Jake thought he knew alot about her, about Dylan. The human mind can only undergo so much before it breaks after all. Where did this all start? He thought he knew, he thought he had a grip on things right from the start. It didn't start when they first met, that would be too simple.
Dylan was a small town girl, raised in a small hick town just fifty miles west of the Louisiana border. Typical southern girl with her slang, her slowed cajun tongue, she had soft brown eyes that could melt fresh churned butter, a slender physique that made you want to cry, and legs that went on for miles on her 5 foot 5 frame, Always wore those worn size 9 boots that she bought when she was 16. By the time I actually spent more time with her she was well into her twenties, just lost her mom-which technically had been the only family left to her, not that it was a sob story for her. Dylan was a strong girl, and the death of her mother just brought about a new wave of independance as she eventually took over the only General Store in town. Wasn't open so much for the business as it was the local commuters spot for the residents-all fifty or so of them- and tourists that happened to lose their way.
But this story isn't just about Dylan, is it? It's about Jake, its about me and how I know Dylan.
I lived just outside of town in a small hobble I called my home, it was a decent enough place passed to me by my folks before they were claimed by one of the many deadly storms to hit the gulf. It was a good two mile walk, but I had a schedule to keep...
Me and Dylan were friends since we were kids, always playing together while our folks worked. When my parents died she gave me a couch to sleep on while I coped, not wanting to go back to my own home. When her parents died five years later, I was once again on that same dusty couch to give her company, eventually went to work with her at the General Store... It wasn't for the money, I worked out an arrangement for her that instead of pay, I'd just take some food home from the shelves, whatever I needed to last me the week... I had my own business as the only mechanic, showed you just how slow things went round these parts.
Enough background though...
So here we are, 17 years later on a saturday morning. I was in the back of the shop where we kept the lumber, sweeping the collecting dust into the cellar while Dylan slept peacefully on the front porch. She carried her weight, but I usually got to the work before her... Today she'd been wearing some faded blue jeans and white short sleeve tee, her boots to top it off as always. With my own work done I made my way to the front, expecting the heavy footsteps on the old wooden floors would wake her, but to no avail. Serves her right for spending a good weeks pay on liquor the night before. Her legs were hanging just over the railing, bent at the knee as I was half tempted to slap her cheek lightly, just to daze her. It struck me though...
When we were kids, the one thing I always noticed about Dylan was she always had boots of some brand on, only on the most rare of occasions would she wear a pair of sandals. One time when we were ten, I'd been down at the lake with her, climbing the tree to the tire swing that hung just over the water. Dylan was in good shape even as a kid, and she was always swingin round like a damn monkey from that tree, got stuck more than once... On this day she happened to snag her leg on the bit of slack from the rope used for the old tire swing, went so far as to demand I help her... Well I did, sorta.
With the branch distorting her view, she couldn't see what I was doing until her boot was sliding clean off her foot, thuss proceeding to scream like a little girl- and in this case she still was. Had a short little ankle sock on. With a smile on my face, I took a twig from the branch and poked a single time at her wriggling foot, making her entire body go stiff... couldn't see from where I was but I'm pretty damn sure her eyes were as big as skillet pans.
"Jake..." She'd say to me, "why'dja take mah boot off?" as though she was really that clueless about what I was doing. I said nothing, instead I gave another poke at her foot as this time she let out a yelp and intensified her wriggling about, tugging like mad on the rope. With five wiggling toes waving at me, I started stroking that stick under her toes as the sock gave her no releif, and I spent the next five minutes listening to her giggle and laugh like mad before I finally let her down.
We still had these little games of ours, even as adults. Perhaps we were both just lonely, and too much a coward to admit we were growin fond of each other, so all we had WERE these games. Ever since that night at the creek though, she'd grown somewhat used to the tickling, but I'll get into those stories later... Back to the now...
She wasn't out like a rock, that much I knew from personal experience. Sundays were the dullest days for this sleepy town, aint nobody wantin to come out and do nothin after sunday services at the old church. So I knew we'd be alone... I started with the laces of her left foot, slow as a snail as it took me a good ten minutes just ta get em all undone. When they were, there was only the sound of the silent suck-pop of the boot slipping off her foot by its own weight, stopping just against her ankle. I eased the process by placing a hand at the heel of the boot and carefully slid it the rest of the way, soon rewarded with that ankle sock of hers, lightly dirty round the heel and the ball of her foot from years of use. Even with the sock her foot was a slender sight to be seen; high curving arch, soft heel that rounded off perfectly, and slender toes that spaced out just evenly enough along the underside for me to fit my pinky finger between em.
I had to test the waters... With my index finger, I slowly trailed it along the heel of her foot, rewarded with absent minded wriggling and the cutest little curl of the right corner of her lips. Even when asleep, this still had an effect on her. Slowly I started at the band of her ankle sock, easing the edges around until I could simply roll the sock on up to her toes before plucking it from her foot, all done with those occasional spasms of her legs. When the dirty deed was done, I had five naked toes looking right at me. Being simple folk, she never invested much in makeup or polish, but that didn't mean she didn't pamper herself at every turn...
I didn't wait too long before I was tickling her naked heel, the soft flesh sinking beneath my fingers as I trailed along the outside and down the center ever so softly, working my way closer to that milky smooth arch of hers. Needless to say she was chalk full of movement right from the start as her foot rolled occasionally from left to right, her toes wriggling as I hit key spots that elicited just the right response, a smile touching those beautiful plush lips. Well I knew she was out of it otherwise I might've been dealing with that foot up close and personal, a nice swift kick to my jaw.
I pushed my luck as my free hand went to work on her arch, all the while I could tell she was fighting that internal battle of hers, eyes shooting back and forth behind closed lids... One could only imagine what she was actually dreaming about.
My next focus were those sexy toes of hers, but what kind of response would that entice? I had to approach with caution, a single finger standing alone as though firing a blind shooting squad, and they were just itching for that single noise to open fire on... Slowly, carefully, softly, I advanced that finger and managed it between just one of her toes when her foot spasmed, a high yelp escaping her lips as I was soon staring her straight in the eye, the little game of mine was up... Oh I was so dead.
To be continued?
Dylan was a small town girl, raised in a small hick town just fifty miles west of the Louisiana border. Typical southern girl with her slang, her slowed cajun tongue, she had soft brown eyes that could melt fresh churned butter, a slender physique that made you want to cry, and legs that went on for miles on her 5 foot 5 frame, Always wore those worn size 9 boots that she bought when she was 16. By the time I actually spent more time with her she was well into her twenties, just lost her mom-which technically had been the only family left to her, not that it was a sob story for her. Dylan was a strong girl, and the death of her mother just brought about a new wave of independance as she eventually took over the only General Store in town. Wasn't open so much for the business as it was the local commuters spot for the residents-all fifty or so of them- and tourists that happened to lose their way.
But this story isn't just about Dylan, is it? It's about Jake, its about me and how I know Dylan.
I lived just outside of town in a small hobble I called my home, it was a decent enough place passed to me by my folks before they were claimed by one of the many deadly storms to hit the gulf. It was a good two mile walk, but I had a schedule to keep...
Me and Dylan were friends since we were kids, always playing together while our folks worked. When my parents died she gave me a couch to sleep on while I coped, not wanting to go back to my own home. When her parents died five years later, I was once again on that same dusty couch to give her company, eventually went to work with her at the General Store... It wasn't for the money, I worked out an arrangement for her that instead of pay, I'd just take some food home from the shelves, whatever I needed to last me the week... I had my own business as the only mechanic, showed you just how slow things went round these parts.
Enough background though...
So here we are, 17 years later on a saturday morning. I was in the back of the shop where we kept the lumber, sweeping the collecting dust into the cellar while Dylan slept peacefully on the front porch. She carried her weight, but I usually got to the work before her... Today she'd been wearing some faded blue jeans and white short sleeve tee, her boots to top it off as always. With my own work done I made my way to the front, expecting the heavy footsteps on the old wooden floors would wake her, but to no avail. Serves her right for spending a good weeks pay on liquor the night before. Her legs were hanging just over the railing, bent at the knee as I was half tempted to slap her cheek lightly, just to daze her. It struck me though...
When we were kids, the one thing I always noticed about Dylan was she always had boots of some brand on, only on the most rare of occasions would she wear a pair of sandals. One time when we were ten, I'd been down at the lake with her, climbing the tree to the tire swing that hung just over the water. Dylan was in good shape even as a kid, and she was always swingin round like a damn monkey from that tree, got stuck more than once... On this day she happened to snag her leg on the bit of slack from the rope used for the old tire swing, went so far as to demand I help her... Well I did, sorta.
With the branch distorting her view, she couldn't see what I was doing until her boot was sliding clean off her foot, thuss proceeding to scream like a little girl- and in this case she still was. Had a short little ankle sock on. With a smile on my face, I took a twig from the branch and poked a single time at her wriggling foot, making her entire body go stiff... couldn't see from where I was but I'm pretty damn sure her eyes were as big as skillet pans.
"Jake..." She'd say to me, "why'dja take mah boot off?" as though she was really that clueless about what I was doing. I said nothing, instead I gave another poke at her foot as this time she let out a yelp and intensified her wriggling about, tugging like mad on the rope. With five wiggling toes waving at me, I started stroking that stick under her toes as the sock gave her no releif, and I spent the next five minutes listening to her giggle and laugh like mad before I finally let her down.
We still had these little games of ours, even as adults. Perhaps we were both just lonely, and too much a coward to admit we were growin fond of each other, so all we had WERE these games. Ever since that night at the creek though, she'd grown somewhat used to the tickling, but I'll get into those stories later... Back to the now...
She wasn't out like a rock, that much I knew from personal experience. Sundays were the dullest days for this sleepy town, aint nobody wantin to come out and do nothin after sunday services at the old church. So I knew we'd be alone... I started with the laces of her left foot, slow as a snail as it took me a good ten minutes just ta get em all undone. When they were, there was only the sound of the silent suck-pop of the boot slipping off her foot by its own weight, stopping just against her ankle. I eased the process by placing a hand at the heel of the boot and carefully slid it the rest of the way, soon rewarded with that ankle sock of hers, lightly dirty round the heel and the ball of her foot from years of use. Even with the sock her foot was a slender sight to be seen; high curving arch, soft heel that rounded off perfectly, and slender toes that spaced out just evenly enough along the underside for me to fit my pinky finger between em.
I had to test the waters... With my index finger, I slowly trailed it along the heel of her foot, rewarded with absent minded wriggling and the cutest little curl of the right corner of her lips. Even when asleep, this still had an effect on her. Slowly I started at the band of her ankle sock, easing the edges around until I could simply roll the sock on up to her toes before plucking it from her foot, all done with those occasional spasms of her legs. When the dirty deed was done, I had five naked toes looking right at me. Being simple folk, she never invested much in makeup or polish, but that didn't mean she didn't pamper herself at every turn...
I didn't wait too long before I was tickling her naked heel, the soft flesh sinking beneath my fingers as I trailed along the outside and down the center ever so softly, working my way closer to that milky smooth arch of hers. Needless to say she was chalk full of movement right from the start as her foot rolled occasionally from left to right, her toes wriggling as I hit key spots that elicited just the right response, a smile touching those beautiful plush lips. Well I knew she was out of it otherwise I might've been dealing with that foot up close and personal, a nice swift kick to my jaw.
I pushed my luck as my free hand went to work on her arch, all the while I could tell she was fighting that internal battle of hers, eyes shooting back and forth behind closed lids... One could only imagine what she was actually dreaming about.
My next focus were those sexy toes of hers, but what kind of response would that entice? I had to approach with caution, a single finger standing alone as though firing a blind shooting squad, and they were just itching for that single noise to open fire on... Slowly, carefully, softly, I advanced that finger and managed it between just one of her toes when her foot spasmed, a high yelp escaping her lips as I was soon staring her straight in the eye, the little game of mine was up... Oh I was so dead.
To be continued?
