Aramis
02-10-2003, 9:47 PM
I was a candidate for admission to Caledonia College, and it was time for the interview with the Admissions Director. Unforunately, my grades were just at the "questionable" level, and my other options for college had already closed behind me. I needed to get in, or my parents would have my hide. Also, they could not afford to pay for any college, and for some reason I did not get any good news on student loans. So, I was quite desperate to make a good impression, as I needed student aid, as well as to be admitted!
I was ushered into the presence of the Admissions Director right on time. She was a tall, beautiful, even regal, African American woman of some 40 years or so (I'm bad at guessing ages). She stood up when I came in, extended her hand, and led me to sit at a chair at the side of her desk. She pushed her chair out a bit, so I could actually see her cross her shapely legs toward me. I saw she was not wearing hose, but was bare-legged in her dress and pumps. Right away, knowing I had to make a nice impression, I looked away and gazed into her eyes. Her own gaze told me that she had already seen the appreciative glance I stole at her legs and shoes.
"Mr. Cole, I see your grades are only average. That concerns me, as we want only the best students at Caledonia. We are trying to raise our reputation. I also see you have been refused at other colleges and universities to which you have applied. Do you have anything to say to this?"
I swallowed hard and tried to remember what I'd rehearsed. "Yes, Ms. Lambert. I can't speak for the other schools, but my grades were somewhat affected by time I spent away from class because of my mother's illness. I was pretty distracted by her being in the hospital so much of my junior and senior years. so my attendance and grades suffered. If you check my 10th grade, and junior high grades, you'll see they are much better, and I would say, more representative."
"Distracted, you say? You were distracted. Were you distracted in the same way you were distracted by my shoes?"
I swallowed hard again.
"Don't try to fool me, Mr. Cole, I saw you look at my legs and shoes when you came around. But that's all right. You're just the kind of candidate who should. You see, your grades give you a 50-50 chance of admittance here. Your need for financial aid hurts you; it basically knocks you out of the box."
I looked at her in stunned and sad silence. I was being denied.
"Ms. Lambert, I have to be admitted! My parents would kill me if I don't get in! It's so important that I get in, I can't tell you!"
"Mr. Cole, I said you are a good candidate, perhaps. Your grades are crap and you're poor. You need my help. Don't you? You need me to help you. If I helped you get in, you'd be in my debt."
"Yes."
"Yes," she continued. "And I like a young man who appreciates a woman's shoes, and feet." She began to dangle her shoe from the foot that was crossed over her other leg.
"What is it worth to you if I admit you and secure financial aid?" she asked. "Would you get on your white knees and kiss my black bare feet? Would you lick my shoes until I said they were clean enough? Would you kiss my ass? Would you be my slave for the next four years, if I get you in??"
The shoe dropped to the floor. She flexed her toes. Her foot was beautiful, with long toes and polished toe nails, and a high arch. I stared at it for several moments.
"Mister Cole!! Is it worth it to you to grovel at my feet and lick in between my toes and lick my dirty soles for four years, if I get you in with financial aid?"
I looked back at her. I swalled and she smiled broadly. Man she was beautiful. And totally in command.
"Yes, Ms. Lambert," I said. "I will grovel at your feet and be your slave for the next four years if you can get me into school."
"Then we have a deal, Mr. Cole," she pronounced. "Or should I say, 'slave boy.' I can't wait to have a honky licking my black bare feet and being my footrest and ass-kisser. Let's sign these papers," she said, pushing some paperwork on her desk toward me. "And then, get on your knees and show my feet some love."
To be continued . . . ?
I was ushered into the presence of the Admissions Director right on time. She was a tall, beautiful, even regal, African American woman of some 40 years or so (I'm bad at guessing ages). She stood up when I came in, extended her hand, and led me to sit at a chair at the side of her desk. She pushed her chair out a bit, so I could actually see her cross her shapely legs toward me. I saw she was not wearing hose, but was bare-legged in her dress and pumps. Right away, knowing I had to make a nice impression, I looked away and gazed into her eyes. Her own gaze told me that she had already seen the appreciative glance I stole at her legs and shoes.
"Mr. Cole, I see your grades are only average. That concerns me, as we want only the best students at Caledonia. We are trying to raise our reputation. I also see you have been refused at other colleges and universities to which you have applied. Do you have anything to say to this?"
I swallowed hard and tried to remember what I'd rehearsed. "Yes, Ms. Lambert. I can't speak for the other schools, but my grades were somewhat affected by time I spent away from class because of my mother's illness. I was pretty distracted by her being in the hospital so much of my junior and senior years. so my attendance and grades suffered. If you check my 10th grade, and junior high grades, you'll see they are much better, and I would say, more representative."
"Distracted, you say? You were distracted. Were you distracted in the same way you were distracted by my shoes?"
I swallowed hard again.
"Don't try to fool me, Mr. Cole, I saw you look at my legs and shoes when you came around. But that's all right. You're just the kind of candidate who should. You see, your grades give you a 50-50 chance of admittance here. Your need for financial aid hurts you; it basically knocks you out of the box."
I looked at her in stunned and sad silence. I was being denied.
"Ms. Lambert, I have to be admitted! My parents would kill me if I don't get in! It's so important that I get in, I can't tell you!"
"Mr. Cole, I said you are a good candidate, perhaps. Your grades are crap and you're poor. You need my help. Don't you? You need me to help you. If I helped you get in, you'd be in my debt."
"Yes."
"Yes," she continued. "And I like a young man who appreciates a woman's shoes, and feet." She began to dangle her shoe from the foot that was crossed over her other leg.
"What is it worth to you if I admit you and secure financial aid?" she asked. "Would you get on your white knees and kiss my black bare feet? Would you lick my shoes until I said they were clean enough? Would you kiss my ass? Would you be my slave for the next four years, if I get you in??"
The shoe dropped to the floor. She flexed her toes. Her foot was beautiful, with long toes and polished toe nails, and a high arch. I stared at it for several moments.
"Mister Cole!! Is it worth it to you to grovel at my feet and lick in between my toes and lick my dirty soles for four years, if I get you in with financial aid?"
I looked back at her. I swalled and she smiled broadly. Man she was beautiful. And totally in command.
"Yes, Ms. Lambert," I said. "I will grovel at your feet and be your slave for the next four years if you can get me into school."
"Then we have a deal, Mr. Cole," she pronounced. "Or should I say, 'slave boy.' I can't wait to have a honky licking my black bare feet and being my footrest and ass-kisser. Let's sign these papers," she said, pushing some paperwork on her desk toward me. "And then, get on your knees and show my feet some love."
To be continued . . . ?