Dr.Footlove or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bathroom

Now, I'm not a person to jump to conclusions about people. And, I let this kid have a decent chance of earning my respect, but when this little freak starts to touch my feet, one thing that most people should know about me is that I fucking hate when people touch me with their feet or touch mine, I just flip. It started with sitting down with me. He then began to touch my feet with his and I told myself that it was just an accident, then I moved my feet. It was when the little twerp followed them where ever I moved them when I got pretty freaked out. I moved them to the couch. His hands found them and my feet found the floor once more. I moved couches, he moved to the floor. Thus, to my feet. His head was on my feet... I moved my feet. He ordered me to put my feet on the floor. I refused. He pulled them off the couch. In the course of doing so, managed to bruise my little toe :( I told myself to stick it out and let the freak at my feet so, I gave in and let him at my feet, at move that I regret now, thinking that it would get out of his system. What an idealist I am. Anyways... he tickled them until they practically bled. He was angry. I went to the bathroom, "I'll be waiting for you..." Stayed in the bathroom for as long as I could manage. Got back. He offered to massage them, ordering me to put one on a chair. No. SOOOO WRONG. I complained of bruised feet... not a total lie. And that was that. My Aunt took me home. And that was the day I met my cousin's six-year-old footloving friend.