I Am Salt of the Earth, Trodden Underfoot

Finding Myself Underfoot - Part 2

I stretched. First my arms went outwards, fingers interlaced and neck bent. Then I feigned a yawn, and as my arms swept back I allowed my fingers to lazily graze her feet beside me.

The movement was a success. Slowly, my knuckles dragged across the silky curves of Joanna's sole.

She paddled her feet—instinct kicking in to kick the tickle away.

We met eyes for half a breath. Well, half a normal breath. I was still holding mine throughout this whole movement, both terrified and delighted.

"Hey now..." she said. "That tickles, you know."

"Oh, shoot! I'm sorry," I said. "I...I thought I heard you liked tickling, anyway."

Joanna swept her red hair behind an ear and gave me a look.

"Maybe I do..." she said. "Your brother teases me about it, because he does not like tickling in the slightest."

"Oh? You mean that when he punches me, tickling him is actually a good way to get him back?"

"I guess so," Joanna giggled.

Joanna looked down at her nylon feet and pulled at the ends, wiggling her toes to reset their position along the seam. I could not tell the exact colour of her toenails through the black fabric, besides that they were darker than her pale skin. She idly rubbed her outstep and looked back up at me.

"You are the expert tickler, huh?"

"Uh...I...don't know about...uh..."

My stumbled words came to a halt as Joanna unfolded her legs and stretched them across my lap. Her heels landed on my thighs and waved back and forth, wafting the delicate smell of nylons. Joanna grinned and relished in how stunned I was.

"So...let's see your tickling skills."

"But...my brother..."

"Peter?" Joanna arced her neck and called out.

"Yeah?" Peter's voice rang back from the kitchen.

"Could you get us some snacks, too? Maybe some popcorn?"

"Uhhh...sure."

Joanna set her eyes back on me and raised her eyebrows.

"Go ahead, Adam," she said. "Hit me."

I hoped my shakiness was not as obvious to her as it was for me as my fingers drew towards her flexed feet. Then again, in this case, my shakiness was an asset. The nervous energy transferred to the perfect erratic wiggling of fingers across her soles. My fingers swept across the black nylon, digging in the arch, working over the ball, dancing across the bottoms of her toes.

Joanna's breath tightened in her chest and she looked electrocuted. Within seconds, that tension eased and her face exploded with a smile. She caught her laughter in a fist, trying to hold back from laughing out loud and hyperventilating instead. Her feet bounced in my lap but she kept her legs dutifully on my lap. Instead of pulling back to safety like a turtle, her feet slid towards my crotch like an angry squid. I kept having to push them forward so she would not feel my embarrassing hardness already crowding my pants.

I ventured to put a finger between her toes, and could only get as far as the nylon stretched. This was apparently enough. Her back arched and her head vaulted back. She squealed, covering her mouth and knitting her eyebrows.

"Sorry..."

"I...didn't say stop..." she said.

Her breathless encouragement nearly sent me over the edge. My hard-on was pressing tight in my pants and any slight movements shuddered my spine.

I attacked her feet again, using both hands this time. Her hand returned over her mouth and she squirmed. This time, I did not bother moving her when she slid nearer my crotch. Not until I felt the bulge of energy between my legs grow so big and so unruly that I could no longer hold back.

I was relentless but my pleasure made my movements jerky. I was trying my best not to make a mess of myself, but I was also like a starving man presented with a feast, gorging myself helplessly.

Then I froze, feeling the rush coming. Joanna noticed my shift.

"Oh...are...are you...?"

Joanna's concealed laughter turned into a giddy giggle. She recognized what was happening. I could not help myself.

"Uh-oh! Hahaha," Joanna teased me. "I see I'm not the only one enjoying themselves..."

I was so embarrassed. The spasm was uncontrollable, the release only half-satisfying because I hated that it was happening. It was too late. I had made a mess of myself, after all, and Joanna's heels were centimetres away from catching the damp through my pants.

"I'm sorry," I said amidst a groan.

"Hey, I get it," Joanna said. "It's okay to have a thing for feet. Lots of people do."

"I didn't mean to...uh..."

"If you didn't mean to, then apparently you need some training," Joanna grinned.

I didn't like how cool and casual she was about my predicament. My face burned with shame. I was sitting there with semen in my pants and she was talking as if I had toppled the Jenga tower for the first time.

            "Why are you so shy?" Joanna asked. "Are you embarrassed to be human?"

"I gotta go."

            "Yeah? I can already smell your spunk from here."

            "Argh..."

"Hey, chill," Joanna put a gentle hand on my shoulder, stopping me before I was able to get up. "I have an idea..."

Joanna rolled back on the couch. Her fingers disappeared up her skirt and she shifted her hips. When her hands dropped back down, they dragged her pantyhose along. The delicate black fabric balled at her arches, and she watched me watching her peel the veils from the tips of her pointed toes.

Her deep purple toenails contrasted with the pinks of her soles and the milky whiteness of the arches. She did not allow me a better view, because she crossed her legs and held out her balled black nylons in a palm.

            "For you," she said. And then, to urge on my hesitancy, she reminded me. "Quick, before Peter gets back."

            I accepted her nylons in a fist but found myself stunned by her offer. The pantyhose were still warm, their smell literally within my reach.

Joanna leaned in and whispered in my ear. Her breath tickled but I was the deer frozen in the headlights of an oncoming 18-wheeler.

"I don't want to see these again...until you have made them a complete mess."

Peter's footsteps revived me from my stupor. I scrambled to get up and fumble through a thank you for Joanna's gift. She only smiled and watched me hobble out of the room, straight to my room, where I would stash her nylons in my pillowcase for a revisit later that night, the next morning, and for every night for the next week.

I wanted to believe that the encounter would have staved off my days of agony sitting behind Melissa, dipping her barefeet in and out of her sandals or flip flops or trainers. I wanted to believe it, but it would not be true. If anything, I only became more entranced with what I could not have.

And soon, that would no longer be true either...