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Long Days, Long Nights
It’s been over a year and a half since I submitted anything and I still can’t believe how many responses I still get. Hate to have kept ya’ll in suspense, but things for yours truly have been hectic. However, that does not mean that it has been lonely.
Since I last wrote, I’ve completed my first degree and have begun working on my second. I no longer live in Georgia having crossed the MississippiRiver into Louisiana to continue my studies. Since then I’ve been on the run, doing whatever work that has been thrown at me in order to become a college professor. But again, that does not mean it has been lonely.
***Again, I vouchsafe that these are real experiences. Names and places have been altered to ensure the privacy of myself and those involved.***
*** I’d been in grad school for four months and I was just getting an idea of what and where my career would take me. I’d come into a good program with a fairly good staff and several nice colleagues. In my short stay, I’d already managed to build a good position in amongst the other G.A.s (or Grad Assistants) and found myself a member of an elite clique within the social/political hierarchy. In other words, I have a GOOD thing going.
The opportunity had definitely come at the right time. My hometown had run dry of fresh possibilities. A crude way of saying that the dating scene was dead but let’s be honest here. I’m an intellectual, Jewish wiseass. Here in the South where one is surrounded by upper class – sorority – ultra conservative – Christian “Southern Belles” that is the worst handicap a guy can have. “What’s the opposite of Christopher Reeves? Christopher Walken!” Is NOT a good icebreaker.
The Soleman was starving! From those of you who’ve read my previous stories know, I’m pathetic when it comes to self-control and women. (Ok so I’ve gotten lucky and had a few girls jump into bed with me.) I don’t think my aged father realized how much more of a blessing rather than a warning that he gave me when he said, “Watch out for those Cajun girls. They’re crazy.” Amen.
As it was, four months into my first semester that I had my first real opportunity to taste the local “cuisine.” I’d moved into a row of townhouses down by the river that divides the town in two. I was in a nicer section away from the low rent homes and noisy joints that typically mark a college town. Fortunately, we also get a different breed of woman out here. Small duplexes and row apartments interspersed amongst suburbia. This isn’t the atmosphere for the wilder types like apartment complexes and none of the dredges that come from dorm refugees. A cleaner side if you will.
My own neighborhood is a private community, a mix of retirees, upper middle class, and more domesticated college students. The block I live on has two urban professionals and 8 sets of college kids. I live alone myself, my dog, Rip, to keep me company. There were several gorgeous women, but they were either spoken for, or simply immature. What a nice cliché.
The nice thing was the pair of sisters living two doors down. Leslie was the petite, older one, barely standing up to my chest in her constantly bare feet. Let it never be said I have no will power. Lori was the younger, but more boisterous of the two. At 5’7” she looked the part. However I can say nothing has ever tickled me than watching little Leslie chew out her “little” sister, something Lori’s boyfriend, a marine sergeant, not have enough guts to do.
Alas, their precocious nature set me aside as something akin to a brother. Honestly I was cool with that. Leslie also had a boyfriend, so both girls were already spoken for. And my own schedule would never allow for a decent, healthy relationship. Hell, there wasn’t even time for a good fuck buddy! In retrospect, I think all three of us subconsciously realized that and it was because of that we were relaxed around one another. Boy scouts honor, I was my complete unadulterated self.
It sucks…but I wouldn’t have it any other way. If I’d never been in this position, I’d never have had this latest experience.
*** I was always closest with Leslie, not to say that Lori and I didn’t have as rich a friendship. Not only did I help her with a paper (English degrees do have a purpose!) but she’d also set food aside for me on night I got home late from the office and didn’t have time to cook for myself. But I diverge. Leslie…
Leslie’s boyfriend had stationed out in Iraq for already a year. He had already completed his term but was staying on for additional six for personal reasons. He’s also a career jarhead and, as Lori explained it, wouldn’t mind seeing a rise in rank a little faster than what’s average. Sometimes this led to a bit of conflict between Leslie and her beau, his career versus writing her a letter.
I’m not at all dissing our troops, and I’m not playing the “other guy” here. This war has unfortunately brought some ambitious people to the forefront and often let personal relationships go on the slide to feed their ordu escort drive. That’s exactly what I told Leslie when she showed up on my doorstep at 11 o’clock at night looking to vent.
I won’t justify her late visit nor will I try to justify what happened that night. At the time I’d just completed grading finals, my own work completed and handed in a week before. So after a grueling 72 hour stint running files, records, and grade sheets between the various official offices (say that three times fast) I came home that evening completely intent of getting ripped, no connection to my dog.
I’d had a couple of beers and given Rip his favorite treat. Picture if you will a strung out, wrung out grad student sitting on a GoodWill, secondhand couch drinking Woodchuck cider and a oversized English pointer lapping Killians Red out of a chafing dish. Good times. And good times dictate better smoke.
Leslie had left a note on my door earlier in the day stating that she was due in that night and wanted to talk, so I left the front door unlocked and the front light on. Thoroughly relaxed I sat down to watch some TV when Leslie called to give me an estimated time of arrival and an offer for a couple of crawfish po’boys. I left Rip on the couch with his beer and ran upstairs for a quick shower.
I had just stepped out of my bedroom when I heard the familiar rap (shave and a hair cut) of Leslie. I opened the door to find her balancing a couple of take out boxes and her purse. Rip returned her cheery greeting with a sullen beer fart and he skulked upstairs to crash on the futon in my office. As per tradition we sat opposite each other from across the coffee table and the venting began.
Trent (her beau) had gone into another tirade because his CO was making him go home for some R&R, evidently not buying the “good soldier” routine Trent had been playing up. People, I cannot begin nor will I ever understand how a guy with so much to come home to (i.e. the sullen blonde tearing into a Po’Boy while tearing into her boyfriend) would be willing to sacrifice that for personal gain.
As always I didn’t have to say much before her anger lost steam and she slumped back into my pathetic couch sated. “Oh, hey,” She said popping up and digging in her purse. “My friend down in Alec (Alexandria) hooked me up. How about we forget this shit and roll one?” And with that plopped a small baggy of grass onto my table.
I broke out a pack of rolling papers and sitting Indian style on the floor, began to clean a bit for a joint. I was still fresh out of the shower, sitting there in a tank top and jeans with my damp hair in my face. About the hundredth time I flicked the same annoy hair out of my eyes, Leslie let slip a little giggle.
She was still sitting on the couch adjacent to me. By now she’d slipped off her sandals and was reclining back on the tattered mound with her feet stretched out towards me. Absorbed in what I had been doing I’d never noticed and now found myself inches from her cute size 6 feet. Bubble gum pink nails facing up at me. I suppressed a gulp and quickly looked back at her face. (Did those damn things wink at me?!)
“What’s up?” I asked, putting the finishing touches on a nice bomber.
“I was just musing on how funny it looked with you down there. Like some servant.” She grinned. “All I need are the two other guys to fan me with palm leaves.”
I closed the back door and blinds as she lit the tuber. I sat on the couch with her and we caught up on what’s been going on in our lives, trading inside jokes. And got plastered. They say pot is a cortical suppressant, but it didn’t help me not to jump when she swung her legs into my lap suddenly. “Ah Dave, you’re awesome. You cook, you got the looks and attitude,” She sighed. “Unfortunately all my single friends are bitches.”
“So I’m awesome, huh?” I replied between chuckles.
“Oh, Hella yeah.” She said, taking a puff. “We…that is you…need some attention.”
“I got you girls, that’s all I need.”
She patted my hand…which accidentally somehow was on her right foot. That’s the nice thing about being a foot guy; you can cop a feel off women you’re familiar with, without getting smacked. Reflexively I gave a light squeeze. Usually this happens holding hands so it’s only natural. Needless to say it was the best pick up line I ever used.
“Hm, That’s nice. I’ve been driving in those fucking platform all afternoon.”
“Well, you did say I looked like a servant earlier, I’ll be one for…hm..” I glanced at my watch, “One hour and I’ll give you a foot massage.”
Damn she looked cute bouncing up and down like a child with a new toy. “Deal.”
I resumed my earlier position Indian style on the floor, this time facing her. A pillow tactfully dropped over my lap to hide what would be inevitable. Granted folks, I would have given her a foot massage regardless of my fetish. But because it just so happens to be mine (and therefore Our) fetish, certain matters are going to..*ahem*…arise.
She osmaniye escort produced a small bottle of lavender scented lotion and I applied a small dollop to my hands. Rubbing it into my palms I got down to work. For those of you who want to meet the same success as I do (and you know who you are, thanks for all the inquires you guys) takes some notes.
I started out rubbing with my thumb under the ball of her right foot. Evenly displaying the pressure of my other four fingers across the tops of her feet lightly started kneading my thumb in small circles throughout her arch. Using just enough force for it not to be ticklish and not painful. This is seduction people! Not interrogation!
I brought my other hand down her shin and over the tops of her toes, bending them toward me slightly and arching her foot. This traps the nerves along the sole against the bones, maximizing the sensations. Right then I heard the first soft purrs escape her lips.
I put more lotion on my hands and this time began with her Achilles and heel before repeating the process I’d done on her right. I gave her right ankle and heel the same treatment as the left before working both feet.
I rolled my fingertips underneath her arch, this time resulting a small giggle as I hit ticklish spots on purpose. I then flattened my hands against her feet rolling them upward until the meaty part of my palm reach the curl of the ball of her foot.
My fingers curled over, spreading her toes slightly and pushing them back.
“As soon as I remember how to speak I’ll come up with a better word than awesome.” She moaned.
With fifteen minutes to spare I brought both hand one her left foot. Massaging her tender uppers while both thumbs swirled against the sole. She was now alert in her seat, eyes switching between her watch and me. As my hands left her right foot minutes later I announced the end of my “service” and took a swig of my Woodchuck.
“Naw-uh.” She said, “You still owe me two minutes.”
Son of a bitch. She was right! Who did she think was being cheated those two minutes? Me or her!?
“What can do I then madam.” I replied in a bad butler impression.
“You’re not awesome, You’re a saint!” (God I love Catholic girls) “And as my personal saint I’d like it if you blessed my anointed feet.” And with that she burst out giggling.
Caught up in the moment I leaned forward. “Ok,” I said and kissed her right big toe.
This made us both laugh and she again turned her attention to her watch.
“45 seconds, c’mon.”
I shrugged and again leaned in. I finished kissing all the digits on her right foot and leaned over to he left.
“ten…nine…eight..” She counted down as I kissed my way down the lines of little shrimp. Too call her own little bluff I paused long enough for the time to run down to the last three seconds before popping the two last toes (Forget Catholic girls, God bless pinkie toes) into my mouth.
She squealed as I did this, thankfully without any traces of disgust.
“That was weird.” She said smiling.
“What? I was almost out of time. I can’t have you going around telling everyone I cheated you.”
Five minutes later she let out a long breath of air and sighed. “Well I’m glad that’s over.”
I paused with my beer inches from my mouth. “What’s over?”
She lit a cig and leaned back, looking at me down the beam of her tiny, delicate leg.
“That I figured out your deal.”
Now I was totally confused. Alarms and klaxons were going off in my head. I fought off the urge to run and asked, “So what is it?”
“You’re totally into feet.” I must have let something slip past my poker face because she suddenly became apologetic. “No, No! It’s not a bad thing. Shit it’s more convenient than other guys, what with staring at a girl’s tits or ass.”
Utterly defeated I offered up only a silent shrug to signify my agreement.
“Oh No! I mean it!” To emphasize this she pounded her tiny fist against my already beaten couch. After knowing for almost a year I took this to be the onset of one her usual tirades against society’s conventions. I’ll say this, for a sorority chick, she has an awesome sense of individuality.
“Christ, I listen to my stupid ass sorority sisters talk about how when a guy cops a feel on a dance floor, it’s not cheating if your boyfriend is away on duty. In their books it’s like flouncing around in a flimsy bikini. You’re going to get looks.” She paused to catch her breath; this was getting good.
“I understand why you’d hide your preference, those same stupid bitches who wear the bikini also get pedicures but think guys playing with their feet is gross. I Pay to have my toenails and feet cared for too, so if you look at them it’s no more than if I wore a bikini. As a matter of fact it’s better, cause swimsuit lasts awhile, but you’ve gotta get pedicures every few weeks. So you admire my feet, it’s what I paid for them for.”
I applauded and Leslie took ostim escort a small bow. As she was leaning back, however, her foot knocked my shield, my remaining dignity, my pillow from my lap. Her mock pleasure (thank God) turned to real pleasure as a sly Cheshire smile spread across her face as it dawned on her what had been exposed.
“Ooohhh seems my investment has grown too…” She sniggered and lifted her foot up to my pronounced bulge, wiggling her toe into its peak. I stopped breathing.
The next few moments stretched into hours as I went deaf. The only thing I could hear was my heart beating in my ears as she began to “play” with me. She was leaning forward now. Hands planted on her knees and her lips parted slightly. Her eyes glued to the mass that she discovered in my lap. By now both feet framed my very erect cock through my loose jeans, her feet alongside it dwarfed. “Let me see, “she breathed.
“Leslie, I think…”
“Let me see” she said cutting me off.
This wasn’t a lusty desperate command. Nor was this a playful taunt. Both times she’d spoken Leslie’s eyes never left my crotch. There was a hint of concern in her voice; it was gentle, meager. She wasn’t quite detached, rather, she was homed in on what she had produced from me. It was like she could believe the situation, but determined to know the extent of the “damage.”
I slowly unbuttoned my jeans and worked them down; Leslie lent a “hand” by hooking her toes into the waste band of my boxers and slid them down. As my extended member flipped out from it’s cotton prison she again framed me with her feet, this time the distended pole poking straight through the hole made between her arches.
“With any other part of my body this would be cheating.” She said slowly sliding her feet up and down.
“How’s this different?” I asked, worried that she’d bolt.
“This is like dancing, it’s not cheating if a dance partner grinds into you.” She said.
“Isn’t this a bit different than that, I mean…clothes?”
“Right” and with that she slid her shorts down and off. No panties, no hair. Little Leslie likes to shave…
“This is different,” She said folding her shorts next to her and putting her feet back on my dick, “Because you’re the dance floor and I’m the only one grinding into me.” With that she slid a finger against her slit.
“I’ve never done this before, Dave. Am I doing it right?”
I suddenly found it hard to breathe, “You’re doing perfect.”
“It was so fucking great when you did that thing with my toes.”
“You mean sucking them?”
“No, that was mind blowing, I almost came right then! But what I’m taking about was spreading my toes. I wanna try something, ok?”
She laughed, “I hope not. C’mon up here and sit on the other end from me.”
I scrapped my now useless jeans and sat where I was asked to. Leslie never stopped diddling herself the whole time and launched her feet back to my dick the second I sat down.
Her tiny toes could barely accommodate me, but she managed to slip me between the big and index toes of her right and left feet.
“God it’s like having a red-hot silk rod between my toes!”
I simply shuddered.
“Can you cum like this?” She asked, her eyes big and hoping.
“Of course, I wouldn’t enjoy feet totally if there wasn’t some way I got off on it, right?”
“Perfect. You’re going to cum when I do.” Her hand was now frantic, spreading the delicate folds of her female blossom, pausing to rub vigorously into her clit.
“Well slow down or I won’t be able to.”
“Doesn’t this feel good,” she said, pouting.
“Oh it feels brilliant, but it’s just not hitting the right spots me make keep pace with you.”
“How’s this then?” And she slid her left foot off and pressed the sole against the underside of my erection. Her right foot still had me locked between her big and second toe, stroking. On every down stroke the sensitive spot underneath my dick head would rub against the soft ball of her foot. Her left toes gently gripping my tip. She got an immediate answer as precum began oozing out the hole and collected between her toes and down along my shaft. Lubricated her right toes now slid deftly up and down my swollen length.
“Goddamn,” Was all I could manage as my body locked in sheer ecstasy.
Leslie began murmuring sweet urgings as her fingers matched pace with her skillful toes.
“C’mon, cum. Want, need feel it on my feet. Foot fucker, my stud. Cum.” It became one long word, an incessant chant.
My eyes drifted back and forth from her feet to her gushing pussy. She has two fingers working inside of herself. The thumb flicking across her clit whenever on a down stroke, meeting her highest moment of pleasure with mine. Suddenly I felt her muscles strain and her speed doubled.
“C’mon horse cock. Cum, Footstud, cum. God I’m so close. Close.” She rolled her head back for again locking into a starring contest with my blind, one-eyed member. “Cum on my feet. Let me feel it.”
That’s all it took for my body to relinquish its hold on the building orgasm. My body drained as I came harder than ever before. I was reeling in orgasmic, pot-tainted glory and I unloaded months of pent up juices.
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