“I‘m quite turned on by sexy feet, actually,” said Marco as the second beers arrived and four middle aged German tourists at the next table tucked into lunch,
“It’s only half twelve,” whispered Tony, “you forget that they have lunch at a civilised hour abroad.”
“That’s always called a fetish, isn’t it?”
“What, lunch at half twelve?”
“No, I mean what is a fetish, is it meant to be something out of the unusual, something considered unhealthy?” Tony consulted his phone.
“More or less, it’s something either excessive or sexually pleasing. Or both in your case.”
“I disagree. Would you say someone’s got a breast fetish? There can’t be a man alive who hasn’t, it’s what drives this whole thing. And as for old John Thomas, women like dicks, so could you call that a fetish? Do you remember that Californian groupie type from the Sixties, Cynthia Plaster Caster?” asked Marco. “She came up with the perfect ruse to get to enjoy her fetish, I mean, hobby.
‘Hey, Mr Jagger, would you like to come round and I can make a plaster cast of your old fella?’ Hilarious, what a gal, she deserves maximum credit for that. Imagine her young daughter at school, one day the teacher asks Grade 5 the question of the day.
“‘So, Castaneda, tell us, what do your folks do intheir free time?’
‘My dad goes shooting. Possum, deer, polecats, rednecks.’
‘That’s sweet. And you, Hutchinson?’”
“Why doesn’t she call them by their first names?”
“Those are their first names. They say beer doesn’t travel, well, neither do surnames, they don’t know the difference over there, they even name their kids after hotels.” Marco looked blank.
“Paris Hilton. She’s probably got a sister called Tokyo.”
“And a cousin called Sheraton.”
“Paris Sheraton Hilton, double barrelled, posh, you know. Or Sherry Sheraton, the little sister.”
“‘So, Hutchinson, what do your parents do in their leisure time?’”
‘My mom teaches pilates to dogs, while my dad has a couple snakes. A couple dozen, actually. He keeps them in the garage in temperature controlled conditions. Sometimes he brings one or two of ’em into the house, especially if somebody comes to visit he don’t like, like my aunt.’
‘Isn’t that a bit scary?’
‘Oh yeah, she’s 260 pounds and smells like a skunk with bad breath, you gotta make sure you get out the way if she bends over.’ ‘Bends over who?’ thought Clarkesville, at the next table.
‘No, I mean the snakes in the house.’
‘Oh, yeah, but you get used to it. Sometimes a few of them escape and disappear for a few days, but they always come back. There ain’t no cats in our neighbourhood,’ and the whole class laughed.
‘And what about your parents, Joplyn?’
‘My mom takes plaster casts of rock musicians’ dicks and my dad collects stamps.’
‘What did you say, stamps?’
‘Yeah, I know, kinda weird, right?’
Adapted from The Morning Sun