A Train Encounter – Part 4
During the drive I mentioned how surprised I was that her shoes made that much of a difference in how strong her feet smelled. Tracy laughed and said that her boots were pretty new, and that I sounded disappointed. Absolutely not! I was more than happy any time she wanted to rub her feet on my face and I told her so. I was just a little surprised, although I admit I did like the intensity of the smell the first time. Then I started laughing about how it ended today, with her getting into a flustered mess when we lost track of time and she saw people walking in the lot while she was pushing my head against the window. She laughed about it too, saying that she knows people in town and didn’t want to have to start explaining if anyone saw what we were doing.
Tracy changed the subject a little by saying “oh yeah, about that…”, and then proceeded to ask me what was up with the pushing, and why didn’t I tell her about it earlier. I reminded her that I told her way back that I like being walked and stood on, and she told me not to change the topic. I explained that I wasn’t changing the topic; pressing her feet onto my face was like a watered down version of being stood on.
She was still confused, asking what it had to do with having my back walked on, which she would do if we had more space by the way. I thanked her for the thought and stored that away in my memory, and then told her that although I do enjoy it, I never said that I only like having my back walked on. She gave me a look and said something like “um… ok?” and then asked if I would rather she wore her old brown boots the next time.
I almost jumped out of my seat and exclaimed “the next time?”
Tracy said well yeah, you said you would do it any time, I like it and you seem to like it, so yeah. I was ecstatic, and joked about her scheduling a regular appointment at my carside massage parlor. She laughed and answered that a visit every week or two might be just what the doctor ordered. I told her that was music to my ears, and whatever shoes she wanted to wear would be fine with me. She then started telling me about various shoes she had but stopped and said “wait, on your face?”
I shook my head, and said “what?”
She answered “you said not just on your back, are you saying you’d like it if I walked on your face, and that’s why you liked when I pushed your head back like that?” I was relieved that we were pulling up to my car, feeling a little embarrassed about it and asked “is that too weird?” She answered that it was odd, but not really that weird in the grand scheme of things.
I was relieved, and told her so, and then laughed and said “you huh?” She responded “What?” I told her that when she asked about it she didn’t ask if I like having women stand on my face, but asked if I’d like it if she did it. Well now it was time for her to feel embarrassed. Tracy went from her normal pale skin to beet red in maybe three seconds, and just said “jerk” and pushed my shoulder.
She tried to explain that she was thinking about her feet on my face when it hit her, and she just blurted it out with herself as part of the vision. I let her off the hook and told her yes, I meant that I like having my face stood on, of course I would like it if it was her. I gave her a wise ass grin, joked that I was glad she was thinking about it, and got out of her car.
As I was opening my door she rolled down her window and said “hey, I’m 125 lbs you know”. I looked at her and said “ok?” to which she responded “just thought you’d like to know what you’re in for if I ever find you on the floor”. Then she rolled up the window, flashed one of the sweetest smiles ever, and pulled away.
I stood there watching Tracy’s car pull out, stunned, a little shaky, and more than a little excited. As you can probably imagine, from that moment on I dreamed about some situation where we could get together someplace other than in her car, but we hadn’t even traded phone numbers so it was just a dream. There was so much running through my mind that I just sat in my car for a few minutes, and then started using the voice recorder on my phone to save my thoughts. Usually I would get around to hand writing everything in my journal before bed or the next day, but this was just a lot.
That night I played back what I had recorded while writing in my journal, and was surprised at how much more I remembered doing it that way than waiting until the next day. From that night on I recorded my thoughts immediately like this immediately after Tracy and I said good night.
Tracy was all questions the next day from the minute she sat down. Did I seriously like having women walk on my face or is it just a fantasy? Doesn’t it hurt? Would you rather smell a woman’s feet or have her walk on your face? She wasn’t even waiting for me to answer before blurting out the next question. I was laughing, telling her that I was glad she was so interested, and joking that I should have recorded her for my journal. She looked puzzled, so I told her that I had been keeping a personal journal since my marriage started to fall apart, that lately she has been in it a lot, and how much better the previous day’s entry was since I sat in the car and recorded my thoughts. She kind of withdrew a little, so I assured her that it wasn’t anything weird, and she was welcome to see it if she wanted. She said it was ok, she didn’t need to, but I didn’t want it to become a problem.
The next day I brought my journal with me and handed it to her on the train. She relaxed as she started reading through it, realizing that it really was just an account of my life, not a stalker manifesto or anything creepy like that. Later that day, while waiting for the train back home, Tracy said she was thinking about some of the stuff in my journal and asked if she could make some notes so that it would show both perspectives instead of just mine. I loved that idea so we went to the station bar and sat at a high table. By the time she was done most of my journal entries had her notes scribbled in the margins. I read what she added, and asked if she would mind me pulling everything into a story and posting it in a foot fetish forum that I was a part of. She was just fine with that, as long as she got to read everything before I put it online.
The next few days were tense. Tracy was in a funk because she had joined a dating service but none of the women she met recently had any potential beyond the first date and most of our conversations were about how hard dating is as an adult. As we were getting off the train the following Tuesday Tracy said “I was thinking, how about tomorrow?” I looked at her, most likely with a confused look on my face, and said “tomorrow?” She answered yes, it was matinee day at the theaters, it would be a long day with a lot of running around, so it would be a good day for her weekly parking lot spa appointment.
I laughed, saying that I almost forgot about that, which of course I didn’t and she called me out on it. I told her that would be great. “Great, tomorrow it is. I’ll wear my brown boots for you. That should give you some incentive.” Yes, it would indeed. I was disappointed when she wasn’t on the train the next morning. I was hoping that she may have just missed it. After work I sat at the bar in the Hoboken train station until the train she usually took home left the station. It was after 7:30 at this point and the trains were starting to spread out a little, so I decided to get on the train when the 7:50 pulled in. The only upside was that this was a direct train so would get me home by 8:30 without a transfer. I felt someone pushing me as I was going up the steps to get on the train, turned around in a bad mood, and there was Tracy huffing and puffing behind me in her old brown boots and brown stockings.
“Sheesh, are you deaf? I was yelling down the platform to you”. I told her I didn’t hear her, but since she wasn’t on the morning train I wasn’t really listening. As it turned out she had taken an earlier train because her executive chef resigned without notice and her manager called a 7:30am meeting to let them all know. She had to stay late while he had the same meeting with the late shift, so didn’t get out until after 7:00 and ran to catch the PATH to Hoboken. I just said “damn, that’s a long day” to which she replied “tell me about it”.
As we got close to her station she got kind of quiet, and sheepishly asked if my parking lot massage parlor was open this late. I told her of course, it was open any time she wanted. She gave me a tired smile and said “thanks, I really need it.” She was dragging a bit by the time we got to her car, and when I closed the door I asked if she was sure, and said she looked like she was about to collapse. She said “definitely”, spun to face me, slid forward, and rested her booted feet on my chest, leaning back until she was almost laying on the driver’s seat. I looked at the boots on my chest, enjoying the feeling of them there, and started squeezing her calves, causing her to push a little and mumble “mmm that feels good”.
After a couple of minutes I joked about how tired she must be since she didn’t bother waiting for her boots to come off before resting them on me. She realized what she did and started to apologize. I cut her off and told her it was fine, then asked if she wanted me to take her boots off and rub her feet, to which she of course said “yes please”.
I left her feet on my chest and unzipped her boots, hoping to get them both off at the same time. She pulled a little to help me get them off, and as her feet popped out she planted them both on my face and pushed the back of my head against the window. The smell made me jerk a little, blink my eyes, and cough; it was incredibly strong and her stocking feet were almost wet with sweat from having her boots on for over 14 hours at that point. She giggled sleepily and said “something wrong?”, but didn’t take her feet off my face. Instead she pushed on them and rubbed my face, telling me that my cheek bones felt good on her feet.
After a few minutes she started waving her left foot in the air, saying “rub, rub”. I laughed and started squeezing and rubbing her foot, enjoying the smell of her other foot still pressing on my face, and the increase in pressure each time I squeezed or dug my thumbs in. I kept an eye on the clock, and when it was about ten minute until the next train I told her that was going to catch that train so she didn’t have to drive all over. She cupped the toes from both feet over my nose, the balls of her feet pressing hard against my mouth, and said “thank you so much, I’m really exhausted”.
When we heard the train whistle coming up she pulled her feet off my face and dropped me off at the platform. She thanked me again and pulled out of the lot. I walked to the back of the platform to get on the train where it was mostly empty. It was a longer walk to my car that way, but I was worried that if I was sitting next to anyone they would smell Tracy’s feet on my face and didn’t want to deal with the embarrassment.
To be continued…