I could slap myself for how many times I didn’t have the guts to ask.
Girls are supposed to love foot massages, right? It’s a well-known trope: foot rubs are the best way to pamper a woman. Guys don’t like giving them, but they’re great for showing her that you really care.
Except I’m not like most guys. I would absolutely love giving a girl a foot massage. Honestly, I think about feet just about every hour of the day.
So why can I never get up the guts to offer one?
I can’t tell you how many times I could have. I’d be hanging around a casual girl friend, we’d be at an event where we had to do a lot of walking—hell, she might have even been complaining about her sore feet. Often I’d be next to her on a long bus ride home. All I’d have to do is offer her a nice foot rub, she’d slip off her sneakers and socks, and then she’d prop her gorgeous, smelly feet up in my lap. I’d be ecstatic.
But then again, it might not play out that way. Maybe she wouldn’t feel comfortable enough around me to let me perform an act as intimate as that. Maybe she’s too ticklish, or self-conscious about the way her feet look or smell. Or maybe she’s just plain shy. She would turn me down and all it would lead to would be awkwardness, or even worse, her thinking I’m a creep.
So I never asked. And I never knew.
But I’m going to change that. Right now. I had been planning this moment weeks in advance, the one thing I was looking forward to about a lackluster high school field trip. I knew the kinds of clothes girls wore in the Summer, and I knew there’d be a solid eight hours on our feet, and I knew there’d be a dull two-hour bus ride home. I even knew which girl I’d ask.
Kate was a flirt. Though I had a hopeless crush on her, I knew she didn’t care for me more than any other boy that she teased. Oh, she would hug me for just a moment too long, sometimes even hold my hand … she’d never kiss me, of course, but she toyed with me enough to make me want it. And of course, I also wanted her feet.
Ironically, I’d never gotten a great look at her feet. Sure, she would often wear open shoes, and occasionally I’d get the odd glimpse at her soles, but never anything firm or lasting. I was in desperate need of her foot love. And the best part was, a teasing, sensual, but not too intimate (to the normal guy) act like a foot massage was just the kind of thing she was bound to be into.
I was almost satisfied to see that Kate was wearing sneakers. Flip-flops show the most, but if my plan worked, closed shoes would have her feet so deliciously sweaty and stinky. The day came and went, hot as hell, and so much walking. I didn’t talk to Kate much, aside from some sparse banter: I was saving myself for the ride home.
I followed her into the bus. On the way there, she had been sitting in the very back, on a three-person seat with two of her friends. Now she’s there alone, eating from a bag of peach rings.
“You got my favorite,” I tell her. “Expecting anyone?”
“Take a seat!” she says. “Peach rings are my favorite too.”
I sit down, and she hands me a ring. “Thanks,” I say, chewing meditatively. “I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted. These field trips make me sore all over.” I have my script down perfectly.
“I know, right?” She stretches her legs out for a moment. They are golden tan, with well-curved calves, beautiful. She presses her shoes up against the back of the seat in front of her. “Yeah, my legs and feet are killing me.”
She’s right where I want her. Quickly, I stick my hand in her peach ring bag, pulling out a few.
“Hey, hey, hey!” she chides, “I don’t like you that much!”
“I’ll pay you back,” I say.
“No, you won’t,” she smirks.
“Okay, fine, I’m broke. So I’ll give you something other than money.”
“Like what?” she asks skeptically.
“Well what do you need right now? A massage maybe? A foot rub!” Check and mate. Will she bite?
“Hah! As if,” she says. I can’t quite read her reaction.
“Well, your loss. I was ready to.”
“You wouldn’t really, would you?” she asks, quite innocently. I have to make my next words count.
“Sure I would. For another handful of peach rings.” I’m so damn grateful for those peach rings. Bargaining makes this a lot easier than I’d pictured it.
For several agonizing seconds, she stares me down with this sexy smile. As I realize what’s happening, I become aware of my heart beating in my ears.
“Deal,” she says, finally, and my heart stops completely.
Could it be this easy? Is this really happening? But my thoughts are cut short by Kate’s shoes propped up in my lap.
Across the three seats, we have plenty of room. She turns to face me, her legs stretched out toward me from the right. Her cute purple-and-white sneakers are now resting on my leg expectantly.
Barely believing what I’m doing, I work the sneakers off of her feet, letting them drop to the floor of the bus. Underneath them are a pair of pink ankle socks. A mild but noticeable foot smell begins to float up towards my face. Let’s just say my dick hasn’t been off duty this whole time, but when that cheesy odor hit me, the old boy really let loose. I glance up at Kate. I assume she’s oblivious to little Michael Junior, but she seems to have noticed the smell of her own feet, as she bites her lip and glances away, embarrassed.
I look back to her socks. For a moment I panic, wondering if I’ll actually be able to deliver with the foot rub. I pull myself back together. I haven’t torn through countless online videos, articles—even actual books on massage—for nothing. I can do this. I begin to run my left palm up and down her soles.
“Hey, socks off, cheater,” she says suddenly. “You’d better do it right if you want these peach rings.”
I can hardly believe it, but I’m not about to complain. I give her a casual grin, and follow her instructions.
I peel her left sock off of her heel, and up over her toes, followed by her right. Revealed before me are the feet I’ve been longing for for years. Like the rest of her body, they are tanned, with slightly paler soles. They are medium sized, with high arches, cute chubby toes, and lavender toenail polish.
It feels unreal when I touch them. The first contact of my fingers sends a stream of pleasure through my body. They are amazingly warm, soft, and slightly moist. The smell is definitely getting stronger, a buttery, popcorn-like aroma.
I begin to massage her left foot, rubbing my thumbs up and down her arch. As I do, she stretches and wiggles her toes. She’s so cute. I can’t keep myself from smiling. I try not to stare at her feet too much, but what else can I do?
As my thumbs begin to circle the heel and ball of her foot, I hear Kate sigh. She has her arms folded, leaning back, eyes closed.
“That feels so good,” she coos. “You’re earning your candy.”
I inwardly congratulate myself. My first foot massage is a success! If I can only just keep it up long enough. After an ample amount of time, I begin to rub Kate’s toes, sliding a finger through each gap as I’d seen done in videos. Sometime during this part, Kate’s foot twitches and her whole body jerks ever so slightly. I understand that I must have tickled her, and I realize how terribly I want to see how much of a ticklish reaction I can get out of her feet. I vaguely recall Kate’s older brother bragging about how he and his friends had once duct taped her to her bed and tickled her all through a night. The thought of that made me as hard as a rock at the time, but I keep myself from doing anything stupid. If she gets shy now, it could ruin the moment.
I start the whole treatment again on her right foot, crossing her legs at the ankles to get a better reach. She’s so relaxed that I might have thought she was asleep, if she didn’t let out a little pleased sigh every few minutes.
At this point, the sweet foot odor has saturated the area so completely, that I have almost gotten used to it. I feel like I can comfortably call attention to it now.
“You know something, girl?” I ask casually, “Your feet are pretty stinky.”
I stare very hard at her face, wanting to gauge her response. Her eyes snap open, and she blushes slightly. After a concerned glance at me, her smirk matches my own. “Didn’t know what you were getting into?”
“Don’t worry, I don’t mind it too much. It was just reminding me of the times my sisters used to tease me with their stinky feet. They used to make me smell them.”
“Really? Sounds like fun sisters.” The smirk at her lips slowly begins to widen.
“Hah! I guess. Could be annoying sometimes, but it was pretty cute. Did your brothers ever do something like that to you?”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh yes. All the time. One used to pin me down, and the other would stick his foot in my face.”
“There you go. How long would they make you smell it for?”
“Never more than a few seconds. I couldn’t take it much longer.”
I carefully frame my next thought. “Want to make a bet? For the rest of your peach rings?”
This is the tipping point, when she’ll either step right into my plan, or be lost forever. I honestly have no idea if this will work. She raises her eyebrows, so I go on.
“I have to smell your feet,” I tell her, heart beating in my ears, “for a whole minute, say. If I last, I get the candy.”
She continues to look at me, and I can almost see her mind working. After a moment, she grins.
“You’re freaky. But it’s a deal.”
This is my greatest victory, my triumph. “You can time me with this,” I say, handing her my watch, “And you can even make sure I don’t breathe through my mouth.” As I tell her this, I lift her left foot up to my face and press the ball of her foot against my closed mouth. I feel her warm and sweaty skin against my lips. Despite what I’m longing to do, I keep my tongue inside my mouth. I give her a gesture to start timing, as I lift her right foot to my nose.
With all the control of a method actor, I keep my face straight. The slightest hint that I’m enjoying this could ruin the whole thing. I stick my nose directly between her first and second toes. Underneath her toes, in the fold where they meet the ball of the foot, is where the smell is most strong. I bury my nose in this, and breathe deeply. Heaven. Shivers go through my body. That warm, cheesy, buttery popcorn smell fills my lungs, seemingly filling my entire body. All I can smell is feet. All I can think is feet. I can feel the warmth, the wetness, the aroma smothering and enveloping me. My penis engorges to it’s full strength, throbbing, dripping into my pants.
I haven’t been keeping eye contact with Kate, for obvious reasons, but after a while, I have to glance at her. She’s looking directly at my crotch. My heart jumps as I realize how visible my excitement must have become by this point, and I wonder what I should do. Before I can think of an explanation, Kate’s eyes meet mine, and she gives me a narrow-eyed, knowing look. Carefully, she pulls her left foot away from me, and sets it in my lap. Her toes are just millimeters away from my bulge, tormenting me. My resolve starts to weaken, and against my will, I let out a horny moan. After what now seems like longer than a minute, Kate clears her throat.
“Time’s up,” she murmurs. Trying not to look disappointed, I let go of her right foot.
Very slowly, she pulls her feet away from me, setting them gently on the floor of the bus. She’s putting on her socks and shoes, as if getting ready to leave. She begins to stand up, moving to a seat farther up. For a minute, I’m afraid that I’ve upset her, that she won’t speak to me. But then, with a coy glance, she turns back to me.
“Good show, Michael, good show. I’m impressed. But … I don’t think you’ll mind if I keep the peach rings.”