if they’d acted as bait and I’d been hooked and drawn in.

She traced a finger along the enter key. “Want to remove from your friend clinic? Just so I get foot massage?”

“Yes,” I said, excitedly. “Remove me.” It was so very wrong, but somehow exciting too. Betraying Bob because of Hind’s feet? It sent a shudder rippling through me.

Hind snickered, then she tapped the key and I watched my profile update as a discharged patient. Part of me felt devastated for Bob. He would likely see this as a massive betrayal, yet, it felt somehow worth it being able to earn Hind’s forgiveness.

“It is done.” She swivelled around to face me in her chair and there was a smug grin upon her purple lips. She tucked a few strands of loose hair behind her ears and I was helpless under the intense scrutiny of her emerald eyes, beneath those dark, thick brows. “You no longer patient.” She almost said the words in a sing-song victorious melody. She moved a sandaled foot towards me. “Because you like to look at feet.”

Just like that, I was no longer a patient of my old friend Bob’s dental clinic, and why? So I could pamper this girl’s feet to make up for saying things I had no control over. I had an urge to speak up and change my mind, I mean, I was still wearing the braces he had just fixed, what was I supposed to do when the time came to have them removed? I also felt odd about the whole thing. Was this my idea or Hind’s? I wasn’t even sure anymore. I’d put my long-time friendship with Bob at risk simply so I was free to pamper Hind’s feet? What the hell was I even doing? Yet, as Hind sat in the chair, she crossed one leg over the other and kicked a sandaled foot up and down. As I watched in wonder, I knew I’d made the right decision.

Once we were back outside, and Hind had locked up the clinic once more, she turned to face me with a smile and a devilish glint in those green eyes. “It time for you to make sorry,” she said. “Now I allow.”

“Ummm, sure,” I said, while turning in the direction of the salon. “It is this way.”

I led Hind towards the salon along the dark streets. We made small talk, mostly about her life back in Morocco, though she spent most of the time messaging someone on her phone. From her short answers, I learned that she was the youngest of three sisters, though the first to go to college and the only one to have travelled abroad. Both her sisters and her mother dressed quite conservatively, though Hind had adopted a more Westernised look since arriving here. She mentioned that she was looking forward to going to the salon, as she usually cared for her feet herself, which surprised me. They seemed so well taken care of that I figured she was used to professional service. However, she mentioned that she was only allowed to work a certain number of hours on her student visa, and that there wasn’t a lot of money left over for such things.

“I work twenty hours at clinic,” she said. “If I work more and they catch, they send home. I struggle on little money.”

I felt bad for her financial situation, but for some reason, this also made me feel really good. I was kind of proud that I was helping this student who was struggling to cope financially. That I was the one that was going to pay for her to have these wonderful feet massaged. I almost put a philanthropic spin on it; the successful business owner doing a good deed for a foreign student.

However, once we arrived at the salon, Hind couldn’t hide her disappointment as we both realised it was closed. It made sense of course, it was late. Yet, in my desperation to prolong being her in presence: I’d completely overlooked the time.

There was a frown on Hind’s face. “You made me excite and now disappoint.” She let out a sigh and I could see the disapproval in those eyes of hers.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, which I seemed to be saying quite a lot. I also noticed that Hind was adept at subtlety blaming me for things and I had an urge to accept. After all, it wasn’t my fault that the salon was closed, but I accepted the responsibility for disappointing Hind all the same. I broke eye contact with her and looked towards her sandaled feet, so deserving of a massage. “I’m sorry for disappointing you. I feel bad about it.”

“You should,” came her response, in a serious tone. “You promise massage and I accept.” She gestured around the empty street and towards the closed salon. “I could be home, but I here in dark.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again. “It’s all my fault.”

“Yes, all your fault.” She was busy typing to someone on her phone and grinning at whatever they were saying back. “Always your fault.”

“I wish there was something else I could do to make up for it.”

There was a little smirk on Hind’s face. “You promise massage to say sorry and I kind to accept.” Her hands were folded across her ample bosom below an expression of expectation. She moved a sandaled foot towards me and wiggled her red-painted toes. Of course, I couldn’t help but look, practically drooling right there in the street. I still couldn’t quite comprehend why I loved looking at Hind’s feet so much, but there was just something about them that I found completely irresistible. “I still want massage.”

“But, I mean, it’s closed…”

Hind pointed down towards her outstretched foot. “But you make promise.” Her cute little toes wiggled. “They want massage, but I can’t afford. I make little money while study.”

“Umm…”

She took a step towards me, then she lifted her sandaled foot and presented it to me as she did earlier. “Look,” she said, with another wiggle of her toes. “Look at foot. I know you like to look.”

“Ugh,” I whispered, but I couldn’t help but do as she said and look. It was almost as if my eyes were glued to her pretty toes and I was helpless to break free and look away.

“If take care, I let you look again.”

“Really?”

“Yes, if pay for massage.”

I shook my head out of the hypnotic sway of her feet. “But it’s closed, Hind.”

She shrugged and rolled her eyes. “I go tomorrow, but must pay now.” She held out her manicured fingers expectantly. As I glanced at her face, I saw that her eyebrows were raised and she nodded slightly towards her hand. “You pay, and I enjoy. It is fair way after you look and I suffer.” She put on a pronounced frown.

“I-I-I don’t know. I don’t feel comfortable with this.” It didn’t feel the same if I wasn’t there to witness Hind enjoying the massage. In my mind, I was treating her as if we were two friends and I was doing something nice for her. However, simply handing her the money so that she could get the massage at a later time on her own, that was completely different. It felt more like a business transaction and there was a sketchy element to it. “I’m really not sure I want to do that.”

Suddenly Hind’s other hand shot out, and she was pointing at her still-raised foot. “Look!” she said with greater force in her tone. “Look at beautiful foot!”

I looked down at her foot and it was indeed beautiful. I’d been thinking that ever since I’d first laid eyes upon them beneath her desk. I fell silent while my eyes lingered on her hovering foot. Hind seemed to seize on my silence.

“Say is beautiful,” she said, while jabbing her finger towards her wiggling toes.

“Huh?”

“Tell foot is beautiful!”

“Your foot is beautiful, Hind.” I blushed at saying the truth out loud.

She moved her foot from side to side and I followed its every movement with my eyes. “You always look,” she teased with a giggle. “Like your eyes prisoner.”

“Yes,” I breathlessly whispered, while keeping my eyes locked on her toes. “I cannot look away.”

Hind’s eyes however, were free to look away in thought. “Maybe we come to arrangement,” she said.

“What sort of arrangement?” I said, while keeping my eyes focused on her toes. I could feel saliva beginning to pool in my mouth.

“My visa restrict work. I make little money in your country. I want more money and you need to look at feet.”

I rolled my eyes and tried to appear aloof. “Well, I mean, I don’t need to look at them, Hind.”

With that, she violently pulled her foot away. “Okay, then not see again.” She yanked her bag around to her side, and unzipped it. Next, she pulled out the pair of sneakers. “I always wear these now.”

I looked between her and the sneakers in shock. She couldn’t really mean it? I glanced at her sexy feet in those strappy, knee-length sandals. I couldn’t bear the thought of never being allowed to see them again. “No, please,” I said in a panic. “Please don’t do that.”

Hind grinned at my capitulation. “You can look,” she said while peering at her own fingernails as they clutched the sneakers. “But only if pay.”

I looked between her beautiful feet and the sneakers again. It would truly be a crime for those feet to be hidden away. “I-I-I…I’ll pay,” I said, barely believing the words that were coming out of my own mouth and looking away from her in shame as a result. I had just literally agreed to pay a girl I barely knew, a foreign girl who was a guest in my country, for the privilege of being allowed to look at her feet. My parents would be so proud. My employees would laugh in my face.

Hind smiled, then nodded towards my own handbag. “Pay,” she said. “Pay to look.” She excitedly tapped into her phone with her other hand, while I fumbled with my bag and removed my purse, all the while sneaking glimpses at her feet while her toes wiggled in excitement. I unzipped my purse and pulled out a bunch of bills. How much would a massage cost? I wasn’t even sure, maybe twenty dollars? Yet, before I could even count out the amount, Hind cleared her throat.

I looked at her and saw a little smirk on her face, then she giggled and I followed her eyes down to her outstretched sandaled foot. She lifted the toes up so that I could see the sweaty imprints on the sandal’s leather beneath them. The dark, paste-like bits of leather had embedded themselves into the bottoms of her toes. Her finger pointed downwards at them as they wiggled. “Put here,” she said, before following the words with another adorable giggle. Her stern exterior seemed to disappear and she was almost child-like in the fun she was having. “Since it my feet you like, you pay feet.”

I looked around the street in fear that someone else would overhear or see what was going on, but we appeared to be alone. It was extremely humiliating giving money directly to her feet, but as I looked at them, I felt any reluctance dissipating. I had to drop to one knee again, with the cold, stone walkway biting against the exposed flesh beneath my own skirt. In some ways it made me more painfully aware of just what I was about to do. I pulled a twenty from my pile of bills, folded it in half, and placed it in the gap between her sandal and toes. Immediately, she lowered her toes so that the money was trapped. She then lifted her foot and waved it around, before bringing a hand to her mouth and supressing a laughing fit. She leant down and snapped a photo of the cash while it was trapped beneath her demanding toes, before typing away once more.

I remained awkwardly kneeling there while Hind’s full attention was on her phone. After a minute or so, she put it away, returned the foot to the floor before me, and with hands on her hips, she lifted an eyebrow and raised the toes again. “More,” she said up above me, the excitement clear in her voice. “Put more.”

I looked up at her and stumbled over my words, “Umm, but, err, twenty should be enough for a massage, Hind.”

“Look at foot!” she said again with the finger still pointed down. Her toes began to drum above the folded twenty-dollar bill, as if they were beating it into submission and dancing in victory above it. “Beautiful, yes?”

My eyes were glued to those perfect toes of hers as they tapped my money over and over again. “Yes,” I sighed in acceptance. “Your foot is beautiful, Hind. So perfect.”

“Mmmm.” She lifted the foot, and stroked my chin with the folded bill still gripped beneath her toes. I was surprised, as it was the first time she’d initiated bodily contact with me. “So, it deserve more?”

I recoiled from the contact and felt incredibly embarrassed and shy. “Ugh, I don’t know,” I argued, and even though bashful, I was unable to draw my eyes away from her captivating toes as they hovered in front of me.

“Do not want to look more?”

I glanced up from her foot momentarily to look straight in those green eyes. “Of course, I do, I can’t stop looking at your perfect feet, Hind.”

She giggled and held a hand to her mouth. She then pointed at the rest of the bills still grasped in my hand. “Then more.”

I sighed and felt my shoulders sag. It was foolish to hand over money in such a way, but my spine was weakening each time Hind demanded I look at her feet. I just couldn’t look away, yet could barely explain my actions with any coherence. Up until that day I’d seen her feet beneath her desk, I’d never paid any attention to anyone’s feet before. Something had changed that day, something I couldn’t explain but now I was completely obsessed and almost addicted to looking at Hind’s feet. They were just so petite, well-shaped and pristinely taken care of.

And now I was down on my knees in the street while she giggled above me. I’d never before in my life done anything like this, certainly not freely handing money over. If anything, I was tight when it came to parting with my cash. I liked to make money, not give it away. That had been one of my mottos throughout my career: rich people didn’t get rich by handing it to someone else. Yet, here I was, placing my own money beneath the toes of this Moroccan girl, a foreigner who was supposed to be here to learn, not profit, and what was the thanks I received? She simply demanded more.

As I gazed up at her, I saw a glint in her eye and amusement in the smirk of her purple lips. I could barely believe that this was the same girl who only days earlier was telling me all about her life back in Casablanca and how she no longer wore a headscarf because she’d been made to feel unwelcome. Now, here I was after an encounter with some laughing gas, down at her feet and sliding my own money beneath her foot.

In defeat, I placed another folded bill beneath her toes, which Hind gripped ruthlessly and celebrated up above with a chorus of derisive laughter. Three more bills followed after that, as her desire for money seemed insatiable and she constantly demanded more. Whenever I tried to resist, she’d demand I look at her feet, her beautiful feet, and I’d soon give in.

With a hundred of my dollars trapped beneath her toes, Hind giggled and clapped her hands. She snapped a few more photos of the wad of cash clutched beneath her red-painted toes. “This great arrangement,” she said.  “You pay and I enjoy. This how will be from now.”

Seeing all that money beneath her toes felt odd. I hated throwing money away, but there was something about it that made me squirm inside, like there was a fire in my tummy. I was pained to admit that I somewhat liked it, it made me feel fuzzy inside knowing that the beauty of her feet was able to peel such an amount away from me, but still, it was a hundred dollars, and it cut me deep that I had given it up to basically be allowed to look at her feet and nothing more. “How long can I look for?” I asked, at least wanting to know exactly what I’d bought.

Hind shrugged. “You already look for long.” Annoyingly, she began typing into her phone again as if it was more important than the person who had just laid money at her feet.

I looked up at her aghast. “So, I get nothing more tonight?”

“When pay more, I let look.”

“But I just gave you a hundred dollars!” I whined.

She grinned. “This for massage, remember? For apology.”

“Oh,” I groaned remembering she was correct. “Fine.”

“Good. If want look more, you pay more.” She handed her phone towards me. “Put number. I call when need.”

I was flabbergasted that Hind suddenly thought I was some kind of dog that could be beckoned whenever she demanded. “What do you mean…when you need?”

“When need money.” She shrugged as if what she was saying was completely reasonable, if I was now apparently her personal ATM or the like. “I call and you pay to look at feet. Sound good?” She stared at me without blinking.

No! It did not sound good at all. I couldn’t believe the audacity of her to even suggest such a thing. Regardless of the fuzzy feeling that had tingled the length of my body when I first placed that money beneath her toes, I didn’t want this to become some regular event that saw Hind taking more and more from me. Yet, as I glanced down at her toes, and saw them twitch and fidget within her sandals, with the pile of bills trapped beneath, invasive thoughts began to overtake those ones filled with hesitancy. Was handing money over to Hind so bad if I got to drool over her delicious feet? I mean, I was hardly poor and the amounts we were talking weren’t going to put a dent in my finances. If money made Hind happy and helped her out with her situation, and I got to see her feet whenever I liked, was it really that bad an arrangement? I thought about all of the other Moroccan girls, and of top of that, Muslim girls in the world. Would any of those be open to such an arrangement? I doubted it very much. Perhaps Hind was a rare gem that I shouldn’t risk losing.

I took the phone. I could give her my number and if things soured, I could always just refuse to pay when she came calling. I was about to tap my number in when I noticed the contact name she’d added: Foot Lady.

“Foot Lady?” I asked while looking up at her in disbelief. “Really? My name is Jill. Miss Matheson, remember?”

Hind smiled then poked out the tip of her tongue between those purple lips. Her green eyes seemed to dazzle in delight as she spoke. “You Miss Matheson when patient, now you just foot lady.” She capped it off with a snigger. “You not foot lady who likes to look at feet?”

My cheeks burned in shame and I was unable to answer. I looked down at the phone before tapping my number in.

“Good foot lady,” Hind said, and she flashed me another smile of victory. “I message when need.”

“Really?” I still felt somewhat put out that I was now apparently nothing more than a vessel to be summoned when she felt like it. “But what if I can’t pay?”

She shrugged, then she flashed me a final, huge smile with all of her flawless, white teeth showing. “Then cannot look.”

I remained there kneeling with shock in the street, as Hind turned and strut away with my money. As she disappeared into the distance with her phone clutched to her ear, I could just make out the sounds of laughter.

I waited all the next day to hear from Hind about how her massage went. I kept my phone close, hopeful of a text or call. I even closed my eyes and fantasised about her calling me from the massage herself, so I could hear her moans of pleasure as those beautiful feet were soothed and rubbed, knowing I was the one that had provided for her. However, no contact came. By the time I was settling into bed, I’d pretty much given up that Hind was going to reach out. Perhaps she had a busy day and hadn’t actually made it to the salon or perhaps she’d spent the money on something else. Apparently, I wasn’t to find out.

The next day was the same, and the day after. Hind had my number, but she hadn’t contacted me and it was driving me insane. I wondered whether through the exhilaration of that night on the street, maybe I’d keyed in my number incorrectly. I thought about phoning the clinic and speaking to Hind myself, but I was worried Bob might answer, bring up my file and realise I’d been discharged. I was also apprehensive that I may annoy Hind and she might cut me off from seeing her feet again. She’d made it clear our interaction was to be outside of her professional role. I didn’t want to upset her and risk being shunned. God, I felt mortified that this was actually something I found concerning. Here I was a grown, successful careerwoman, and I was worried that this little student from Morocco might not let me look at her feet. It was a whole new level of pathetic absurdity that I seemed to be embracing ever more with each passing day.

It was the next Monday that Hind finally reached out, and it was through a Whatsapp message, which she found via my number. The message was blunt and straight forward and I immediately recognised that it was from her. Of course, the display picture of a Moroccan flag also helped.

Hind: do want to see feet?

It’s what I’d been waiting days for. I’d spent countless hours fantasising about those feet and replaying our interaction in the street. But fantasies and thoughts weren’t enough, I wanted to see Hind’s feet right in front of me so that I could fully appreciate the intricacies of their shape, their softness and the pristine application of her nail polish. I responded instantly of course.

Me: Yes, of course, please, yes! How was your massage?

Hind: hehe u r desperate for feet! ;) massage was good

Hind: come to clinic now and bring money

Me: What? To the clinic? Won’t Bob be there though?

Hind: dr jacobs go lunch come now u have 20 minute

Me: Hind, please. Could I just wire it to you or something?

Hind: no bring now or no feet for u

The threat of being denied her feet was enough to spur me into action. I was cringing thinking about turning up at the clinic and simply handing Hind some cash. I was confused why she wanted it at the clinic, since she’d gone to such effort to remove me as a patient. But I supposed it was probably for convenience since she was busy working and I wasn’t about to object, because I felt desperate and pathetic. It was bad enough that I was even considering giving her more money just to see her feet in the first place. I’d already given her a hundred dollars, and now it was about to be more. What kind of woman had I become? I used to be a respectable member of society, but I turned into some weirdo obsessed with this girl’s feet to the point I’d pay to see them!

I mean, what was I even going to get in exchange? Was she expecting me to just stand in the waiting room and stare at her feet beneath her desk? She was wearing sneakers anyway, wasn’t she? And I certainly wasn’t about to stand there drooling over her toes with other patients waiting around. I thought it best to just refuse.

However, as I typed out the message saying I was going to pass, a photo popped up of Hind’s bare foot, hovering above a discarded sock and her sneaker. Her toenails were still painted red and that silver ring gleamed on her second toe. There were even impressions of the sock tread embedded into her skin. They looked fresh and sweaty. I stopped what I was typing, and was about to click the photo for an even closer look when it disappeared. Hind must have deleted it for both of us. I was devastated. Yet, the photo worked, because suddenly the thought of going to the clinic wasn’t such a bad idea.

Hind: u like?

Me: Yes!! Please let me see again!

Hind: u know what to do bring my money

For some reason, Hind calling it her money and not my money gave me a swooning feeling in my tummy. I hated the arrogance and entitlement; was this her true personality outside of a professional setting? She intended to use my weakness for her feet as a way to profit from me? Yet, I was tempted to run along as she expected and hand over my money simply so I could see those beautiful, tanned feet again. There was something naughty about it, and with that, excitement. It was a thrill that I hadn’t experienced in a long time, not since my last boyfriend which was many years before. The thought of Bob catching me paying his receptionist to see her feet terrified me, but, it also made me tingle with exhilaration. There was something about the risk and the knowledge that this was all very weird and wrong that was spurring me on to do it. I grabbed my purse and drove to the clinic.

Once I entered, I noticed there were two patients sat reading magazines. Hind was sat at her usual desk, and she looked up and smiled when she saw me. She held out a hand and beckoned me over with her fingers. As I made my way over, I peeked beneath her desk and noticed that she was wearing both sneakers.

“Have for me?” she asked, as I neared.

I cringed and anxiously looked about the waiting room, in fear that one of the patients may have overheard her and somehow knew what she was talking about. Would they know that I was there only to pay to see her feet?

“Yes,” I whispered, and I removed my purse from my handbag and opened it towards her so she could see the money.

Before I could react, Hind’s face lit up in excitement. She stuffed her greedy fingers straight into my purse and snatched a bunch of twenties. I didn’t know exactly what was in there, but she easily took more than a hundred dollars.

“Wait…” I said, and I reached out to take the money back, but Hind silenced me as she grinned and nodded towards the waiting room. We weren’t alone, and I could hardly wrestle the receptionist for a handful of bills.

“Thanking you for treatment payment.” She smirked, then arrogantly ushered me away with the back of her hand.

I was taken aback, and I stood there on the spot, unsure what to do. Had I just been conned for more than a hundred dollars by this Moroccan tease? I glanced to the bottom of her desk, and Hind was making no movement towards removing her shoes and allowing me to see her feet. Instead, her attention had returned to her computer screen. When the phone rang, she answered and spoke to the patient as if I wasn’t even there.

I felt like a fool stood waiting for her, and as she conversed as if nothing had just happened, I turned and staggered towards the exit, as if in a daze. Once I was outside, I saw Bob’s car pull up, and I had to dash behind a nearby tree and make my exit before he noticed.

It was in the safety of my own car that the rage started to build within me. Just what the hell was Hind playing at? I gripped the steering wheel and dug my nails into the rubber. It was bad enough that she expected money from me, it was even worse that she had just taken whatever she wanted, but the real kicker was that I’d given it to her on the basis of being allowed to see her feet. I hadn’t seen anything, yet my purse was decidedly light. I was fuming, but I realised then; what the hell was I supposed to do? Talk to Bob? Talk to the police? On what grounds? This young girl promised I could see her feet if I paid her and she didn’t follow through? I then sighed as I realised there wasn’t even a record of the money I’d given her. She’d taken my cash straight from my purse. Was that why she wouldn’t let me wire it to her? Had this been her plan all along? Maybe this was her revenge for the problems I had caused her in the clinic with my blabbering mouth.

I then breathed a sigh, because I had another realisation. I was free, it was over. Hind was too short-sighted. She’d seen an opportunity to make some money, and she’d taken it. Yet, by ripping me off, she’d missed out on so much more. Because I knew deep inside me that I was weak and desperate for her feet, and I would have kept paying if that meant I could continue to see them. However, I was now so annoyed at being swindled and made to look a fool, that I swore to myself I would not give in again. I’d pretend like this whole thing had never happened, and never return to this clinic again.

I’d just sat down at home, when my phone began to chime.

Hind has invited you to a video call.

I was momentarily confused, but then as I clutched my phone, my hands began to tremble in excitement. All sorts of thoughts ran through my head. Maybe she was calling to apologise? Maybe because there were patients present, she wasn’t able to let me see her feet? Maybe I was going to click accept and be greeted with the same sight that she’d sent a photo of.

I clicked accept, and gasped out loud when the video opened. Hind had placed her phone beneath her desk, right in the corner, and she’d taken off her socks and sneakers. Both of her feet were up close to the feed, with the sole of one foot visible while the toes of the other scratched its arch. My eyes were glued to the screen as I watched her feet flex and scrunch beneath her desk, at a distance that I hadn’t been able to see in person. I could hear her talking up above to a customer on the phone, and occasionally tapping away on her computer.

It was exciting to be granted such a view beneath her desk, without anyone else knowing, but I felt odd too. After all, I’d actually paid for this experience, and that made me feel pathetic. Still, I couldn’t look away, and I kept watching her feet as her soles wrinkled and her toes tugged at each other. I imagined I was right there, beneath her desk with her feet in my face while she ignored me and worked above. I felt a stirring between my legs as I envisioned those red-painted toes clutching at my nose and lips the way she had done with her sandals. There was something very wrong about it, but part of me wanted it to happen too. For some reason, thinking of being beneath the desk of this Moroccan student while she rubbed her feet into my face while working to achieve her chosen career thrilled me. The fact she’d taken my money in the process made me lift my skirt in excitement.

I began to rub my pussy through my panties while I watched. I was so wet from what was basically a simple act; Hind fidgeting her feet beneath her desk while she thought nothing of me down there watching. She hadn’t even said anything for the camera or acknowledged me in anyway. She’d simply assumed that I would be happy with this view beneath her desk, that this was worth over a hundred dollars to me; she was completely right. I don’t know how long I sat there watching her feet for, but I know that I eventually rubbed myself to my greatest ever orgasm while Hind’s red-painted toes were right up in my face on the screen.

As I relaxed back into the sofa, an exhausted, though fulfilled mess, I knew if she demanded I came to the clinic to give her more money: I’d be there in a heartbeat. I cleaned up, then sent Hind a simple message over Whatsapp.

Me: Thank you so much, Hind. That was incredible.

She didn’t respond, but then she didn’t need to. She must have known she had me by this point. I’d certainly accepted it as a fact. She was probably busy with work and didn’t have time for the desperate foot lady with the evil eye.

My interactions with Hind were sparse for a couple of weeks. I expected a call from Bob, wondering why I hadn’t turned up for my regular brace-tightening, but it never came. I figured Hind had explained it away somehow, and in the meantime, I signed up at another clinic just so I could maintain the brace and eventually get it removed. I didn’t care about having perfect teeth anymore because it didn’t matter. I wasn’t trying to get a boyfriend and impress any guys. All that mattered was being able to see Hind’s feet again.

Every night, I fantasised about being beneath her desk, a captive sprawled out for her to rub her feet all over while she worked above. I wondered whether this was what I had wanted all along. Had these been the thoughts going through my head that first day when I’d watched her feet beneath the desk in the waiting room? I trembled with excitement thinking about how I was entering my forties and yet, I would allow this girl from Morocco, a guest in my country, to use me in such a way while she completed her education.

I dropped her the occasional message, hopeful that she would summon me again, however, she seemed to be incredibly busy a lot of the time. On four more occasions I swung by the clinic to present money to her, in ever-increasing amounts, and as with the first time, she allowed me to watch beneath her desk during a video call. I fingered myself to orgasm while doing so on each occasion, each experience far better than any previous sex I’d ever had. I then spent the nights after doing the same, simply to the memory of Hind’s feet.

It was annoying that I was reduced to memories though, as I always either saw Hind’s feet in person or via the live video call. I never had any image of them to keep. I tried to find her on Facebook and Instagram, hopeful that I’d see some picture with her beautiful feet, however, I couldn’t find anything. When I asked for her to send a photo or a video; she’d refuse. This had the effect of making me even more desperate for her feet whenever she decided she wanted some more money from me. Sometimes she’d completely brush me off though.

Me: Hind, please may I see your feet?

Hind: no I not at work I am busy study

Me: I promise I won’t disturb you. I’ll be quiet and just look.

Hind: I will think

She said she’d think about it a lot. This sort of exchange happened a couple of times, so I thought it best not to bother her until she was done with whatever exam or coursework was taking up her time. Of course, I longed to see her feet again, and it was killing me being denied, but I knew Hind was in control and I didn’t want to annoy her and risk never seeing her feet again.

Thankfully, my patience worked, because eventually she did reach out.

Hind: i want massage bring money i finish at 6

I was so excited by the thought of serving Hind’s feet, if serving was the correct way of looking at it, that I didn’t even care that the previous massage situation had been a complete let down. For all I knew, Hind didn’t even bother getting the massage the first time and may have simply kept the money. But I was so eager to be useful to her beautiful feet, that I would gladly pay for her to get a massage, even if it didn’t happen. Simply the thought of handing over my money for her feet had become enough for me to touch myself to later in the evening. Of course, I replied with obedience.

Me: Yes, Hind, I will be there.

Hind: and hungry go tangier café for kefta tagine spiced falafel olive hummus and mint tea

This was new. Hind must have been emboldened by my immediate obedience and her ability to take more and more whenever she granted me the opportunity to see her feet. I’d never heard of the restaurant so had to Google it. It was a bit out of the way but I realised it was a Moroccan restaurant with all of the dishes she was familiar with back home. I wanted her to be happy before her massage, so I swung by the restaurant and bought exactly what she asked for. I figured it would make her feel more at home too, to experience a little of Morocco while she was here. The meal cost close to fifty bucks, but the food smelled absolutely delicious and as I’d never tried Moroccan food before, I was looking forward to having a taste since there seemed to be way too much for one person. Especially for a girl as diminutive as Hind.

I arrived at six on the dot, and was thankful to see that Bob’s car had already left. Hind was just leaving the clinic and was once again wearing those irresistible knee-length strappy sandals. I was in awe of the way they so elegantly clung to her legs in a way they never did on my own. She was wearing a longer dress this time, that came down to about the middle of her shins. It was flowing with a flowery pattern on the chest area and with long sleeves that covered the length of her arms. Her hair was hanging loose and bundled atop her shoulders. She was a sight for sure, and I couldn’t help but to look down at her jaw-dropping feet. She smiled when she saw me approaching.

“Good, you here,” she said, before depositing the keys in her handbag. “You bring car?”

“Yes, I drove.” I figured she was angling for a ride to the salon and I was more than happy to accommodate if it meant I got to sneak looks at her feet during the journey.

“Great, I give direction.”

It seemed I would be giving her a ride whether I wanted to or not. I had no say in it and I certainly wasn’t about to refuse. During the ride, Hind sat in the passenger seat with her feet crossed on the floor in front of her. It was disappointing, as while I concentrated on the road, I wasn’t able to sneak any looks. I had been hoping she would kick her feet up onto the dashboard, possibly even remove the sandals and wiggle her toes.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Smell good,” she said. “Very hungry.” For the remainder of the journey, she seemed more interested in her phone and spent most of the time tapping away into it, except for the occasional direction she barked my way.

Before long, we arrived at a college, which I found confusing.

“Ummm, this isn’t a salon?” I asked. “Unless there’s one on campus or something?”

Hind looked at me with a smirk. “Who said about salon?”

“I just thought you wanted—”

“Massage, yes.” She nodded her head. “But I not say salon.”

“Oh, right, well, where should I drop you off and how much money do you need?” I realised I sounded like I was her mother or aunt or something.

Hind pointed a manicured finger to a parking lot beyond some trees. “Park then I show where.”

“Okay,” I said in confusion, though I followed her instructions and parked up the car. I then followed her across the campus, though I felt uneasy the entire time. I was worried students or lecturers may see us and wonder why this older woman was following this young international student.

“Hind, where are you taking me?” I asked with nerves making my voice tremble.

She stopped, turned and looked me in the eye. “I trust,” she said, with a smile. “You must trust.”

That was enough for me to nod and follow her the rest of the way. We entered a hall of residence, and after a short elevator journey, we reached a door at the end of a corridor which Hind unlocked.

I followed her into the room, and realised that the small, cramped accommodation was where Hind was living during her studies. My heart actually sank for her, since the room was tiny and didn’t even have its own bathroom. She was likely having to share facilities with all of the other rooms down the corridor.

I looked around the room and saw that it was fairly simple. There were a few ornaments and paintings which looked Moroccan, a small handmade rug on the floor and some photographs of what I assumed were her family. As she had said, her sisters and mother were all wearing headscarves, along with the younger Hind in the photos. I took a closer look and was blown away by how pretty her family looked. Her sisters appeared to be just older versions of her, whereas her mum still looked fairly youthful despite being much older. Of course, their hair was covered, but their beauty was still clear from their facial features, made up of large eyes, thick brows and lightly tanned skin.

There was a single bed in the room, along with a desk which had a few open books and some writing materials. As I looked about, my nose tickled from the scent of spices, and then Hind lit an incense stick which wafted a pleasant aroma around. She also put on a CD that was playing some kind of traditional folk music; lots of drums and stringed instruments. While I looked around, she left the room for a moment and returned with a tray.

“Put food,” she said, while pointing at the tray. She then took a seat on her bed and began to unstrap her sandals.

Between glances at Hind’s feet, I arranged the food onto the tray, opening each of the foil containers and feeling overwhelmed by the fragrances throughout the room. There was such an abundance of wonderful scents engulfing me from all sides. Along with the music, I wondered if this was what it was like in Morocco, and if so, I definitely wanted to visit. I imagined myself wandering behind Hind through the souks of Marrakech medina while she picked out things she wanted me to buy her in exchange for looking at her feet. Were there some kind of traditional Moroccan shoes that I could buy her as a surprise to make her feel even more at home in my country? I made a note to myself to check online later. I began to salivate as I looked at the food, particularly the tagine. I thought about sneaking a taste but figured that would be impolite before Hind had been able to enjoy it.

By this point, Hind had removed her sandals and shuffled back onto the bed so that she was comfortably on the cushions. She’d lifted her feet up and was sat completely relaxed. She smiled and pointed to the tray of food. I nodded and brought it to her and she immediately plucked a falafel ball, dipped it in the hummus and deposited it in her mouth with a moan. She closed her eyes as she savoured the flavours.

I stood next to the bed awkwardly and watched while Hind feasted. Eventually she looked up at me, then she pointed towards her feet before dipping into the tagine and scooping a spoonful. “You massage,” she said, just before slurping the tasty tagine.

“What…you mean I have to massage your feet?” I was surprised by the boldness of the suggestion, but honestly, inside I was tingling with excitement at the thought of getting my hands on Hind’s feet, even if I didn’t have a clue how to massage them properly.

She wiggled her toes expectantly. “Yes, you massage. I eat and enjoy.”

I stewed, twisting and squirming on the spot. I wanted to do it, I really did, but I was shy and flustered. “I really don’t know.”

“This like reward,” she said with a raised eyebrow. “You do not want?”

“I just thought you may think it inappropriate…”

“For patient and dentist relationship.” She offered a mischievous smirk beneath those green eyes. “You no longer patient. You foot lady.”

Hearing her call me that was enough to make me melt, and as my knees went weak, I dropped down next to the bed and raised my shaking hands towards Hind’s beautiful and perfect feet. The red-painted toes wiggled excitedly as my fingers approached, and when I touched her sole for the first time with my thumb, I noted her eyes narrow above a contented smile. I pressed my thumb into the arch of her foot, and caressed the top with my fingertips. Hind sighed and watched me for a moment, before smiling and then focusing her attention back to the tray of Moroccan treats. She plopped another bite of falafel between her lips, and sighed with approval as she chewed. “Mmm, so good,” she said. “Just like home.” She washed down the snack with a sip of mint tea, then puckered her lips in delight.

For some reason, watching Hind enjoy the food of her country while I diligently rubbed her feet made me feel lost in devotion. It was surreal. I almost felt like I was the foreigner and had been transported to her home country. I began to knead her soles with extra effort and attention, stroking the ball of her feet with my fingertips and running them between each of her toes. I loved the way the toe ring sparkled as I concentrated on that foot.

I looked at her perfectly-shaped, tanned feet, and couldn’t help but whisper, “Your feet are so beautiful, Hind.”

She was mid-bite of another spoonful of the tagine, and she paused and gazed at me with clear approval. She finished the spoon, then grabbed her phone. Before I could react, she’d taken a photo from the waist down, clearly showing the tray of food and no doubt me down at her feet while I rubbed them with concentration.

“Why did you take that?” I asked. I felt betrayed and exposed and hoped she didn’t plan to post it online somewhere. My reputation would suffer some if my friends or family saw me in such a demeaning position.

Hind shrugged. “I send to mama,” she said, before taking another sip of her tea. “I show how much I enjoy America. Sometime she worry.”

“What?” I said, completely flabbergasted. I was blown away that she’d be so brazen to send a picture of me rubbing her feet to her own mother. Especially since her mother appeared to be conservative and likely wouldn’t approve of such activities. I was humiliated, and could feel my temperature rising as I was overwhelmed by a panic attack. My breaths became shallow and I was struggling to take in enough air. All sorts of thoughts were flowing through my head. What if her mother posted the photo somewhere?

Hind noticed, and she offered me a sympathetic look. “Do not worry,” she said. She lifted one of her feet and affectionately stroked my cheek while I was on the verge of convulsing. “She already know you my foot lady.”

“What?” I asked again, my eyes wide. “What do you mean she already knows?”

“I tell family what you say in first appointment. I think I do something wrong and lose job. I tell them you look at feet and cannot stop. You phone clinic and talk to Dr Jacobs about feet. They say I do nothing wrong. They say you weak white woman who like feet.” She shrugged and then pointed back at her foot. “Massage,” she said, and of course, I did as instructed and once again began soothing her flawless, smooth sole.

“See,” Hind said with a devilish smile. “My family correct. Your evil eye for feet make you weak. They say I should use you. I should take all I can.”

“Oh,” I whispered. Her revelation had taken me aback and I wasn’t sure entirely how to respond. It seemed Hind had been listening in to my conversations with Bob and had been planning to use my obsession with her feet for sometime before I’d approached her. I’ll admit I was quite surprised that her family had been so bold and not weirded out by my staring at her feet. “But…but…they don’t think it is weird that I pay to see your feet?”

Hind giggled. “Of course, you weird, but it not easy to make money in Casablanca. We do not waste opportunity.” She picked through her food, and ran a finger through the hummus before lifting it to her purple lips. I gazed at it hungrily and she peered down at me with amused eyes. “You want try?”

I nodded my head. “I’ve never tried Moroccan food before,” I said. It was the truth, but I was also thankful for a change in subject since the talk of her family knowing about me was extremely embarrassing.

Hind smirked, then she licked the hummus from her finger. “Maybe I leave you some, weak white lady.” She giggled and I could tell she was merely teasing me. “You can eat leftover.” She poked her tongue out, but I could tell there was curiosity in her eyes. Was it a test?

Her playful words made me feel defensive and in need to justify myself. “I’m sorry,” I said feeling the need to be honest since Hind was sharing so much. “I don’t know why I’m acting like this. This is all very new to me. I’ve never behaved like this before I met you.”

“I knew you odd from start,” she said. “Before you even look at feet.”

“Really?”

She chuckled and nodded her head. “You ask many question about Morocco and hijab. You say I pretty and you like name. You first woman to do. I never get so many question about Morocco. Mama said you like and respect Muslim girl, and I believe. I saw excite in your eye when I show you picture from Morocco. You say I look pretty in hijab.”

“You did,” I said, without thinking. “Very pretty.”

Hind smirked then covered her mouth as she sniggered. “You like Muslim girl,” she said bluntly, her eyes lingering towards the tray of food. She cocked her head and shrugged her shoulders. “And you like Muslim girl feet.”

I gulped and looked back to her toes as they flexed on the bed. Was that true? I thought back to our first encounter and realised I had indeed asked a lot of questions. I even recognised at the time that I may have been inappropriate since I was only there for a dental appointment. I had put it down to nerves and anxiety because of the treatment I had been about to receive. Yet, the questions about her headscarf had been strange. Even I could admit that. I had genuinely been watching a lot of videos on YouTube about visiting Morocco, but I was focused on the destination, not the women, surely? What followed on from the laughing gas was even weirder, but had it all been related?

Hind gestured around her room. “That why I bring here.”

“To your room?”

She nodded while she chewed the final falafel. “To give full Moroccan experience.” She offered me a pleased smile. “How you like?”

I felt my cheeks blushing. I darted my eyes around the room. I looked at the Moroccan rug on the floor, I breathed in the scents of the incense and the invasive fragrances of the food she was eating. The drums and strings of the traditional folk music was ringing in my ears as I looked up at Hind, relaxed on her bed, wearing what seemed to be a traditional Moroccan dress while her feet were mere inches from my face. I returned my hands to those delicious feet, and massaged them with every ounce of my strength and devotion. “I love it,” I said. “It feels…right. I feel like I’m at the feet of a Moroccan princess.” I pressed my thumbs deep into her arch.

Hind sank back into the cushions with a flutter of her eyelashes. “I like sound of that.” She gazed at me with a dreamy look. “You very open. You not conscious.”

“What do you mean?” I adjusted my wrists and pressed the palm of my hand into her sole with force.

“You ask weird question. I walk to treatment room and you talk about feet! I could not believe. You open and no shame. You talk to Dr Jacobs like you proud! I never hear talk about my feet like this. That’s why I tell mama. I think it is my fault. But no, you just like feet this much!”

“That was the gas!” I pleaded. “I wasn’t in control of what I was saying.”

“Shhh,” Hind said arrogantly, and she lifted a foot and placed the ball against my lips. “You love my feet. We both know this.” The action was unexpected and I kneeled there in silence while her foot remained pressed to my mouth. Meanwhile, she began feasting on her tagine once again and audibly moaned and sighed as she enjoyed the flavours.

I noticed a sensation beginning to burn between my legs while I remained with Hind’s sole plastered to my face. I was becoming excited by the way in which she had so effortlessly silenced me, and that she had no qualms shoving her foot straight in my face. But I also liked that I was feeling the softness of her sole with my lips for the first time. I couldn’t believe how smooth they were, since she’d spent years walking around the streets of Casablanca in the baking sun and wearing nothing but sandals. I had the urge to touch myself, but then I saw Hind’s eyes narrow as she watched me. I had to break eye contact under her judgemental gaze, and I instinctively kissed the ball of her foot as an apology. I hadn’t been thinking, and when I realised what I’d done, I looked back to Hind in fear. Her green eyes were wide in astonishment.

“You kissed foot,” she said. I expected her to say something else, but her mouth hung open as if in shock.

It had felt so good and right when I kissed her foot, that I had the urge to do it again. I looked up into her eyes while they watched with fascination, and I leant forward and kissed the sole of her foot again. But that didn’t feel like enough. I had to say something too. “I am at your service…my Moroccan princess.” I said the words with conviction and believed them more than anything. I saw Hind’s body jiggle with pleasure in response, and her eyes were narrow with joy. She lifted her foot and I kissed it again. There appeared to be a new understanding between us.

Hind continued to enjoy the remainder of her food, while I devotedly massaged her feet with attention and detail. I moved my focus between her soles, heels and finally her toes, pulling on each one and kneading my thumbs into the soft underside. I didn’t really know what I was doing, but Hind appeared to be enjoying my ministrations. Occasionally she’d look away from the food and smile or nod in approval. I kissed her feet in response and acceptance of my place at the feet of my Moroccan princess. I felt odd, yet complete, as if I’d been waiting for such a person to come into my life.

Once she had finished eating, I removed the tray and Hind went to her closet and began sifting through various garments. Most of them appeared to be of a traditional Moroccan variety, with lots of modest dresses with elegant patterns. None of her clothes were what would be considered slutty or too revealing. She pulled what appeared to be a blue, cotton smock from the rail and held it aloft. There was a golden rope belt loosely hanging around its waist. She removed the belt, then returned the garment to its place in the closet.

Hind then turned, holding the belt between her fingertips and eyeing me mischievously. “Come,” she said, before taking a seat on the bed once again. When I approached, her eyes flicked to the floor and she said, “Kneel, foot lady.”

“Yes, my Moroccan princess,” I said, as I dropped to my knees at her beautiful, tanned feet. The more I called her that, the more it felt right and I enjoyed it. I kept my eyes down and focused on her red-painted toenails and that ever-present silver toe ring. It felt wrong to look into those green eyes after addressing her so humbly. I was there because of her feet after all. I thought of Bob, and what he’d think of me, his friend, at the feet of the young Moroccan student he’d sponsored and brought to our country. He’d likely be horrified, yet, deep inside, I knew it was what I wanted. I didn’t know why, but it was the truth. My descent to this depth had been inevitable since I’d spoken to Hind that first day and stared at her beautiful feet. I was starting to accept that the laughing gas hadn’t made me speak gibberish, it just brought out the real me.

Hind smirked, then I saw her finger come into my view and point at her feet. “Pay for look,” she said. “You must always pay.”

I’d already paid for the food, and I had massaged her feet myself, but still, it felt right to still hand over more to her, because it was what she wanted. She’d been so forthright about using me for money too, she hadn’t hidden anything, and she even had the approval of her family. In some ways, I kind of respected her for coming to our country and using me in this way, for her own profit. As she said, she was limited by the working hours of her visa, yet she’d seen an opportunity and she’d taken it. I was to be the means for her to prop up her earnings. But I didn’t care, because the privilege of gazing at her feet was so worth it.

I reached over to my purse and removed a bunch of twenties. I didn’t even bother to count them out, instead, I spread them at her feet then bowed down so my forehead was touching the floor. “For your feet, my Moroccan princess,” I mumbled into the floor, while the traditional music continued to make me feel like I was over in her country.

Hind’s toes crept forwards until they were stood on the cash. “I accept,” she said from above with a sigh of satisfaction. “I allow you look.” I then heard a little giggle above, and I was thankful for it. It reminded me that Hind wasn’t some merciless tyrant, she was just a young girl who was as fascinated as I was about the path we were both travelling on.

With that, I lifted my head and stared at her feet closely, drawing my eyes over each of her beautiful toes, then feeling the urge to lean down and kiss each one in gratitude. There was a light, sweaty odour, no doubt from her day in socks and sneakers. Still, it wasn’t unpleasant and I snuggly nestled my nose between her biggest and second toe, breathing in the invigorating scent fully. In some ways, it made me want to kiss them even more.

“Come,” Hind said again, and her fingers settled under my chin and guided me up onto my knees. I looked into her smiling face, and at that moment, I wanted to give everything to her. I wanted her, with those perfect feet, to take everything from me. There was a sparkle in her green eyes as if she knew it too, but she didn’t want to take it all at once, but rather peel it from me bit by bit. She smirked, then took the gold rope belt, and looped it around my neck until it formed a kind of make-shift leash. She then stood, and walked towards the desk, leading me to crawl behind her. She took a seat, and tugged on the rope until I was kneeling at her side. She then tied it off to the leg of the desk, and crossed her legs so that one foot was dangling in front of me. “Look,” she said, and my eyes instantly fell to her toes as they flexed.

I remained there the rest of the evening, kneeling at Hind’s side and staring at her foot while salivating in lust. All the while, she ignored me and spent the time studying, flicking through various text books and jotting down notes. That was why she was in my country, after all, wasn’t it? To learn and secure her future. It just appeared she’d also seized my own in the process.

Things continued in this way for the next months. In that time, a lot of money passed from my hands to Hind’s feet. I spent countless nights kneeling at the side of her desk, staring and drooling over her gorgeous Moroccan feet while she studied, and I paid for the privilege every time. It was what I’d asked for over text anyway, wasn’t it? I promised I’d be quiet and wouldn’t disturb her if I could just look at her feet. She said she’d think about it, and she really had.

Things would often go the same way as that first night in her room. I’d rub her feet while she ate her favourite food, and kiss her feet in devotion. Once she was ready, she’d tie the belt around my neck and wordlessly lead me over to the desk. Sometimes, she’d have me kneel and would stroke my hair for a few minutes before beginning her studying. But once she studied, I usually wouldn’t be allowed to touch her feet for the rest of the night; I could only ever look.

Afterwards, she liked taking me to a local grocery store and making me watch while she sent my cash via Western Union to her mother. She showed me messages from her mother, and translated them from the Arabic they were written in. Apparently, her mother was extremely pleased, and encouraged her to continue. Hind even sent a selfie of us together holding the cash at the store which her mother responded to with a bunch of heart emojis. She showed me pictures from her sisters too, and on one occasion they were both showing off new sandals that I’d evidently bought for them. They heaped so much praise on Hind and her accomplishment in bringing a foreign woman to her knees, that instead of being upset, I swooned. For some reason, I loved seeing them wearing their headscarves while they modelled the sandals. There was just something about it, seeing these girls from a different country and culture, their hair hidden away, yet freely showing off their feet in the shoes I had paid for.

“I love their headscarves,” I said to Hind, while she showed me the photos.

She shook her head and raised an eyebrow. “It funny,” she said. “When I arrive, many people insult hijab till I no longer wear, but you adore.” There was a twinkle in her eye and she looked at the ceiling in thought.

I also paid for pedicures and we tried a variety of colours, pinks, blues, yellows and blacks, each of which suited her as well as the initial red I was familiar with. There was a certain green I just loved seeing on her, because it matched so well with her eyes.

The more I spent on Hind, the more it thrilled me, and I looked for new ways to please my Moroccan princess and maintain her permission to see her feet. I even bought her new slip-on shoes. I found a pair of what were called babouche slippers. I’d undertaken a lot of internet research and learned that they were very popular back in Morocco, but weren’t available over here. I had a beautiful, colourful pair imported, and presented them to her one day.

I dropped to my knees after our eating and massage ritual and slid the box forwards. “For you, my Moroccan princess,” I said. “I hope these make you feel more at home in our country.” I removed the lid and felt my heart flutter as Hind’s face burst to life in excitement.

She leant and snatched the slippers up, spinning them in her hands and marvelling at the detail in the fabric. “I love,” she said. “I wear back home.”

I swelled with pride at having done something for her that she clearly adored, and after I’d helped her slide her feet into them, her cute bare heels still visible at the back, I bowed and kissed each with the respect she deserved.

“How you know?” she asked, while she twisted on her feet and modelled each in her floor-length mirror.

“I’ve spent time researching what Moroccan girls like,” I said. “I want you to feel welcome, Hind. I’m sorry that my people were so cruel that you don’t feel comfortable wearing your headscarf anymore and I’m still sorry that you aren’t allowed to wear your sandals at work because of me. I thought maybe I would help you express your Moroccan culture and celebrate it with you.”

Our eyes met in the mirror and Hind’s narrowed in contemplation. She then spun and eyed me with curiosity. “It not just feet,” she said, while she brought a finger to her lip in thought. “Your evil eye has spread.”

“Huh?” I asked in confusion. I had only wanted to do something nice for her and we were back talking about my evil eye. “What do you mean?”

“You like to look at Moroccan girl feet.” She smiled and nodded, then she bit her lip in amusement. “You like to look at Muslim girl feet! Not any girl feet.”

“Ummm.”

“I have idea,” she said, while her eyes drifted off in thought again. “I need money. Give.” She held her hand out to me in expectation, and of course, I dipped into my purse and handed over a bunch of bills to her. By this point I trusted her more than anyone. She took a seat on her bed and crossed her slippered feet at the ankles, right near to where I was sitting and snapped her fingers.

When I looked up startled, she merely pointed at her feet and said, “Look.”

I knelt there, staring at Hind’s feet, hidden away in those babouche slippers and gushing at how beautiful they looked on her perfect feet, and what an incredible girl they belonged to. All the while she relaxed back into the cushions and browsed through her phone. I kissed those slippers over and over again, worshipping her for the Moroccan princess that she was. She mostly gave the phone her full attention, but she’d occasionally glance my way and shake her head in disbelief. I suppose to a girl like her, it was unfathomable to be completely addicted to feet in the way I was. Still, she accepted it and allowed me to indulge, as long as I was willing to support her financially.

She dismissed me shortly after that evening, though not before handing me her sandals, dangling them by the straps and swinging them towards me enticingly. “For be good foot lady,” she said with a smile. “For buy me slippers.”

I had hoped to be rewarded and spend a considerable amount of time devotedly servicing her feet, but it seemed my prize had been something even better: those strappy sandals that had started this whole thing. That night, I placed those sandals at the foot of my bed and bowed to them. I kissed each with respect, then trembled in excitement before touching the tip of my tongue against her sweaty footprint in the leather. The salty taste was like an overload, and I was thrilled and exhilarated by the intimacy of the flavour. How can licking a sandal be intimate? Well, Hind had worn them so much, that her sweat and skin had become one with the leather. It was a part of the paste-like substance that I’d seen embedded in the wrinkles of her soles that first day. Those sandals had been worn by her daily while on the streets of Casablanca, in the baking sun, soaking up all of her delicious foot sweat and now I was removing it with my tongue. I cried out in pleasure as I touched myself.

I didn’t hear from Hind for a couple of days after that, which I found devastating. I had really grown attached to her and her feet, and I felt a pining sensation when I couldn’t be near her. Every night, I licked her strappy sandals with intensity while fingering myself to orgasm. I loved the salty taste of the leather and I’d tongue her toe-prints until I’d shudder with pleasure. While I was doing it, I’d wallow in the shame of it all and imagine her wearing them back in Morocco. I’d kiss and worship those sandals and thank Hind for spending so many years soaking them with her sweat. It was pathetic and filled me with a level of shame, but I didn’t care, I liked being around Hind and I loved being down at her feet. If I couldn’t do that every day, then I’d worship the shoes that had spent so many years serving those feet. It made me feel alive and as if my life had real worth. Being denied her presence was a punishment worse than any I’d ever felt before and the worst part was: I didn’t even know why I was being punished. I licked her sandals with devotion all the same.

I text and messaged her of course, but she left me on read, so I didn’t really know what to do. I even offered to bring her more money just for the sake of it, but she still didn’t respond. It was only after a particularly weak moment, three days later, when I sent her ten messages in the space of an hour that I received one back.

Hind: trust

That was all she felt the need to say, a one-word response. Yet, that word was enough and it communicated so much. I had to keep faith in Hind. She hadn’t let me down so far and she knew best how to handle my devotion to her. I responded in the appropriate way.

Me: Yes, my Moroccan princess.

I didn’t bother her again after that. But, thankfully, after another day passed, a message popped up from Hind.

Hind: come to room tonight at 8 do not late bring money for ur muslim princess

It was enough to make me swoon and get all giddy knowing that my Moroccan princess had requested my presence, and for some reason, I loved it even more that she’d referred to herself as Muslim. My friends and employees would balk at my enthusiasm at serving a foreign girl in such a way, but I loved every minute of it, and I longed to bow at the feet of this girl who was a guest in my country. That made it even better!

On the way there that evening, I stopped by the restaurant and picked up her favourite meal, even though I hadn’t been told to. I also swung by the bank and withdrew an extra five hundred dollars. I was feeling committed to pleasing Hind beyond belief that night.

It was awkward at the security gate of the campus. I was used to collecting Hind from the clinic and going back with her, but this time I was alone. I knew Hind’s room number and name, but had no clue of her surname or college I.D. number. Since I was carrying a bag of hot food, they also thought I was a delivery person and told me to call her to come down. Of course, I wasn’t about to do that. I had intended to impress Hind that evening and having her traipse all the way down to the security gate after being instructed to come to her room would hardly set a good impression. Thankfully, I was able to sweettalk the older security guard with the promise of a date I had no intention of attending, and I was allowed to proceed.

When I reached Hind’s room, I took a deep breath and had to fight to contain my excitement. I couldn’t wait to rub and kiss her delicious, tanned Moroccan feet while she feasted on the food of her homeland at my expense. She was right, it had become more than about her feet, and I loved serving her in a way that paid tribute to her culture and beliefs, especially when it was at the expense of my own. For instance, I was a stone-called capitalist and had always been tight and selfish with my money. But no more, I was freely handing it over to Hind’s feet so that she could send it back to support her family. It should have annoyed and outraged me, but it made me tingle between the legs and I’d spent many a night touching myself to the thought of her family spending my money back in Casablanca, all because I couldn’t resist Hind’s feet.

It wasn’t as if they were desperate and spending it on things like rent and food too. She’d shown me many a photo where my money had been splurged in a frivolous way. For instance, her mother had a brand-new phone, which she delighted on sending selfies through every time she collected a fresh wad of cash from Western Union. Meanwhile, my phone was old with a cracked screen. It was baffling that I was allowing it to happen, but I loved the way it made me feel. I longed to be used by Hind and drained of my wealth by her feet. It was as if my career-driven single life had all been for this purpose.

I still held a fear that Bob would find out about everything, but by this point, what could he really do? I was no longer a patient, so even if he didn’t approve of Hind’s behaviour, it was private and he had no grounds to act. He’d likely be disappointed in me and might even end our friendship. However, I didn’t care by this point, as I’d fully committed to Hind’s feet. As far as Bob’s role in my life, he’d merely become the means to which I had met Hind.

I knocked the door and waited patiently. I heard some shuffling around inside, then the familiar feminine voice of Hind in that adorable French-like accent, “Come.”

I entered, and immediately the bag of food slipped from my grasp and crashed onto the floor. My jaw was pretty much on the floor next to it. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing and I felt the blood igniting through every nerve-ending in my body. My limbs were trembling in excitement and my knees became weak. I couldn’t maintain my posture, and while still in the doorway, I collapsed onto my knees amongst the bag of food. I was completely in awe of the sight before me.

I received a giggle in return, but I had to wipe my eyes to make sure that what I was seeing was actually happening.

The chair from Hind’s desk had been moved to the far end of the room, beneath the window and facing the doorway. A small stool had been placed before it, and Hind was sat in the chair with her bare feet crossed on the stool; her soles completely on show. But that wasn’t the part that had left me trembling. It was because the soles of Hind’s feet were the only part of her I could see, for she was wearing one of those black Islamic dresses that covered her entire body. There was such a juxtaposition of her body being completely covered and her flawless soles on show that I didn’t know where to look. I was awestruck and my mouth still hung open.

“Come,” she said again. “Come kneel to Muslim princess.”

It was only closer up that I noticed Hind blink; there was a slit in the headpiece with her eyes visible. I was torn between whether I wanted to see her eyes or not. In some ways, being denied even seeing her eyes, and only her feet, added to the magnitude of the situation. However, I loved seeing the sparkle in her eyes as I prostrated myself before her and worshipped her as the princess she was.

“You like?” she asked.

“I…honestly don’t know what to say, Hind. I’m completely blown away. I…” There were so many thoughts running through my mind that I lost track of what I was saying. I’d seen women dressed like this so many times on TV or passing me in the street, but never before did I think I would be bowing before one and devoting myself to her feet. I had to pinch myself to make sure that is was all actually happening, and I hadn’t been in a dream ever since that first time I’d met Hind at the clinic.

“I not normal wear in Morocco,” she said. “But it seem make sense.”

“It does?”

“From now you see only feet,” she said from behind the veil, her eyes almost smiling in place of her mouth. “You do not deserve to see Muslim princess. Only feet. You never see face again. When you give money to feet, that all you see.”

I had to squeeze the pulse in my wrist to check I was actually still alive. For some reason, the connotations of being denied seeing Hind’s exquisite beauty, and only being allowed to look upon her gorgeous feet pushed all of my buttons. I collapsed and began placing soft kisses on the soles of her bared feet. They were kisses of gratitude. I moved my lips around to her toes and kissed the most recent French pedicure that adorned them, another of her purchases at my expense.

“This mean you accept and want?”

“Yes, Hind, my Muslim princess, I accept! I only deserve to see your feet,” I said between kisses on her perfect soles. The whole set up was so weird, but I loved it. I’d never before looked at a Muslim girl in this way, but it totally made sense to me that I should be denied from seeing Hind’s beauty. She was so much prettier than me after all.

“And see feet when you pay,” she added, before adorably chuckling. It was odd to hear her laughter without being able to see her face, only those beautiful green eyes as they sparkled in amusement. She snapped her fingers amongst the black glove of her dress and pointed at her bare feet. “You must pay Moroccan princess. Give money to Muslim feet!” The giggles that followed were almost musical.

I spilled the cash everywhere as I frantically dug into my purse and pulled out all of the bills. I almost threw all five hundred dollars at her feet, which made Hind giggle further in amusement. I arranged it on the stool beneath her feet. She placed her heels upon the pile and lifted her soles so that they were facing me.

“Kiss,” she said. “Kiss and thank for accept.”

I placed a soft, devoted kiss on the sole of each foot, and muttered, “Thank you so much for taking my money my Muslim princess.”

Hind then had me take a photograph for her as she was sat in this position, my money at her feet. No doubt she sent it on to her family for them to laugh over. She then rose from the seat and tied the gold rope belt around my neck and lead me towards the floor-length mirror.

I looked at myself, kneeling there, and felt so exposed and defenceless next to her while she was draped from head to ankle in that Islamic dress. I didn’t even know what it was called. My face was so pale in comparison, except for my cheeks which had flushed a bright red with embarrassment. Hind tugged slightly on the belt and forced me high up onto my knees. She then snapped a selfie in the mirror while I watched in the reflection. It was all too much, and I felt overwhelmed, but I wanted to give her more and allow her to savour further in her victory. I swallowed down my shame and collapsed at her feet, placing kiss upon kiss in devotion while Hind snapped another load of photos. I felt one foot place itself softly on my cheek, and I saw in the reflection that she was stood upon me in a sort of victory as she posed. All I could see of her were those tanned feet along with the piercing green eyes I’d come to lose myself in; every other inch of her was hidden from my view.

Eventually she tired of taking photos, and she pulled me over towards the bag of food on the floor, kicking it open with her foot. She sighed as she rubbed her toes into the hummus. “Such waste,” she said, before turning and offering me her foot, hummus plastered between her beautiful toes. “Clean mess.”

I again looked up in awe. While tonguing Hind’s sandal back home, I’d often imagined what it would be like to lick them for real. Though, I’d always been too shy and unable to attempt it, scared that I would freak her out and risk losing this whole arrangement that we had going. But I wasn’t about to miss the chance once it was presented to me. So, for the first time in my life, I wrapped my lips around Hind’s glorious toes and slurped that tasty hummus from between each one. Ironically, it was both my first taste of her feet for real and first taste of Moroccan food, altogether in one. I dug my tongue between her toes, through the hummus and into the crevice so that I could taste her foot sweat for real. The entire treat was delicious and I knew I was hooked.

I craned my neck to stare up at her, draped in that black outfit that hid her away from my sight. All I could see was the gold rope nestled between her gloved fingers, and those green eyes watching me intensively as I licked the tasty morsels from between her toes. I couldn’t believe that something so simple as getting my teeth fixed had led me to where I was at that moment, kneeling before a beautiful Moroccan, Muslim girl with my mouth wrapped around her toes. But I wanted it, I wanted it more than anything and I’d give everything for it to continue.

Once her feet were clean, Hind led me to her desk and had me lay down beneath the seat. Her feet, poking out from beneath the dress, came to rest on my face, while up above, she worked away studying. The rope was still looped around my neck, however, Hind loosely tied it off to the leg of her chair. It hung there, up above me, thin and frail in its design. I could have easily yanked it free and left. However, I had no desire to escape. I lay beneath her dominant feet as they encompassed every inch of my face with my arms outstretched. Occasionally she’d shift her weight or reposition her toes, moving between my mouth, nose and forehead. Gradually, the heat rose and her soles became sweaty. She wiped them on my skin when that was the case. I loved her all the more for it, I just wanted to be of use to those beautiful, Moroccan feet. She’d likely removed the veil by that point, as I imagined it would make study difficult. However, beneath her feet, it was not my fate to know. Instead, I marvelled in the blissful feeling of finally being beneath Hind’s desk, her toes playing with and tugging at the features of my face, as they’d done that first day with her sandals.

The more sweaty and slippery it became beneath her feet, the more I wanted to taste that delicious flavour again. That intense, salty sweat that I’d licked with enthusiasm from her sandal night after night until it faded. The more I’d licked the sandal, the less of Hind’s sweaty taste remained, and I wanted to taste it again. So, I tentatively poked out a tongue and nuzzled it between her toes while she studied above. I felt safe to do so, since she’d seemed to enjoy my cleaning of her feet.

Her foot retracted slightly, and I heard her gasp up above. For a moment I was worried that I’d stepped out of line, however, her toes returned and forcibly jammed themselves between my lips. While she studied up above, I moved from toe to toe, sucking each with love and devotion in a way I’d never felt before. Hind merely hummed and sighed in return and continued to offer me her toes for the duration of her study time. Once she seemed satisfied, I moved onto her soles and heels, tonguing them with fervour and lapping their gorgeous flavour.

Afterwards, she took me to the grocery store, still completely shrouded in her Islamic dress, and amongst the odd looks of the cashier, she sent the full five hundred dollars to her family. While she completed the transaction, I gazed down at her feet, poking out from beneath the black dress in those babouche slippers. With the receipt in her gloved hand, she made me pose for a selfie. My face bared for all to see: embarrassed and flushed with humiliation, while Hind’s was completely hidden, all except her green eyes which sparkled from within the slit of her veil.

“You belong to feet of Muslim girl,” she said, once she’d sent the photo through to her mother. I could see the shape of her smile even through the fabric of the veil. She pat my head with her gloved hand. “You look. You kiss. You lick. You suck. You pay. You happy?”

“More than you will ever know.” I whispered in a lower tone so the cashier wouldn’t hear. “I belong to your feet, my Moroccan princess. I belonged to them since the first day I saw them.”

Six months later, I was sat in the audience of a presentation with Bob at my side. He’d noticed me as I loitered in the lobby and beckoned me over to join him.

“So, you discharged yourself from the clinic?” he asked. “I did notice but felt a bit awkward asking you why.”

I gulped and placed a hand softly upon his. “I’m sorry, Bob. I was just embarrassed after everything that happened with the gas. I felt humiliated with the words that came out of my mouth.” If only he knew I’d done much worse things ever since that day. He probably thought those words had been nothing but gibberish, but they were anything but. They were probably the truest words I’d ever spoken.

“You silly thing,” he laughed. “It was no big deal. I think Hind forgot about it all the next day. I certainly did.”

I faked a laugh, thinking he really didn’t have a clue about the depths of his assistant. Hind didn’t forget things. She archived them and used them to her advantage. I was testament to that.

Bob dipped his head and peered at my teeth. “Well, there’s definitely some improvement there! I’m guessing you had someone else remove the braces?”

“Yes, another clinic,” I said.

“You pleased with the result?”

“Very much so.” I smiled and showed him my perfect set of straight teeth.

“I bet you have all guys approaching you these days, wanting to place a smacker on those lips.”

I blushed. Not because he was right, but because the only thing that touched my lips these days were Hind’s toes when I licked and sucked them. Ever since that day she felt my tongue snaking between her toes as I sucked and slurped them clean of hummus and the devotion to which I’d worshipped them later while she studied, she’d demanded the same treatment during our meets. Most of the food I had eaten since had been consumed from Hind’s feet, and it seemed to taste all the more delicious for it.

She particularly enjoyed having me buy her usual Moroccan eateries, while at the same time, bringing myself some stereotypically American food, for instance, a burger. She’d moan and delight, while she shovelled mouthfuls of tagine beneath her veil, while at the same time, grinding her toes and slushing the bun and patty under her feet. While I sucked the decimated burger from her toes, she’d watch with amusement in her eyes. It was gratifyingly symbolic of my place at her Muslim feet.

I’d since licked her feet in every condition. Straight after work when she peeled off her socks and sneakers where her skin had become clammy or immediately after an intense massage session when my fingers had already removed most of the sweat. She loved using my perfectly straight teeth too. She’d noted it was worth me getting the braces, since they were so useful in removing any dirt from beneath her toenails. I must have spent hours tonguing the wrinkles of her soles to remove the caked-in paste of the leather from her strappy, sweat-stained sandals. I’d given them back once I’d licked them clean of her flavour, and Hind delighted in renewing the stains. It was a salty, sharp and acrid taste, but my licks were eager in their effort; it somewhat reminded me of my place in the world in comparison to this Moroccan beauty.

Suddenly, there was a voice over a microphone, and people shuffled towards the stage as each of their names were called. They marched up one by one, shaking the hand of the guy at the pedestal and smiling for the photographer nearby.

Bob nodded towards the stage as a dark-haired girl approached. “I’m so proud of her.” He clapped his hands ferociously and stood to whistle in approval. “She’s worked so hard and deserves this.”

Up on stage, the girl pranced across wearing her graduation outfit with a huge, flashy smile upon her face beneath the greenest eyes. I joined Bob in standing and clapped along too. For a moment, I hadn’t recognised her, it had been so long since I’d actually seen her face that I’d almost forgotten what she looked like. It was only when my eyes lingered on her feet, wearing a pair of strappy high heels, her toes painted a fire engine red and a silver toe ring glistening under the stage lights, that I thought: there she is, there’s my princess. I too clapped loudly and whistled along with Bob.

It was odd seeing Hind’s beauty out on show, as I only ever got to see her feet in the months that had passed. She’d assured me that the niqab she wore, as I’d learned it was called, was only just for me. When she worked at the clinic, studied at college or went about her daily life, she dressed in her adopted Western style with her face and hair visible for all to see. But on the days she summoned me to her feet, she draped herself in the Islamic dress, for her in her words: I only deserved to see her feet. I worshipped her all the more for denying my eyes in such a way. I saw it as a punishment for my evil eye, I had stared at her feet that first day without permission, and now they were all I was allowed to see. I looked away from the stage as I clapped, as if it felt wrong to look at Hind in all her exposed beauty.

Bob turned and offered me a curious stare. “Why are you here anyway?” he asked. “I didn’t think you really knew Hind other than your few meetings at the clinic?”

“Oh, I know another student,” I said, while averting my eyes and acting like it was a surprise Hind was there.

“Oh, very good,” he said, before clapping once more.

Once Hind had received her degree and exited the stage. We sat back in our seats.

“She’s going to do so well,” Bob said. “You know, she’s actually going to be opening her own clinic in Casablanca. She’s told me all about it. She’s even secured government funding back home. She’s targeting an international market and will be focusing on the foreign workers within the city who struggle with the local language. Apparently, she already has an American receptionist lined up to encourage an uptake in patients.”

“Wow,” I said. “That’s so impressive.”

“Indeed. I’ll be sad to lose her, she’s been such a good worker. Yesterday was her last day.” He sighed and offered Hind a lingering stare as she left the hall. “Her flight is tomorrow.”

“I’m sure she’ll keep in touch.”

“Let’s hope. Anyway, I better get back. More appointments to get to.” He stood and crouched to give me a hug. “You keep in touch too, smiler.”

“Take care, Bob.” I said, while patting his back. I was thankful to him for reasons he’d never fully understand. After all, everything that had happened was a result of his insistence that I get my teeth fixed. “I’ll be seeing you,” I said. I picked up my handbag and swung it over my shoulder; a one-way ticket to Casablanca safely nestled inside.