Football SocksMature

I’d been warned about ‘Football Socks’. That’s what she called him seconds before I burst out laughing. He was a regular here, but each and every time he liked to carry out the same charade of seeming to not know which house we were in. Perhaps it was another little ritual of his, along with the football socks. The colours were always different, but they always had to be new, something about the smell of new socks maybe? I don’t know, all I know is it was a damn freaky fetish, I also had to greet him with a straight face.


I hope they’re not all going to be this bad, I’d have a face full of laughter lines within a week if they were all this strange. I was already halfway down the stairs when the doorbell sounded. It was one of those incredibly tacky ones that played a tune, quite which one I don’t know, I doubt even the original composer would recognise it.


“I’m here to bring Melinda a present;” this said as he pushed back his hood “is she here?”

            “She’s just in the shower, but she said to go on up. She’s been waiting for you all day” this apparently I had to say each time he visited.

            “You’re new here aren’t you? What’s your name?”

            “I’m Amy, pleased to meet you” I even managed to keep my face straight while I said it, though I’d only just settled on the fake name I’d be adopting. But he was already on his way up the stairs with not even a backward glance, having thrust his payment in my hands. I heard the door to the first floor bathroom opening and Melinda’s giggled greeting was cut short as he closed the door behind him.


I went to the kitchen and dutifully noted down his details in the register, along with the amount he paid. I consulted the chart, before setting the alarm for 45 minutes. There was a bell for me to ring to signal the end of the session if it looked like they were going to run over. I put the coffee pot on and settled in a comfy chair next to the phone waiting for the next freak to grace us with his presence.

The End

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