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I was a mere lad of twenty, a flop with the girls at college because of my suffocating shyness. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was quite attractive, with wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes. I was trim, too, thanks to nightly workouts with weights and some self-created exercises I thought would kill me. Despite being smaller than any of my college buddies, I could lift more weight than any of them, thanks to my dedication to my nightly regimen. In spite of all that, I had this unreasonable idea that I was overweight and unattractive. Girls always spoke to me but ultimately lost interest due to the aforementioned shyness. So, my college days were fun in the sense of the partying and drinking with close friends, but I rarely had a girlfriend, and if I did it didn’t last long because of my lack of self esteem. Such a waste.
In my relationship with my parents I was like any other college kid…fairly arrogant and everything was “me, me, me”. I was headstrong and argumentative with my mom and dad as I guess there were still some remnants of those teenage hormones circulating throughout my college boy body. I wasn’t a bad kid…just stubborn and a little selfish…maybe to make up for my shortcomings with the opposite sex.
And so it came to be that I’d had a particularly nasty disagreement with my parents one warm, early autumn evening at the beginning of my junior year. Looking back, I can’t even remember what the disagreement was about, but I can clearly see myself huffing self-importantly out the door at around six thirty or seven o’clock, acting like a child and telling my parents I’d eat dinner by myself at a local fast food place.
Off I stormed in my decrepit old Buick, feeling I’d somehow defeated my clueless mom and dad. Being on a limited budget, I prodded my weary car to the nearest McDonald’s. Since my intention was to punish my parents by staying away from the house for as long as possible, I decided to enjoy my burger and fries at one of the tables inside rather than zip through the drive through and then head home. And thus began an erotic adventure the likes of which I’ve never experienced since….thirteen months of unbelievably kinky Heaven on Earth. Although I can’t remember the topic of the argument with my parents, undeniably I’m glad it happened.
As I sat at one of the tables, grumbling to myself and munching McDonald’s finest, a woman came in and ordered some food. I noticed her casually, because she wasn’t a beauty, really, though she had lush lips and a mysterious face….like one of those classy “dames” in an old detective movie. She was just a tiny bit on the plump side….more like full bodied, but firm. Her hips were well shaped, forming what appeared to be a delightfully soft, round bottom that struggled playfully against her snug, mid-thigh length dress. I wouldn’t call her waist trim, but she was nowhere near fat. She filled her tight black dress admirably, with curves in all the right places. Her hair was black…long and shiny. Her eyes were likewise dark. Her hair, eyes and lips contrasted her light complexion, as did the black dress. Her feet clacked on the floor as she walked to a table in her black high heels. To complete her dark ensemble, she wore sheer, smoky colored stockings. As I said, she wasn’t starlet material, but she was a knockout the way she was dressed, especially to a college boy who was used to girls in jeans and sandals – or, worse yet, sneakers.
Other than admiring her briefly, I really didn’t pay too much attention to her at first. As I said, I was twenty, and this woman, though attractive, appeared to be in her mid thirties. And as we all know, the watchword back then was, “never trust anyone over thirty”. Besides, I was too busy bemoaning my life at home and my dateless existence at school. I contented myself with chowing down food and wallowing in self pity. I didn’t notice the attractive woman sit at a booth to my right and slightly behind me. I continued to enjoy my self-imposed isolation dinner.
Now, I’ve had my foot fetish as far back as I can remember, and any man out there who shares this fetish knows one sound better than any other in the entire world…the sound of a woman’s shoes clunking to the floor as she kicks them off to comfort her feet. Well, as I sat there chewing away, I heard that sound. Clunk….clunk, I heard….definitely the sound of two shoes dropping to the floor. Reflexively, I turned my head toward the sound. The darkly clad woman had indeed removed her shoes and was sitting there with her stocking clad feet on top of her shoes. As she ate, her toes gripped the tops of the heels of the shoes and played with them, sliding them around under the table. Smiling, I watched her unconsciously shuffling the shoes around with her feet.
Apparently, I wasn’t very discreet about watching. Discretion isn’t a strong suit of young men that age, and certainly wasn’t one of mine. So, as luck would have it, the woman looked over at me, caught the trajectory of my stare, and looked down casino oyna at her feet, curious if something was wrong under her table, no doubt. When I saw this, I came out of my trance and quickly turned my head back around to concentrate on my food. Behind me and to my right, I thought I heard very faint laughter…but prayed it was just my imagination.
After a while I heard several clunks, the shoe sound again but repeated over and over. Once again, my head instinctively swiveled around to look for the source of the sound. The woman was now lifting her shoes with her toes and dropping them on the floor under her table, repeatedly. Five, six, seven times she did this… and when I eventually looked up, I saw her looking directly at me….and smiling!
Immediately I snapped my head back forward and slumped down over my burger…embarrassed as hell. I felt an angry muscle spasm in my neck, no doubt from its having been so suddenly whipped around forward, and my right hand instantly shot up to begin rubbing the clenching knot. Even through the pain and rubbing, my only thought was a fervent hope that the woman didn’t really know where I had been looking, or why. I prayed she didn’t notice me looking at her feet…or that maybe she just thought I was attracted to the sound and looked only for that reason. My mind concocted all sorts of reasons she might think of as to why I was looking under her table…hopefully, anything other than the fact that I was ogling her feet.
After several minutes with no laughter or tossed insults from the woman, I felt safe again. My embarrassment waned and I felt secure enough to try a sneaky peek back at her feet. Before doing so, however, I decided to turn my head barely enough to strain my eyes to the right and see her face, to be sure her eyes weren’t looking in my direction. When I saw that she appeared to be focusing once again on her meal, I felt secure enough to once again admire her feet. When I slowly aimed my dilated pupils downward, the scene was quite different. The woman was once again wearing her shoes….or rather I should say she was wearing her left shoe. Her legs were now crossed, right over left, and her right shoe was dangling hypnotically from the end of her toes. It was almost as if that shoe dangled from the very tip of the toenail of her great toe. I was amazed it could remain dangling at all, and not fall with a clatter (or clunk) to the floor. It seemed to defy the laws of gravity and physics.
Alas…it couldn’t defy gravity forever. I watched as the shoe, seemingly in slow motion, finally released its tenuous grip on the tip of that toe and fell to the floor. So mesmerized was I that I never heard the clunk this time. I simply stared in awe at the gorgeous, stocking covered toes that had just dismissed the shoe. The stocking was so sheer that even where it was reinforced at the heel and toes I could easily see through it…an almost nonexistent, delightfully gossamer shading of her pretty foot. And joining that reinforced toe and heel of the stocking was a reinforced strip, maybe a half inch wide, that ran from toes to heel, directly down the middle of the sole. My eyes feasted on that hose in such minute detail that it seemed I could pick out every single criss- cross of the nylon weave, and my vision could burrow between them to the soft flesh beneath. Sexy stockings for a very sexy foot, I thought. And just as I could feel my face smiling, a cold chill ran down my spine. I realized, shuddering, that I’d once again been staring. Fear of being caught sent dribbles of sweat down my back and neck. Afraid to make even the slightest movement, I took a deep breath and prepared to slowly turn around to once again face my burger. My hope was that a lack of sudden movement on my part would prevent the woman’s eyes from being drawn in my direction, and I could avoid any embarrassing attention.
This time the light laughter was unmistakably clear. I was frozen, still admiring that lovely foot, afraid to look up….afraid to even move. I had no clue what to do next. And then those nylon-covered toes started wiggling and stretching and flexing. That attractive foot became very animated, rotating slowly at the ankles, toes wriggling, sole extending and flexing. I watched that sole smooth out completely under the nylon, and then wrinkle erotically along with the nylon as the foot danced and frolicked… candy for my admiring eyes. The pounding college-boy boner in my shorts wanted me to keep looking, even though I knew in my heart I’d been found out. I was caught in a scary yet exciting dilemma… somewhere between the fear of being discovered as a lover of women’s feet (and thereby possibly branded as a pervert) and the excitement of having a woman actually know that I was turned on by her feet.
Finally, my head still bent downward, I rolled my eyes up….hoping the woman would be concentrating on her meal and not have the slightest clue that I had once again been indiscreet. No such luck. She was sitting back against the padded back canlı casino rest of the booth, her arms folded across her chest, and looking directly at me. Again her lush lips formed a smile on her pale skinned face. Her dark eyes, under equally dark bangs, twinkled with a kind of mischievous glimmer. As I looked at those impish eyes, she once again chuckled.
“You like my feet?” she asked bluntly, without batting an eye.
“Excuse me?” I mumbled, still trying to feign innocence, though I stammered even those two simple words. My heart was pounding like a bass drum inside my chest. Even through the blood rushing in my ears that response sounded lame. But, caught by surprise like that, and once again embarrassed, my brain couldn’t come up with anything else. In fact, under the circumstances, I do believe I was fortunate to manage that much, without swallowing my tongue.
“Or maybe it’s my stockings you like?” she continued.
“I …um….I’m not sure…I don’t understand what you’re…..” I babbled.
“Really?” she interrupted, a cocky grin permeating her face, “well, maybe it’s just me, but I could swear you’ve been staring at my feet ever since I took my shoes off.”
A jolt of electricity shot through me when she said that, and my hormone strangled brain snapped awake. Quickly I looked all around the dining area to see how many people had heard her statement, and how many of them were laughing their asses off at me. Luckily, I only saw two other occupied tables, neither in the immediate vicinity. I breathed a sigh of relief as I realized that my secret was still safe. Now I had to come up with some way to cover things up, so that the woman stopped talking about it. Again….no such luck.
“Ma’am…..look….I wasn’t…..” I began.
“Oh, come on now,” she laughed, “one thing I can always tell is when a man is looking at me. I can tell exactly what a man’s looking at when he looks at me, too.” After a brief pause, during which I again fumbled for excuses, she finished her point. “And you, young man, were looking directly at my feet. Don’t even try to deny it.” She laughed again – almost a giddy laugh – and wiggled her toes emphatically.
I gave up. We both knew I’d been snagged. All I could do now was apologize. “Look, ma’am, I apologize. I didn’t mean to upset you. I…”
“Oh, no need to apologize…just admit you were admiring my feet.”
“I…well…um….okay…yeah, I suppose I was looking at them, a little.”
“A little?!” Again she laughed. “A little would be a quick glance and then looking away. What you were doing, young man, was out and out ogling. I don’t think your eyes missed a single inch of my right foot here. I’m surprised you didn’t drool on yourself.” She wiggled it teasingly, once again. She seemed to be thoroughly enjoying my utter embarrassment and discomfiture.
“Um…please, ma’am,” I fumbled, “again….I really do apologize.”
She sighed and seemed to look me over. I thought maybe the conversation, and the entire incident, was over. I started to turn around sheepishly to return to my dinner. I was still both embarrassed and excited.
“You didn’t answer me,” came that insistent voice from behind.
I turned toward her again. “Excuse me? Answer what?” I only wanted the embarrassing conversation to end.
“I asked you if you like my feet. And don’t give me any bull about you not really noticing them that much, or only looking at them ‘a little’. Let’s both accept that your eyes were locked on my feet and move on, shall we? Now…do you like my feet?”
“Yes….they’re beautiful.” I couldn’t believe I said that, and I felt like a complete idiot. As soon as I said it, I prepared for her peals of laughter and a string of derogatory remarks. They never came.
“Well, that’s better. I much prefer honesty. Thank you…..um…..what’s your name, hon?”
“Tom…..my name’s Tom, ma’am.”
“Hello, Tom…..my name’s Holly. Nice to meet you.”
“NIce to meet you, too, Holly,” I replied, still wanting to crawl into the nearest hole.
“Now, Tom….let me ask you that other question again….”
This time I interrupted her. “Um…ma’am….this is embarrassing…”
“Oh,” she said, looking around the dining area, noticing that more people were beginning to wander in, ” I understand. Well, come over here and sit with me, and we can talk lower so no one will hear.” She pointed to the other side of the booth, the seat across from her, and then uncrossed her legs and sat facing that seat squarely.
I was afraid if I didn’t sit with her, she might continue talking out loud, and embarrass me again, so I got up and shuffled over to her booth. I left what remained of my burger and fries at my table, taking only my soda with me. Standing next to her table, one hand holding my soda and the other crammed into my pants pocket,I looked down at her and fidgeted.
“Well,” she said, pointing to the seat again, “sit.” Then she quickly added, “Oh, but before you do, would you mind kaçak casino picking up my shoe for me?” With slow, trancelike movements, I did so. As I bent to pick it up, I couldn’t control my wandering eyes, which swept a quick glance under the table to again admire her feet, and her obviously shapely calves. This, of course, elicited yet another giggle from her. Blushing again, I handed her her shoe. Playfully, she held it under the table, then dropped it with a “clunk” onto the floor at her feet. She smiled as she saw my reaction to the sound it made.
I sat, but I felt a bit awkward, and continued to fidget. Holly didn’t seem to notice. She just trudged boldly onward. “So now,” she said in a somewhat lower volume, “is it my feet you like or the stockings?” She sat with her elbows on the table and her chin resting in the palms of her hands, smiling broadly. Clearly, she was enjoying herself immensely.
I felt my face flush hotly as I answered, “Well….both.”
“I can see this is going to be like pulling teeth,” she sighed, and then plowed boldly ahead, “Do you think my feet are sexy? Or, do you think my feet are okay, but sexy in the stockings? It’s an important distinction.”
I couldn’t believe I was having this discussion! I was turned on that this woman seemed to accept my fetish, for whatever reasons, and was openly talking with me about it!
“I think your feet are beautiful….very shapely and sexy. The stockings enhance that, but it’s your feet that I like most.” My face felt red hot, and hotter with each word I shakily uttered.
“Mmmm……good answer. So, then, what’s so sexy about my feet? What do you like about them? Do you get turned on looking at them?” She seemed eager to know what attracted me to her feet, and her eagerness and openness was slowly easing my embarrassment.
“Well, yes, your feet…well…they do turn me on. Every inch of them is so….sensuous….and they’re so….well….expressive….playful….sexy. And…”
“Wait,” she again interrupted. There was a brief pause, at which time I felt a thump on my thighs. Looking down, I saw those two stockinged feet wiggling happily in my lap. “While we talk, you wouldn’t mind massaging my feet for me, would you? They’ve been trapped in those heels all day and could use a nice rub. So go ahead and rub them while you tell me what it is you like most about them. And what do you mean my feet are expressive? That’s an intriguing statement, to say the least.”
“Well,” I said, looking down at her wiggling toes, deciding to focus on the first part of her question first, “your feet have a really nice shape. You have a beautiful high arch, and your toes are nice and even, and you’ve painted your toe nails really nice.”
“My, my…..it’s nice that my feet are so… ‘nice’ ” she laughed, then added, “I’m sorry. Go on. Anything else that gets you hot when you admire my feet?”
“Well, your toes look soft and kis….well, smooth….not boney like some women’s’ toes.”
“Really? Thank you. But what were you really going to say? You started to say something, then stopped.”
“Nothing,” I lied, “I just wanted to say your toes look soft and smooth, that’s all.”
“Tom, honey, I told you before, you can’t fool me. I know you were going to say something else. I have a good idea what it is, but I want to hear you say it. Just like I wanted you to admit that you like my feet, I also want you to admit this. Now…what were you going to say? My toes look soft and …what? Don’t be embarrassed….I thought we were past that now.”
I looked into her beaming face. Even though she smiled pleasantly, I still felt like I’d been snared in a net, and was about to be trussed up all nice and neat. Spurred on by hormones, I bumbled my way to that net willingly. Looking down at the table, I answered her, “Well, I was going to say that your toes look soft and ….well….kissable.”
“Oh…my…that sounds so delicious. My toes are kissable? I like that. Yes, I like that a lot. My, that’s a wonderful thought. Mmmm… and what about the rest of my foot… not so kissable?”
“Oh, no,” I sealed my fate, “not at all….every beautiful inch of your foot is kissable….I just meant…well your toes are just so playful…so….expressive….”
“Ahhh,” she smiled, “there’s that word again. I like that, and yet I don’t even know what you mean. So, what do you mean?”
“Well,” I fumbled for the right words, “you move your feet so…playfully…like they’re having fun teasing me or something. Your feet seem to be an extension of your own personality… or maybe they have their own… I don’t know…mischievous? personality. Guess I’m not making much sense, am I?” I fidgeted again, sighing and feeling utterly lost, unable to communicate that I found her feet not only beautiful, but seductive… enticing.
“On the contrary…you’re making perfect sense to me… but, I am disappointed in something.”
“What’s that?” I asked, somehow feeling desperate to please her.
“Well, my beautiful, expressive feet have been wiggling in your lap, eagerly awaiting their massage, for a while now…and no massage has been forthcoming. Are you going to rub them for me or not?”
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