Tamedblueeyes
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- Joined
- Nov 12, 2003
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Hey everyone, please be gentle...this is the first time I've shared any of this kind of writing in a public forum. Don't be afraid to be honest...But gently honesty I will fix, brutal honesty will make me cry. I'm a chick, that's what we do...I think it's a genetic thing.
Emily had been caught in a cycle of hurt, of sadness, for awhile. She thought just avoiding men would bring her he answer, help her "love herself"...whatever the hell that meant. It was certainly in all the self help books, but they all had different ways in which to achieve this nervana. Thus far, nada. Nothing. Em woke up close to tears and inevitably fell asleep crying. There is no cure for a broken heart but time, and even with all of the time in the world, there was no ultimate cure until she could fall in love again.
The only problem was, she didn't want to fall in love again. She didn't want to trust again, didn't want to open up or be vulnerable. She walked through her life with her heart on her sleeve and for one time she wished she could be a cold hearted bitch that no man could touch, not inside...She wished she could be a woman who could find a man, take what she wanted and move on...kick him out of bed..."You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here!" She wanted to be the kind of woman who didn't want to be cuddled or touched after sex. And she never wanted to think of it as "Making love" again. Emily was jaded. Well, she tried to be jaded. Women like Em never became truely jaded. Her best friend Julie watched helpless as her friend strggled through her broken heart. Julie was the woman Em wished to emulate, and although she didn't know it..Julie wished she could be a bit more like Emily.
After about 9 weeks, enough was enough...Julie decided they were going out. That was all there was to it! There were too many tears...to many nights and too many bottles of wine and NO men. For as long as Julie as seen Emily go without intimacy, this was by far the longest. She knew Emily was ready...she was getting extroirdinarily interested in her feet. Pedicures, and pumice. When Emily was on the hunt, she kept her feet softer than her hands, softer than her face. And Julie, who would not blink at spending $800.00 on an outfit that had fabulous written all over it had, on several occasions choked on what Em spent on shoes. Julie fully expected Emily to name her firstborn child "Manolo" Simply because Prada just didn't sound like a name.
Finally the day came, that day before the night they were to go out. Emily went to have her pedicure. She loved/hated this experience more than anything. She adored having her feet touched, by men, by women, she didn't care. But she was also horrendously ticklish which she had thus far hidden from everyone, even those who knew her best. She had her favorite book and rolled her pant legs up to her knees before she submerged her feet into the spa. She always brought a book, but never read a word. The only words going through her mind involved the passion she felt as the jets of water shot between her toes and the woman who gave Emily her pedicure always gave her an extra five minutes before intruding. As though she could tell.
Helga tapped Emily's left leg, the signal for her to lift her foot onto the platform. She put cuticle softner on her toes and filed down her toenails to the perfect length. She pushed down the cuticles and cut the excess. Emily could never explain why, but she loved this. Helga was so thorough, Emily would never see anyone else.
It was at this moment she happened to look up. There was a beautiful young man appraising her speculatively from the doorway of the shop. The shop was in a busy mall. Emily told herself she was imagining things and the man began to walk past the shop. He paused to smile at her, a disconcerting, knowing smile. Without being able to stop herself, Em smiled back at the stranger, then quickly looked back at her book, which she was holding upside down. Helga did her usual amazing job with the pedicure. Her strong hands rubbed Emily's feet until all of the stress seemed to melt away and massaged every bit of her foot so thouroughly that there were moments where laughter was millimeters away but Emily manadged to stave it off. The oddest part Emily found was how much she enjoyed it when it tickeled. People were supposed to hate being tickled, yet she came at least once a week to experience it, at least a little bit. 30 miutes later with a manicure as a afterthought, she was sitting at the ultraviolet lamp waiting for her Diamond shine cherry nail polish to dry.
There he was at the doorway again. That beautiful man with the knowing smile. He didn't pause at the door this time. He walked in. He sat next to her at the drying table. Without preamble, he kissed her cheek and smiled at her.
"What do you even think you're doing?" Emily did her best to sound appalled by his behavior. She didn't carry it off very well.
"Beautiful girl, I know what you need...you can't even try to front with me."
"I don't know what you're talking about." Emily said weakly.
The beautiful man took her hand and licked her fingernail..."Your nails are dry." He said. He touched her face and traced a finger behind her ear, Emily shivered.
"What's your name beautiful lady?"
"Ummm..It's Emily."
"I love that name, I'm Pete." It was a simple name, belied his true beauty that he seemed comfortable in, yet oblivious to. An irrisistable combination!
"Emily, will you come with me? I know what you need."
Despite her intelligence, despite the fact this man could be a serial killer, Emily could not say no to him. Gently he put her knee high stockigs and her shoes on her feet, although he paused a moment before each shoe to drag his nails ever so softly down the sole of each foot. Emily was instantly wet. There was a part of her that felt shame, but more of her that felt excitement at what could happen.
"But I have to meet my friend at 8:00" Emily said weakly..."We're having dinner, going dancing" Emily was babbling, she sounded rediculous to herself.
"Don't worry Em...We'll be there in plenty of time, and then you can come home with me again." Pete took her hand and lead her out of the sstore, out of the mall, and to his car...a vintage Jag...if he was a Serial killer, at least he was a well solvent serial killer.
With the slightest hesitation she stood by the passenger door of the car. Pete looked in her eyes with a earnestness she generally feared in the face of a man. "Do you trust me Emily?" With a deep breath she nodded and when he opened her door she slid ito the seat. As he got into the drivers seat, she slipped off her black strappy back Prada's, and curled her feet into his lap.
"I told you I knew what you want" Pete smiled. Softly, ever so softly, he ran his finger around the sole of her foot. As she tried to jerk back, as if by reflex, he grabbed her ankle. He drew soft circles on her foot until she was squirming, but not laughing.
"I knew you would be stubborn" Pete's voice was filled with appreciation. Finally he began in earnest, softly touching, scratching underneath Emily's toes and in between each toe. With that touch she was lost. She succumbed to giggles and then virtual screams of laughter. After a few torturous/wonderful moments, he stopped tickling her and pulled the knee highs off her feet. One by one he took each toe into his mouth, a new sort of tickling with a sensual twist that made Emily ache for him.
With a twinge of regret he slipped her knee highs back on. "What time are we meeting your friend for dinner?" he asked.
"We?" she asked..trying to put the super-bitch back into place.
Pete simply smiled. "Yes, sweet. We. I thought you might want to go freshen up first but I'm not leaving your side. I told you I know what you want, but I haven't even scratched the surface yet of what you need."
Emily decided that there were probably better me in this world to practice her bitch act on...
Emily had been caught in a cycle of hurt, of sadness, for awhile. She thought just avoiding men would bring her he answer, help her "love herself"...whatever the hell that meant. It was certainly in all the self help books, but they all had different ways in which to achieve this nervana. Thus far, nada. Nothing. Em woke up close to tears and inevitably fell asleep crying. There is no cure for a broken heart but time, and even with all of the time in the world, there was no ultimate cure until she could fall in love again.
The only problem was, she didn't want to fall in love again. She didn't want to trust again, didn't want to open up or be vulnerable. She walked through her life with her heart on her sleeve and for one time she wished she could be a cold hearted bitch that no man could touch, not inside...She wished she could be a woman who could find a man, take what she wanted and move on...kick him out of bed..."You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here!" She wanted to be the kind of woman who didn't want to be cuddled or touched after sex. And she never wanted to think of it as "Making love" again. Emily was jaded. Well, she tried to be jaded. Women like Em never became truely jaded. Her best friend Julie watched helpless as her friend strggled through her broken heart. Julie was the woman Em wished to emulate, and although she didn't know it..Julie wished she could be a bit more like Emily.
After about 9 weeks, enough was enough...Julie decided they were going out. That was all there was to it! There were too many tears...to many nights and too many bottles of wine and NO men. For as long as Julie as seen Emily go without intimacy, this was by far the longest. She knew Emily was ready...she was getting extroirdinarily interested in her feet. Pedicures, and pumice. When Emily was on the hunt, she kept her feet softer than her hands, softer than her face. And Julie, who would not blink at spending $800.00 on an outfit that had fabulous written all over it had, on several occasions choked on what Em spent on shoes. Julie fully expected Emily to name her firstborn child "Manolo" Simply because Prada just didn't sound like a name.
Finally the day came, that day before the night they were to go out. Emily went to have her pedicure. She loved/hated this experience more than anything. She adored having her feet touched, by men, by women, she didn't care. But she was also horrendously ticklish which she had thus far hidden from everyone, even those who knew her best. She had her favorite book and rolled her pant legs up to her knees before she submerged her feet into the spa. She always brought a book, but never read a word. The only words going through her mind involved the passion she felt as the jets of water shot between her toes and the woman who gave Emily her pedicure always gave her an extra five minutes before intruding. As though she could tell.
Helga tapped Emily's left leg, the signal for her to lift her foot onto the platform. She put cuticle softner on her toes and filed down her toenails to the perfect length. She pushed down the cuticles and cut the excess. Emily could never explain why, but she loved this. Helga was so thorough, Emily would never see anyone else.
It was at this moment she happened to look up. There was a beautiful young man appraising her speculatively from the doorway of the shop. The shop was in a busy mall. Emily told herself she was imagining things and the man began to walk past the shop. He paused to smile at her, a disconcerting, knowing smile. Without being able to stop herself, Em smiled back at the stranger, then quickly looked back at her book, which she was holding upside down. Helga did her usual amazing job with the pedicure. Her strong hands rubbed Emily's feet until all of the stress seemed to melt away and massaged every bit of her foot so thouroughly that there were moments where laughter was millimeters away but Emily manadged to stave it off. The oddest part Emily found was how much she enjoyed it when it tickeled. People were supposed to hate being tickled, yet she came at least once a week to experience it, at least a little bit. 30 miutes later with a manicure as a afterthought, she was sitting at the ultraviolet lamp waiting for her Diamond shine cherry nail polish to dry.
There he was at the doorway again. That beautiful man with the knowing smile. He didn't pause at the door this time. He walked in. He sat next to her at the drying table. Without preamble, he kissed her cheek and smiled at her.
"What do you even think you're doing?" Emily did her best to sound appalled by his behavior. She didn't carry it off very well.
"Beautiful girl, I know what you need...you can't even try to front with me."
"I don't know what you're talking about." Emily said weakly.
The beautiful man took her hand and licked her fingernail..."Your nails are dry." He said. He touched her face and traced a finger behind her ear, Emily shivered.
"What's your name beautiful lady?"
"Ummm..It's Emily."
"I love that name, I'm Pete." It was a simple name, belied his true beauty that he seemed comfortable in, yet oblivious to. An irrisistable combination!
"Emily, will you come with me? I know what you need."
Despite her intelligence, despite the fact this man could be a serial killer, Emily could not say no to him. Gently he put her knee high stockigs and her shoes on her feet, although he paused a moment before each shoe to drag his nails ever so softly down the sole of each foot. Emily was instantly wet. There was a part of her that felt shame, but more of her that felt excitement at what could happen.
"But I have to meet my friend at 8:00" Emily said weakly..."We're having dinner, going dancing" Emily was babbling, she sounded rediculous to herself.
"Don't worry Em...We'll be there in plenty of time, and then you can come home with me again." Pete took her hand and lead her out of the sstore, out of the mall, and to his car...a vintage Jag...if he was a Serial killer, at least he was a well solvent serial killer.
With the slightest hesitation she stood by the passenger door of the car. Pete looked in her eyes with a earnestness she generally feared in the face of a man. "Do you trust me Emily?" With a deep breath she nodded and when he opened her door she slid ito the seat. As he got into the drivers seat, she slipped off her black strappy back Prada's, and curled her feet into his lap.
"I told you I knew what you want" Pete smiled. Softly, ever so softly, he ran his finger around the sole of her foot. As she tried to jerk back, as if by reflex, he grabbed her ankle. He drew soft circles on her foot until she was squirming, but not laughing.
"I knew you would be stubborn" Pete's voice was filled with appreciation. Finally he began in earnest, softly touching, scratching underneath Emily's toes and in between each toe. With that touch she was lost. She succumbed to giggles and then virtual screams of laughter. After a few torturous/wonderful moments, he stopped tickling her and pulled the knee highs off her feet. One by one he took each toe into his mouth, a new sort of tickling with a sensual twist that made Emily ache for him.
With a twinge of regret he slipped her knee highs back on. "What time are we meeting your friend for dinner?" he asked.
"We?" she asked..trying to put the super-bitch back into place.
Pete simply smiled. "Yes, sweet. We. I thought you might want to go freshen up first but I'm not leaving your side. I told you I know what you want, but I haven't even scratched the surface yet of what you need."
Emily decided that there were probably better me in this world to practice her bitch act on...
