feet, a closer taste

When I was 18 years old, a close friend of mine introduced me to a click of
friends he knew from an old neighborhood. They were all girls, go figure.
The problem for me was that they were all 14 years old, just too young for
my taste. They were fun to hang out with though. Being out of school for
the summer and having my own wheels, I decided in my boredom to visit the
girls on my own. Mary was out with her parents that day, leaving me with
Nicole, Christine, and Janet and we played basketball outside for about two
hours. Chris said that she was thirsty and Nicole happened to live the
closest to the playground so we went to her house. While we were drinking,
one of the girls, I think it was Janet, said spontaneously and innocently,
“Hey, you should see Nicole write with her feet! She is pretty good at it.”
Nicole was a bit sheepish about it and said, “I don’t want to.” I couldn’t
leave it alone and pressed her into showing me. Eventually, she got a pen
and a pad and sat down on the couch. I saw her ankles disappeared into the
dirty off-white canvas sneakers that were two-toned with a darker area
primarily around the front of her sneaks where her sweat had soaked the
canvas. I knew her feet would be ripe and I had never seen her feet, the
suspense had a hold on me. She peeled her old, very used and wet sneakers
off by stepping on the backs of them, revealing her now bare feet and then
sat on her hands while she proceeded to put her feet on the edge of the
coffee table and asked, “What shall I write?” She struggled to uncap the
pen with her sweaty toes and finally succeeded, trapping the pen between the
toes of her right foot. I knelt down on the floor opposite her leaning on
the coffee table with my arms folded across the front of me so that I had a
very close view of her talent. The other two girls remarked how stinky her
feet were, they made faces and held their noses and rolled their eyes.
Nicole laughed. I was much closer than they were and said nothing to which
they now felt the need to challenge me. Chris said, “Eeeww, doesn’t that
stink bother you?” and Janet chimed in with, “How can you stand it? I smell
it way over here.” She was right, the whole room swelled with the malodor
of her feet. I said, “It doesn’t smell strong to me, I just want to see if
she can really write with her toes.” Chris then challenged again by saying,
“I think you like it.” I told her to knock it off. During this time,
Nicole’s knees were bent and she had her feet resting on the edge of the
table and with the pen still caught in the toes of her right foot, she was
slapping the pen against the sole by curling her toes. She said, “I know my
feet smell, its funny you don’t” to which she dropped the pen and
straightened out her legs across the narrow coffee table so that her feet
were about eight inches beneath and about six inches in front of my nose.
She started spreading her toes and waving her feet by flexing her ankle up
and down wafting her scent in direct defiance of my olfactory sense and
said, “You don’t smell that?” She was the prettiest girl of the bunch with
a knockout figure which didn’t help any. I looked down at those dainty
little white teen feet with patterns still impressed into the tops of her
feet from the sneakers and bright pink soles and tiny, black, grimy
particles stuck to her feet around her toes from deep inside her crusty,
old, hand-me-down sneakers. The sun shone a beam through the window
directly onto her peds which dazzled and glistened with her sweat. Indeed,
everyone could smell her feet and they all knew it but I was close enough to
smell the details. I could smell the fermented canvas of her sneakers, aged
over months of sweaty feet jumping rope, playing dodgeball or bicycling
around the block. I could smell the unmistakable rubber sole which was now
exposed because of the excessively worn cotton solepad.

Though my mind fought to protect my image and commanded my lips to protest,
my eyes betrayed me as beyond my best effort, I could not look away. I was
entranced. I knew what the girls were thinking and I did not want them to
know but I was losing my concentration for what they were saying and I could
feel my fear and inhibition give way to my lustful hunger for those steamy
wet toes. This was not good because I was being stupidly obvious and they
would never let me forget it, or anyone else. Do I remember Nicole’s Mom
being next door? My mouth dry, I swallowed hard and suggested in a feeble
voice, “Nicole, why don’t you write our names?” I knew that she only stared
back at me, smiling. I quickly followed with, “C’mon, start with Chris’
name.” My eyes never left her toes. I was studying the spaces in between
her toes, thinking about how snuggly my tongue would press in between,
forming to the shape of the cavity and what delectable morsels I would be
scrubbing from the sides of her toes. I would then jam my nose into the
space under her toes, slowly inhaling the bouquet of her sweaty digits while
gently grinding her toe grit between my teeth.

What? I must have been daydreaming there for a minute. Damn, I looked at
Chris and she was still giggling but looking at me wide eyed in disbelief.
I looked at Janet and she was ready to cry from laughter and stealing
glances through her clenched eyes. I looked back at the only other person
in the room besides me, Nicole who, with a nasty grin fixed on her lips,
took the moment while I was looking up to lift her right foot to my face.
If I had seen this coming, I would have quickly dodged it as I had suffered
enough humiliation already. I felt heat rise into my nose as if my face was
over a radiator and then a hot, wet pressure enveloped the lower portion of
my face as she gently pressed the ball of her foot and toes against my mouth
and then slowly dragged downward. As she did that, the ball of her sticky
sole rolled my bottom lip open and my teeth parted slightly. I was staring
straight into her big brown eyes and saw her figure out the next step in
that moment. I believe that her intention was to slide her foot down to,
and off my chin but she spied my tongue peeking from behind my ajar teeth
and changed her mind. Her toes paused and gently curled over my lip and my
heart stopped as I choked back a swallow in the back of my throat. No, she’s
going to do it, here, RIGHT NOW! And in front of Chris and Janet! Where is
her Mom? She is only 14! But she is a very pretty 14. Probably closer to
15, yeah. And the smell. Her toes were steeped like teabags in sweat. I
could feel the steamy acrid stench casually wafting upward across my now
sensitive wet upper lip from her toe sweat a minute ago. No, I thought to
myself. Nicole, please don’t. Fear welled in me as I read her intentions
from the grin on face that told volumes. The smooth toenail from her big
toe brushed my upper lip as it passed under. No. I felt the front of her
toenail contact my incisors. As she adjusted downward, her nail clicked as
it left my teeth to go deeper. Please. Rape. I felt the girth of her toe
as she slowly invaded the inner sanctum of my mouth with the southern-most
tip of her body. My resistance spent, I allowed the volume of her seemingly
massive toe to gently press my teeth apart. I opened and gave her full
access. Her toe floated without further contact until I felt my left cheek
bottom against the cleft between her big toe and second toe. Then I closed
my eyes as the entire length of her massive toe landed soft upon my tongue,
oooooohh. In that moment, with time moving so slowly and all of my senses
fully aware and focused in anticipation of that pinnacle moment, I thought
to myself that I will never come closer to understanding a woman’s
anticipation of intercourse, my hot wet receptacle and her invading hot
probe. Do not misunderstand, I felt no sexual ambiguity but I now felt a
clear understanding.

As a reflex, my tongue wrapped around her toe, hugging in lust. The taste
that exploded on my tongue was greater than I imagined. I thought of
onions, thinking this will taint my breath for days, but oh, the bliss. The
flavor was wine to me as I sealed my lips tight around the base of her toe
and sucked. My tongue rubbed her toe, freeing a few grimy particles and I
swilled her sweaty wine over my tongue and reveled in the powerful flavor
that spilled from her most incredible lollypop. I dared not swallow to
waste her nectar. My tongue danced over the smooth skin and caressed over
the nail, brushing her cuticle and exploring under her clean, unpainted,
manicured nail.

It is now that reality deals me a crushing blow to my temple. I heard at
first, a faint sound of a speaking voice but I missed what it said, then I
replayed it in my head as my mind became lucid again. It was Chris who
said, “Oh my GOD, I don’t believe it! I’m next!” to which Janet argued,
“No, me next!”. Those words yanked my concentration out of my mouth and
opened my eyes. I bolted upright on my knees. There was a loud “PUCK” as
my lips left her toe and lifted her foot an inch or two, the seal was broken
and her heel gently hit the table when it fell.

I was mortified! What have I done? I stood up and looked down at Nicole
who from this vantage point seemed like a giggly 14 year old again. I could
think of nothing to say to her. No one was laughing anymore. Chris, who
was untying her sneakers feverishly said, “Do me next!” to which I volleyed
in return, “No! This didn’t happen!” I could hear the back door open, it
was Nicole’s Mom, rustling a bag in the kitchen. I beat tracks out of
there. All the way back to my van (a bed on wheels my Dad always called
it), Janet and Chris badgered me saying, “Aw, please? We promise not to
tell anyone!” I just said, “No, please forget this happened.” I know that
three young, teen girls wore that story as a badge of honor and glory and
proudly told it to everyone. I couldn’t go back there, ever. I told my
buddy that they were too young and that I didn’t feel comfortable going
back.

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