With surprising speed, the colossal form of David was upon the box and, upon an abrupt about turn, barely missed crushing you beneath the worn heel of an intimidating brogue. Not quite balancing the heavy box in his grip, he jockeyed on the spot, with a minor stagger, in a very small plot of space which included the patch of worn floorboard where you sobbed in a tight ball. ‘Whatever have they - ‘ grumbled David to himself as he wondered at the uneven distribution within the tatty cardboard vessel which might burst open without warning. ‘I suppose I’d better - ‘ he muttered with his habitual tendency to not complete a sentence which, dare he admit it, was neither leading anywhere nor heeded by human ears but, on this rare occasion, your own.
Beneath his weight, the floor creaked as if subject to incidental but terrible torture. At one point, the side of his right shoe, all but rolled you, with a deflected tap, under his descending left shoe. Thrown onto your back, you looked directly heavenward, the majority of manhood above the the crotch concealed by the wine corduroy, lower carriage of his trousers. The turn up at each ankle whipped about as he pivoted his uncooperative load, exposing the navy blue of the pungent socks he seemed to wear most days. With a bang as sickening as it was deafening, his left instep slammed so close to your head you momentarily saw, at first the light at the end of the tunnel beneath his foot arch and then, more mentally unhinging still, the fleeting ghost of bare shin beyond the upper reaches of his foul sock. And then, he was gone.
In a bizarre moment of covert togetherness, Derek also followed the same sight of David lugging a box to stow and forget as you, watching David make a meal of the effort before turning the corner and leaving you both staring into the same empty space.
Then without missing a beat, Derek strode with unambiguous purpose to where you lay cringing. ‘Look at you,’ he whispered, his cadence laced with a horribly intimate cupidity. ‘Between my feet. But, can you still make me laugh? That’s what we both need to know.’ And, before you could even attempt to answer, the thin-lipped grimace of his rumbling chuckle was summarily eclipsed by the befouled sole of an Adidas, hovering, as if awaiting an official or simply an erroneous order to drop like an industrial crusher and stamp you clean out of this life.
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