The conversation while Tracy drove me to my car was a little awkward. We were both thinking the same things and just started blurring them out when we pulled out of the lot. I’m thankful we did, because if we had the time to stop and think before talking about it things may have been much different.
I can’t believe we just did that.
Me neither.
Are you ok with it?
Yes, I am. Are you?
Mhmm, I’m ok with it. I was a little worried that it might make things weird.
I know what you mean, I was worried about the same thing, but I really enjoyed it.
So did I, so you don’t feel any differently, like it hasn’t changed our friendship?
Not for me, how about you?
No, I actually feel good about it.
Me too, now that we’re both good with it I’m really glad we did that.
Really?
Yes. I’ve been thinking about something like that for a while now, so it’s great that we did and won’t be uncomfortable with each other.
We pulled into the lot and Tracy dropped me off at my car. I made a weak joke about still being able to smell her foot from where it rubbed on my nose and she laughed a little, asking if that was a good thing or a bad thing. I answered that it was definitely good and told her I’d see her tomorrow morning.
The next morning she got on the train, looking great as usual, and wearing the same brown boots, this time with brown stockings and a mustard colored skirt and top. We said good morning, talked about everything except what we were both thinking about, until she said “so… about yesterday…” I had a feeling that she was feeling weird about it after having time to sleep on it and my heart dropped. We had become an unlikely couple of friends and above all I didn’t want that to change.I told her that yesterday was unexpected, but a pleasant surprise. She responded “really? I thought for sure you were just being nice about it.” I assured her that I really did enjoy it, and told her I was worried that she had a change of heart after having time to think it over. She laughed, telling me that there’s no way she would rethink a free foot massage, and we both relaxed.
I told her I would be glad to give her one any time she wanted, hoping that I wasn’t pushing my luck. She gave me a funny look and said “Really? I would love that. I promise I won’t rub my feet on your face again.” Well that was my favorite part of the encounter, and I asked her why not. She turned a little red, admitting that she smelled her boots when she got home and said “My feet didn’t exactly smell pleasant.” I disagreed, and told her they smelled fantastic to me. I was worried that maybe I had freaked her out when I turned my head to get her foot on my face. She laughed, telling me that it surprised her, but the air blowing between her toes felt nice so she just went along. I was relieved that she was ok with it and I let her know that I hoped she wouldn’t mind if it happened again. She was surprised, thinking that it was just an “in the moment” kind of thing, but now she was finally starting to understand that I really did like that her feet were very sweaty, and loved the feeling and smell when they were pressed to my face. We got to the city and got off the train. As we were about to go to our separate subways, I blurted out that I meant what I said, and would gladly repeat what we did any time. She looked back over her shoulder and smiled, saying she would take me up on that.
Thankfully things went back to normal. We rode in together most days, and had our same friendly, semi-flirty conversations, and enjoyed each other’s company. Tracy had decided to put herself out there again, and I learned more than I ever wanted to know about the lesbian dating scene. Her family and friends from home were fine with her being gay, but didn’t want to hear about it much, and she didn’t hang out much with people from work, so I became the one she talked to. It was about this time we both realized that despite all the flirting, we were both happy to admit we were in the friend zone. I was her version of a straight woman’s gay male friend. There was an attraction, a little more closeness and intimacy than there should be, a very good friendship, and the understanding that nothing more would come of it.
The “incident” as we jokingly called it came up in conversation a few times, mostly because I gave her a hard time about her wearing those same boots the day after she thought they smelled so bad, but we didn’t really talk about it until a couple of weeks later when Tracy asked if I was serious when I said that I would repeat it whenever she wanted. Of course I answered yes, and she said she was thinking she might want to take me up on it again. She had started working out after work, kind of overdid it the day before, and her feet and ankles were already killing her on the way into work. I told her I’d be glad to hang out and wait for her after work and her face just lit up.
We rode back to her train station together after work. She usually wore bright clothes and shoes with block heels, but today was uncharacteristically dark; black bodysuit, skirt, and stockings, with black suede ankle boots that had a flat heel and fringe on the ankle. I commented on it and was told that she wasn’t allowed to wear sneakers at her job, so those boots were the most comfortable shoes she had that were suitable for work with her ankle hurting.
We got to her car and drove to the back of the lot again. This time she slid closer at the start and rested her feet on my left leg. I took off her right boot and started rubbing her foot, but she asked me to take them both off. I said sure and started pulling off her left boot. I rested her right foot back on my leg, but she lifted it back up and put it on my chest saying “”is this ok?” Of course it was ok. As I rubbed her left foot, I felt the right one moving around on my chest, pressing in when I squeezed her foot or hit a sore spot, pulling back a little when I lightened up, but slowly sliding up the whole time. I looked up at her when I felt her toes touching my collarbone and there she was, biting her bottom lip. I asked what she was thinking about, and she answered nothing in particular. I knew that wasn’t true, so I told her that if she was wondering if I would be willing to breathe through her toes again the answer was yes. I was just hoping that would put the idea in her head. Maybe it did or maybe that was what she was thinking about, but almost immediately she pressed the ball of her foot to my mouth with her toes wrapped around my nose. I inhaled deeply, smiled, and looked up to see her smiling back.
“I can’t believe you like this, but I’m really happy that you do.” Hearing that totally made my day and put a big smile on my face. “I know exactly what you mean,” I responded. She leaned back, and relaxed into the massage. Her feet were warm, but not as damp as the first time, and although there was some foot scent, they definitely didn’t smell as strong as during our first encounter. Each time I squeezed or hit a sore spot she pushed her right foot harder into my face. The first couple of times she apologized, but I assured her it was something I liked and after a while she stopped worrying about it. The next twenty minutes or so were spent like this, rubbing one foot with the other pressed against my mouth and nose.I was a little surprised when she pulled her feet away and rested both on my chest.
There was still about ten minutes until the next train unloaded and I figured she would want this to last as long as possible. “Something wrong?” I asked. She said no, that she was just still surprised that I liked having her feet on my face like that for that long. I answered that it wasn’t very long, her feet didn’t smell as strongly as before, and that I loved it anyway. She told me the smell was because of the boots, which had been my guess, and at the same time slid both feet up to my face, resting them there with my nose between her arches. “Is it ok?” she asked, and I answered that it was more than ok. She said she felt bad that she was getting all the benefits out of this, wanted to do something for me, and would just rest them there for a few minutes, promising not to push and apologizing yet again for doing it earlier. I sat there, enjoying the feeling and smell of her feet resting on my face, and told her that I really didn’t mind when she pushed her foot on me. In fact I enjoyed the pressure when she did that. “Like this?” she asked as she pushed her feet into my face a little.
“Mmmmm, yes. Like that.”
“Am I pushing too hard?”
“There’s no such thing as too hard.”
“Oh really?”
At this she slid closer and pushed her feet until the back of my head touched the window, and then pressed a bit harder.
“How about now?”
“That feels really nice.”
“Oh crap!!”
She suddenly pulled her feet from my face, spun around, and started the car. The ten minutes went by way too fast and the people getting off the train were starting to walk to their cars in the lot. Tracy drove out of the lot in her stocking feet and didn’t put her shoes on until we got to my car..
To be continued…