Still A Better Love Story Than Twilight

Well, shit.

AN: I did not write this, come up with this, nor did this happen to me. So, don't bother me for being disgusting, I found this on ED and re-typed the whole thing.

I had a close friend when I was in highschool who, in retrospect, reminded me of Tomoko.

She was very shy and awkward with question-able hygiene, but she would have been a real cutie had she taken care of herself. Whenever we danced in school dances I could smell her BO. I don't know if she ever even wore deodorant.

I would sometimes pick her up from ballet practice after school and hang out with her in the mall. Our mall had an arcade she liked to play in. One afternoon I picked her up from ballet practice and she looked especially sweat-soaked and tired as soon as she got in the car. Her leotard was visibly soaked through with sweat and her pointe shoes showed visible sweat stains through the fabric. The car quickly filled with the scent of girl BO.

As I drove her to the mall, she took off her pointe shoes to air out her sweaty, tired feet. She was wearing semi-opaque flesh-toned tights, which has stained a very dark brown from the soles of her feet. Which were visibly red inside the sweat-soaked tights. The car quickly filled with a thick, sour odor.

"Oh, I'm sorry about that smell, I was just airing out my feet. I'll put my shoes back on." She said.

"Fuck it." I thought. I was pretty close to the girl. We had told each other secrets alot already.

"No, It's OK, can I tell you a secret?"

"What?"

"I've always secretly liked the smell of feet."

"What? Eww! You're weird." She said, giggling.

"Normal people are boring." I replied.

"So, uh... would you mind rubbing my feet for me then? They're really sore from dancing."

"Sure, I can rub them in the parking lot when we get to the mall." I said.

When we got to the mall, we sat in the backseat of the car. She stretched her legs out putting her feet on my lap and I went work giving her a foot massage.

Her feet were quite rough and calloused from years of ballet dancing which contributed strongly to the sour odor coming from them, since the bacteria responsible for foot odor feed on dead skin. Her tights were cool and wet to the touch on the soles on her feet.

"You really like that smell?"

I slouched down below the height of window next to me, grabbed the foot I wasn't rubbing, and placed it right to my face so my nose rested in the crook underneath her toes, and inhaled deeply.

"Yes, I love it." I said.

"You're weird, but that massage feels really good." She replied, giggling.

From that day on, any time I'd pick her up from ballet practice I'd rub her stinky, sweaty feet in the backseat of my car, and she'd gladly rub the foot I wasn't rubbing all over my nose the whole I massaged her feet because she knew I liked it.