This is 100% background...so if you like getting the full gist of characters and plot, this is the place to start. If you just want to skip to the tickling...that'll be in part 2 ;-)
"Discovery"
I'd known Lindsey off and on for years, since we were kids. In fact, one of my very first memories involves Lindsey wearing a bright red sundress, looking at me as I sat in a sandbox. We lived on the same block of the same street our whole lives, moving in similar circles. We went to the same schools, even the same classes most of the time. Took the same swimming classes during the summer, same town sports programs throughout the year (I was better at soccer, but Lindsey is a killer softball pitcher). Familiarity didn't exactly breed contempt, but while most of our social circle paired off to experiment in junior high and high school, we never did.
In fact, my entire freshman year of college, trying to survive the surprising rigor of Wright State, I never once thought about Lindsey. In college, and the weird subculture that grows up around it, I found far more interesting women to chase, dream about, masturbate to. Try as I might I never could manage to close the deal with any girl, no matter how interested she seemed. Call it a character flaw.
Well, I should be honest, shouldn't I? It's not like you know who I am, or even care that much about what I'm all about. The real reason I could never get a girl to go all the way with me was my foot fetish. Somewhere between first and second base, I'd start trying to touch the girl's feet. Sometimes this wasn't so bad; April Grainger really liked my foot rubs, actually, and if her dad hadn't had a heart attack during Christmas break we might have been a hot item. But more often than not, the lady in question would be a little freaked out. Offended sometimes, like they couldn't believe I'd bypass breasts to play with toes.
And since we're in full disclosure mode here, I should tell you it wasn't just about foot rubs. I wanted to kiss their feet, too. Lick them, suck on their toes. I would wonder what Megan's feet smelled like after her jog. I'd notice Laura's new pedicure and wonder what the lotion tasted like.
Yeah, I know. I'm a bit of a freak, but it could be a lot worse. It's not like I wanted to rape school girls or take a dump on anyone's chest.
I couldn't really control these desires, either. At some point, always early into any potential hookup—nevermind relationship—I'd go too far, reveal too much about my foot fixation. And that'd be it, the only question after that being, “Will she run screaming or simply sidle away and vanish into the night?”
As you can imagine, this all kept me a little too busy to be worried about Lindsey, a girl who simply existed on the periphery of my childhood. But as I found out not long after I got home for the summer, Lindsey had kept me in her thoughts the entire year.
***
I was bored out of my skull. I hadn't been able to find a job. Which wasn't a big deal, since my parents could put me up with no problems. But it meant I didn't have any place to be, and no money to go do something with all my downtime. So I found myself hanging out at the playground, which was pretty well deserted during the hot, sticky daytime. Probably a good thing, since the last thing I needed to break the monotony was some soccer mom calling the cops on a suspected pedophile.
I was sitting on a swing that was probably as old as I was, idly swaying. I was actually facing the sandbox where Lindsey and I first met, and I think I was even pondering that in a very idle way when she stepped into my vision. Lindsey, no longer wearing the red sundress but still walking in that self assured way I'd come to associate with her. Lindsey had always taken each step confidently, as if she knew exactly where she was going and why. I'd been jealous of that more than once.
I noticed how her curves had filled out over the last year. During our senior year of high school she'd been a stick, attracting a lot of anorexia jokes. The Lindsey standing by the old sandbox filled out a pair of faded light blue cutoffs very well, and there was nothing bony about her legs at all. She had on a band t-shirt of some kind, but it'd been worn to death and I had no idea which name was slathered all over the front. And yes, she filled out the tee very nicely as well. I noticed she had neglected a bra that morning, I noticed her long brown hair was pulled back in a simple pony tail, and I noticed she was watching me.
But the first thing I noticed? Lindsey was barefoot.
“Hey,” Lindsey called over to me, waving. My eyes were still stuck on her feet, not because they were particularly attractive (though they were a solid B+ on my scale) but because she was almost a mile from home with no shoes in sight. It was the sort of thing people—especially girls, with expensive pedicures to consider—stop doing once they stop being children. The incongruity was a little thrilling.
“Hi,” I called back, finally dragging my eyes up to her face. I thought I detected a bit of amusement in her smile, but dismissed it. It wasn't as if she knew I'd been checking out her feet. Feet that were getting gradually sexier the closer she walked, I might add.
“When did you get back in town?” Lindsey took a seat on the swing next to me, and I cursed myself for not being behind her. Her toes resting in the dirt below the swing meant her soles were extended, a delicious tidbit for my eyes...but there was no subtle way to glimpse them.
“Oh, couple weeks ago. Wright State is on semesters, y'know.” I was doing my best to keep my eyes off her feet, and I think the effort took years off my life.
“Yeah, the big downside to UC. Quarters start later, but end SO much later.”
There was a silence, almost an awkward one. But not quite. It dragged for a minute, maybe two. Long enough for Lindsey to start kicking at rocks with her toes. I got lost watching them flick back and forth, and didn't see Lindsey reach out till she thwapped my upside my head.
“Like what you see?”
I definitely heard the amusement in her voice. “What? What are you talking about?” I made sure to mix “pissed off” and “baffled” in equal parts, to make Lindsey drop the issue.
“My feet. I know you've been checking them out since I got here.”
God help me, I blushed bright red. I could feel the heat in my face despite the sun. “I have not.”
Lindsey poked me. “Don't lie about it, it's cool. You think no one's figured it out? All those times stealing shoes on the playground at recess, how you used to never look at girls faces—like the other boys—but never at our tits either?”
I couldn't decide if I was relieved about not needing to put up a front or if I just wanted to die. “Well. Um. You caught me?”
Lindsey laughed. “No shit.” She hopped off her swing, and started towards her house. “C'mon, you busy? I'm bored as hell and it's hot out.”
I did the only rational thing I could think of: I followed the barefoot girl who'd just dragged my dark secret into the light.
"Discovery"
I'd known Lindsey off and on for years, since we were kids. In fact, one of my very first memories involves Lindsey wearing a bright red sundress, looking at me as I sat in a sandbox. We lived on the same block of the same street our whole lives, moving in similar circles. We went to the same schools, even the same classes most of the time. Took the same swimming classes during the summer, same town sports programs throughout the year (I was better at soccer, but Lindsey is a killer softball pitcher). Familiarity didn't exactly breed contempt, but while most of our social circle paired off to experiment in junior high and high school, we never did.
In fact, my entire freshman year of college, trying to survive the surprising rigor of Wright State, I never once thought about Lindsey. In college, and the weird subculture that grows up around it, I found far more interesting women to chase, dream about, masturbate to. Try as I might I never could manage to close the deal with any girl, no matter how interested she seemed. Call it a character flaw.
Well, I should be honest, shouldn't I? It's not like you know who I am, or even care that much about what I'm all about. The real reason I could never get a girl to go all the way with me was my foot fetish. Somewhere between first and second base, I'd start trying to touch the girl's feet. Sometimes this wasn't so bad; April Grainger really liked my foot rubs, actually, and if her dad hadn't had a heart attack during Christmas break we might have been a hot item. But more often than not, the lady in question would be a little freaked out. Offended sometimes, like they couldn't believe I'd bypass breasts to play with toes.
And since we're in full disclosure mode here, I should tell you it wasn't just about foot rubs. I wanted to kiss their feet, too. Lick them, suck on their toes. I would wonder what Megan's feet smelled like after her jog. I'd notice Laura's new pedicure and wonder what the lotion tasted like.
Yeah, I know. I'm a bit of a freak, but it could be a lot worse. It's not like I wanted to rape school girls or take a dump on anyone's chest.
I couldn't really control these desires, either. At some point, always early into any potential hookup—nevermind relationship—I'd go too far, reveal too much about my foot fixation. And that'd be it, the only question after that being, “Will she run screaming or simply sidle away and vanish into the night?”
As you can imagine, this all kept me a little too busy to be worried about Lindsey, a girl who simply existed on the periphery of my childhood. But as I found out not long after I got home for the summer, Lindsey had kept me in her thoughts the entire year.
***
I was bored out of my skull. I hadn't been able to find a job. Which wasn't a big deal, since my parents could put me up with no problems. But it meant I didn't have any place to be, and no money to go do something with all my downtime. So I found myself hanging out at the playground, which was pretty well deserted during the hot, sticky daytime. Probably a good thing, since the last thing I needed to break the monotony was some soccer mom calling the cops on a suspected pedophile.
I was sitting on a swing that was probably as old as I was, idly swaying. I was actually facing the sandbox where Lindsey and I first met, and I think I was even pondering that in a very idle way when she stepped into my vision. Lindsey, no longer wearing the red sundress but still walking in that self assured way I'd come to associate with her. Lindsey had always taken each step confidently, as if she knew exactly where she was going and why. I'd been jealous of that more than once.
I noticed how her curves had filled out over the last year. During our senior year of high school she'd been a stick, attracting a lot of anorexia jokes. The Lindsey standing by the old sandbox filled out a pair of faded light blue cutoffs very well, and there was nothing bony about her legs at all. She had on a band t-shirt of some kind, but it'd been worn to death and I had no idea which name was slathered all over the front. And yes, she filled out the tee very nicely as well. I noticed she had neglected a bra that morning, I noticed her long brown hair was pulled back in a simple pony tail, and I noticed she was watching me.
But the first thing I noticed? Lindsey was barefoot.
“Hey,” Lindsey called over to me, waving. My eyes were still stuck on her feet, not because they were particularly attractive (though they were a solid B+ on my scale) but because she was almost a mile from home with no shoes in sight. It was the sort of thing people—especially girls, with expensive pedicures to consider—stop doing once they stop being children. The incongruity was a little thrilling.
“Hi,” I called back, finally dragging my eyes up to her face. I thought I detected a bit of amusement in her smile, but dismissed it. It wasn't as if she knew I'd been checking out her feet. Feet that were getting gradually sexier the closer she walked, I might add.
“When did you get back in town?” Lindsey took a seat on the swing next to me, and I cursed myself for not being behind her. Her toes resting in the dirt below the swing meant her soles were extended, a delicious tidbit for my eyes...but there was no subtle way to glimpse them.
“Oh, couple weeks ago. Wright State is on semesters, y'know.” I was doing my best to keep my eyes off her feet, and I think the effort took years off my life.
“Yeah, the big downside to UC. Quarters start later, but end SO much later.”
There was a silence, almost an awkward one. But not quite. It dragged for a minute, maybe two. Long enough for Lindsey to start kicking at rocks with her toes. I got lost watching them flick back and forth, and didn't see Lindsey reach out till she thwapped my upside my head.
“Like what you see?”
I definitely heard the amusement in her voice. “What? What are you talking about?” I made sure to mix “pissed off” and “baffled” in equal parts, to make Lindsey drop the issue.
“My feet. I know you've been checking them out since I got here.”
God help me, I blushed bright red. I could feel the heat in my face despite the sun. “I have not.”
Lindsey poked me. “Don't lie about it, it's cool. You think no one's figured it out? All those times stealing shoes on the playground at recess, how you used to never look at girls faces—like the other boys—but never at our tits either?”
I couldn't decide if I was relieved about not needing to put up a front or if I just wanted to die. “Well. Um. You caught me?”
Lindsey laughed. “No shit.” She hopped off her swing, and started towards her house. “C'mon, you busy? I'm bored as hell and it's hot out.”
I did the only rational thing I could think of: I followed the barefoot girl who'd just dragged my dark secret into the light.
