A Most Unfortunate Outing Pt. 01

A Most Unfortunate Outing Pt. 01

So, there's a little incident I want to share that happened a couple of nights ago. Ever since, I've been keeping a low profile. I've even had to quit my job, because I was just fed up of snide comments from my co-workers. Word spreads, you see, and after that embarrassing situation I went through, well, even days later, no one seems willing to let me live it down, especially one co-worker in particular: Chet. The worst part is that the whole incident kind of played off of something that occurred a few years back, and had been lingering behind in the shadows ever since. I'd thought I'd buried it safely away and moved on from it, but in the end, it turned out I was my own worst enemy and perhaps the way everything played out was karma.

I could jump straight to the action, but actually, the whole thing began with this new guy that started at my job. Now, we'd known each other back in school, however, I was pretty much unpopular back then. Well, I still am sort of unpopular. By that, I mean, I'm just a bit shy and reserved. I've never had a lot of confidence and when it comes to guys, well, I just don't know the right thing to say. I guess I'm more of an introvert is the way I'd describe myself. I prefer staying home and playing video games rather than running around and partying and the like. As a result, it was more a case of I'd known of Chet at school, whereas he'd barely been aware of my existence. He'd always hung out with the popular crowd, whereas I just kept my head down and struggled through that stage in my life. I was an average student back then, not like I was a genius or anything, but I got by well enough to graduate high school and right now I'm in college.

Not coming from an affluent family or anything, I have to work on the side, which sucks, but I have to pay my way through college, and it seems like Chet is in the same situation. Despite being popular, his family isn't rich or anything too, so he needs the extra funds just as much as I do. Anyway, besides being at total odds in our social situations during high school, I quickly found that as a co-worker, Chet is pretty cool. He is chill and laid back, and since we interact outside of the college setting, he's always willing to hang on our breaks. Well, he was, up until this weekend. Now things have decidedly changed after what happened.

Anyway, during his first week, he had been a bit oblivious when I'd commented we'd shared classes in the past, but when I mentioned one occasion where I'd caused a bit of a ruckus in school, tripping over in the canteen and knocking one of the teacher's trays from their hands, his had eyes lit up.

"That was you?" he'd said while trying to wipe the tears from his cheeks. "I remember hearing all about that."

Anyway, that had broken the ice, and from there, we'd developed a pretty cool working relationship. Whenever we were on shift together, there would be a lot of jokes being cracked and prank-like shenanigans. I have a bit of a dry sense of humour, but it only comes out when I'm comfortable and really get to know someone. He thought some of the things I quipped were hilarious, and I started to see beyond the guy I'd always thought was a total dreamboat. I mean, Chet is incredibly good looking, with his dark features and tall, broad figure. He's what could be considered a real Latin stud, but he'd always been out of reach for me. During school, I'd never even floated the idea of actually getting to know him or anything because he existed outside of the world I was trapped in; the socially rejected hell that people like me were relegated to.

As co-workers though, we were on equal footing. In some ways, I was even more senior considering I'd been there longer, and during the first week I'd found myself showing him the ropes and how to work particular applications and stuff. Anyway, the result was that we'd become friends, of sorts. I had grown closer to him in a way that I'd never done before with a similarly attractive guy. The more shifts we worked together, the more excited I'd found myself becoming, actually wanting to go to work just to see him. Yeah, I can admit I had a crush on him. In my head, I even kind of started thinking of him as like my boyfriend, though just not in any official capacity, and throughout the weeks, I'd been building up the courage to ask him out on a date. Guys liked being asked out by girls, didn't they?

Of course, the problem was that our entire interactions happened at work, and we never really hung out together outside or anything, as much as I wanted to. I had replayed the question in my head countless times: asking him out to the movies or for a drink. However, I'd always chickened out whenever the moment came, instead fantasising about the idea of him being my boyfriend, and how impressed everyone else would be. I mean, I knew my reputation would go through the roof with a guy like Chet on my arm, and people wouldn't think of me as the awkward, lonely girl any longer. Sadly, as always, I was just way too shy and lacked the confidence to take the next step. Even though I liked him, I barely had any experience with guys, whereas he was extremely popular and confident. So, I had just accepted what I had, and enjoyed being in his company whenever I could. Until, much to my surprise, Chet had floated an idea to me this Friday just gone, right before the end of our shift and that's how my life had taken a total turn.

As I sit, alone, in my room, the door closed and safely away from the taunts and goading that have plagued me ever since, I can't help but slip my hand into my panties and replay over how things went down on Friday night. Simply closing my eyes...it's like I'm right back there, almost as if I'm reliving the entire debacle all over again. As I begin to touch myself, I think about how gorgeous Chet had looked when he'd come up to me, and suddenly, I'm right there in the office, living it all over again.

So, without further ado: let's get to it.

It was Friday afternoon, and Chet was just finishing up with some of the mundane administrative tasks, prepping things ready for the next shift, when he walked over and tickled my side. I flinched, of course, the same way I always did whenever he played one of these silly little pranks on me, caught by surprise, before smiling to myself upon realising it was him. I always loved whenever he got handsy with me. "What's your plans tonight?" he asked casually while putting his jacket on and ruffling up his curly; giving himself a once over in the mirror. "You got a date lined up or something, gal?"

Instantly, my cheeks blushed, the same way they always did whenever male relations were insinuated. Other than in forced settings, where I had no choice, working with Chet being one of them, I rarely interacted with guys on a personal level, especially in a romantic way. I had little self-confidence, and just didn't know how to act around them, feeling like they were just messing me around. I had pretty much been traumatised with teasing during school, so when it came to a hot guy, I could barely even envision myself as being intimate with them.

"I don't have much planned," I said while looking away shyly. "Probably just head home and play some video games or something."

Chet chuckled, then pursed his lips, before rolling his dreamy, dark eyes. He grabbed my wrist with one hand, before lifting my thumb with the other. Already, I felt a tingling running through my body; simply being touched by a guy as handsome as him filling me with uncomfortable excitement. I looked down as he rotated my thumb amongst his strong, thick fingers. "Look at this," he said, while squeezing my thumb between his fingertips. "Look how flat and defined it is." He dropped my hand, before wagging a finger in my face. "You play way too many video games, Erica." I sheepishly pulled my hand back, tucking it into my pocket. For a second, I thought about saying something clever, something witty that would make light of his casual insult. However, nothing came to mind, and after a few seconds of awkward silence, Chet sniggered. "You wanna come to a party instead?"

For a brief moment, I was barely able to process what he'd asked. Instead, a wave of intense heat flew through my body as my anxiety went through the roof. "W-what?" I answered, nervously. Chet actually wanted to take me to a party? There was a little excited flip in my tummy, but then, it was rapidly replaced by a deep feeling of dread as reality hit me.

Partying was something I simply didn't do. I mean, I hung out with friends and the like, where we'd mostly goof around on my Wii, but I never really went to those college style parties where everyone was having sex and the sort. On the few occasions that I'd actually made any progress with a guy, after months of getting to know him, I'd been so nervous, that I hadn't been able to meet their expectations in the bedroom. As exciting as attending a party with Chet was, I couldn't calm my fears from floating to the surface. I mean, imagine he actually liked me or something? Imagine, when he was drunk, he went in for a kiss and dragged me off to one of the bedrooms? Imagine his look of surprise when he realised I had to pack my bra and had second thoughts? I could already feel the prickling on my skin as everyone would be laughing as I came down the stairs after him, Chet looking disappointed after my usual starfishing-performance. The few guys I'd actually been with had always complained about me being frigid, but I couldn't help it. I had little confidence in my body, often considering myself boyish while staring into a mirror. As soon as my clothes were off, I'd hide behind my arms, feeling exposed and awaiting judgement. That's why the mere thought of being with a guy terrified me these days, even as much as I longed for the romance.

Deep inside, I really did want to hang with him outside of work, and I longed for him to be my partner, but just being in a situation like that with other people...it made me feel ill. "I'm not really the partying type," I said, while already feeling as if I was sweating at the thought of being in such a social situation. There was just way too much pressure to fit into that kind of crowd, and I simply didn't have the minerals. Being around the attractive, popular guys was bad enough for my nerves, but it was the girls that were the worst. Those kinds of parties were always filled with the sexy, snotty types, and I simply didn't mesh well with that crowd. They'd always poke fun at me or exert their superior looks over me in some way. I already knew that I'd end up in some kind of situation where I'd be belittled for my lack of feminine assets and plain features, often in a playful way with knuckles rubbed against my scalp. That's something that really got to me with the other girls of my age. They always looked upon me as being younger or something, and would talk down to me as if a woman to a child, highlighting their feminine charms while teasing me for being a tom boy. Yeah, they'd find it hilarious, and high-five each other while saying it was all in good spirits, however, I was always left as the laughing stock. "I think I'll pass," I said, already feeling nauseas from simply picturing myself amongst that crowd. "That's not my idea of fun."

Chet narrowed his eyes slightly in confusion. "What do you mean by that?" He scratched his ear, shooting me a judgemental glare. "You saying you're too cool to hang out with guys like me?"

"No," I said defensively, the exact opposite being the reality. "It's not like that." I suddenly felt like I was blowing it. "I really do want to hang with you."

"You have a car though, right?" he said. "You don't even need to drink. Just give me a ride, hang for a little, and if it's not your scene, well, split. It'll be no biggie, right? Show your face and scoot."

I bit my lip while making sense of it all. He didn't want to hang out at all, he just wanted a ride to the party so he could drink. I was pretty much chewing my tongue to avoid showing my disappointment. Even if I didn't want to go, it had still felt nice for the few seconds I'd thought he wanted me there with him. "You need a ride then? That's why you're asking?"

"Well, yeah," he said with a shrug. "I mean, I can probably find another, but it makes way more sense if you come along, right? Maybe you'll even have a little fun."

"I don't usually get invited to stuff like this." I was already imagining the faces on everyone when I turned up. I'd most likely get sent packing. I mean, it wasn't as if I was a total social delinquent or anything. On the surface, I was a fairly average gal. I just didn't go out of my way to move amongst these circles, and as a result, I was a bit of an outcast. I didn't think they'd literally turn me away at the door, but they'd probably be thinking 'who the hell invited this one?'. The popular girls would zone straight in on me as a way to show off how much hotter and cooler they were and use me as a punching bag to impress the douchebag, jock guys. That had been my high school experience, after all, which was why I avoided those bitches like the plague. I'd always just felt inferior while hunkered in the shadows of their superior, womanly physiques.

"Well, I'm inviting you," he said with a reassuring smile. "You can come as my guest. How does that sound?"

"I don't know," I said, still uneasily, the worst-case scenarios manging to trample all over any inklings of having a good time. Maybe things would work out alright, and after hanging for a few minutes and making a good impression, I could split and Chet would realise the error in his ways. Maybe he'd come with me. Maybe I could do my reputation some good and actually come across as being cool. You know, the cool, mysterious gal that no one knew much about, turning up with a catch like Chet, then disappearing into the night. Everyone might end up whispering and wondering who I was. I could even borrow my mother's leather jacket and really look the part.

"It'll be fun," he said. "You should definitely come along. Maybe you'll make some new friends."

Despite trying to be positive, I couldn't shift the slight uneasiness as various fears began to swirl around my head; even as I stared into his dreamy, brown eyes, I could hear my heart beating faster. I didn't want to make new friends. I just wanted to be alone with Chet. Why couldn't he have suggested we go for food or something? Even a walk in the cold night would have been preferable to a house filled with drunken jackasses and catty witches that were ready to pounce.

"We can hang out," he added, and I could even detect the warm huskiness of his breath as he moved a little closer to me. "You know, we could get to know each other a bit better? I feel like we never really knew each other that well in school."

"I guess," I said, the real desire to be with Chet seeming to grind its way through my fears. I mean, I wanted to be his girl, of course. He was so hot, and popular, and the kind of guy that I'd always dreamed of dating. Unfortunately, I'd always been too shy and reserved to ever actually go on a date with someone of his calibre, but now, for some inexplicable reason, I was being granted the opportunity to do that very thing. It was a date he was suggesting, wasn't it? I'd be going along with him, so it was definitely a date. Perhaps the months of quiet patience had been worth it and Chet had realised my personality was a winner.

When he'd first started working with me, I'd sent him a hopeful friend request on Facebook. Even that had been a nervous ordeal for me, and I'd slapped the laptop closed in a panic after having clicked the button. I'd assumed he was going to blow me off, the same way everyone else always seemed to do. Most of the popular kids from my old school would either reject my request, ignore it and leave it pending, or add me and just never interact with me. A few had even accepted my request, and totally got my hopes up, but then, they'd asked who I was. That seemed to be an even bigger kick in the teeth than being rejected. I mean, was I so invisible, that no one in school even remembered who I was? However, Chet had not only accepted my request the same day, but he'd even commented on a few of my photos and messaged me a few times to ask if I'd cover his shift. Maybe he really did like me. "I guess it might not be so bad," I said, figuring if I did go, I'd just stay at his side the whole night and avoid interacting with anyone else. Who knows? After a few drinks, maybe he'd even lean in for a kiss? "I just—"

"Great," he said, and with that, apparently it was settled. "I'll text you my address and you can come pick me up in about an hour? I need to get showered and changed and stuff."

So, without even agreeing to anything, that's how I found myself outside Chet's about an hour later. I'd swung by my parents and grabbed my mom's jacket, and after running a curling iron through my hair, I was good to go. I mean, as far as I knew. My parents assured me I looked great, but then, they were biased, weren't they? The real confirmation would come from Chet, and I hoped more than anything that he was going to be surprised and blown away by how cool I could actually be. That he wouldn't look at me as a work buddy, but rather, a pretty girl that he would actually want to be with.

When he came bursting out of the house, he didn't even say hello or anything before asking, with raised, expectant eyebrows, "Can I drive?" He extended his slightly callused palm; fingers wiggling eagerly in expectation for my keys to be offered. Of course, I was totally captivated by the fact he was wearing a freshly ironed shirt and a pair of skinny jeans; his cologne intoxicating as he wafted from his stocky chest. His hair appeared so sultry in the way it was gelled up, really bringing the curls to life. He usually wore it slicked back during the work day, and it was only on the occasions when he was leaving that I ever saw it hanging down naturally. For a second, I was completely lost for words, wholly stumped by the vision I was staring upon. Whereas, Chet, well, he hadn't even noticed the effort I'd put into my appearance. Whereas I was gazing dreamily at the curls hanging over his forehead, he hadn't even noticed mine.

"You hear me?" he asked, shaking his hand again while he glanced at my car. "I wanna take your car for a spin, Erica. Mine's in the shop."

"What?" I asked, finally shaking some sense into myself while nervously scratching my head. "My parents wouldn't like that. You're not on the insurance or anything."

Chet rolled his eyes and flapped a hand towards me again. "Oh, come on. Don't be such a downer. It's like what...a ten-minute drive or something? You think I'm going to total your car in the next ten minutes?" He suddenly squinted at me, his lips pouting in an adorable way. "Is it because I'm a guy? You think I'm gonna race around in it or something?

"No," I said immediately, already fearing that he was going to go down the road of suggesting I was being sexist or something. A few guys had accused me of being a militant feminist in the past when I wouldn't go back home with them. "It's not like that at all. It's just we'll be breaking the law."

Chet blinked a number of times, almost as if he was frozen in disbelief. He bit his lip, before shaking his head. "Fine," he said. "If you're so boring that you don't know how to have a little fun, then you go ahead and drive."

"Okay," I finally said, even though my stomach was twisting and contorting from the uneasiness. "You can drive." I held out the keys towards him. The car was actually registered in my father's name, and he'd be fuming if he found out that someone else had driven it. Still, I wanted to impress Chet so much, and I didn't want to come across as some nervous loser that was obsessed with sticking to the rules. I wanted to be cool for once in my life.

Chet's expression immediately shifted from one of solemn sulking to excitement. Simply seeing the delighted sparkle in his eyes was enough to make my heart flutter. He snatched the keys, and within seconds, he was already in the driver's seat.

Moments later, I found myself sat nervously in the passenger seat of my own car while Chet cruised, staring out the window as we drove towards the party. In some ways, it was quite exciting, having a guy drive me around in my car, but it kind of made sense too, and seemed to be the direction of my life. I was never the leader, I was always the follower, and having a guy drive me to my first party kind of confirmed that mindset. Chet had invited me, and even though I had sort of agreed to go, focusing on the positives, instead of the negatives, now, as we got closer, my nerves were starting to get the best of me.

Perhaps I needed to just chill out and trust him. It was true I did prefer to stay at home with a good video game rather than socialize with my outgoing peers. But for some reason, Chet seemed to think I would enjoy this party, and I didn't want to disappoint him. I wanted to impress him, and I wanted Chet to look at me the same way I looked at him: with desire and lust.

As we pulled up to the house, my heart started to race. I could hear the loud music and laughter coming from inside, and my anxiety was already growing. I hated being in crowds, and especially rowdy ones fully of laughter. I just always had the feeling that the laughter was directed towards me. Even parked up outside, my worries made no sense; I mean, they were already laughing before we'd arrived. Still, I couldn't shake that naturally self-conscious circuit within me, fearing that as soon as I entered the party, whatever they were laughing at would swiftly lose their interest. They'd find a new target, that being me, and, immediately, I'd be the victim of their mockery-fuelled scorn.

Chet noticed my discomfort and put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry, it's going to be fun," he said with a soft, pleasant smile. "Let's just chill and hang out. Have a few drinks. Nothing else needs to happen, okay?" While still noting the hesitance on my face, he let out a sly laugh. "If you want to leave at any moment, just say so, and we'll be off, okay?" He smiled at me encouragingly, in a way he'd never done before. "You're cool, Erica, so just relax and be yourself."

That was enough to calm my remaining doubts. I mean, Chet thought I was cool? I was swooning. And if things did get bad, I had an escape plan. At least he was the one that had suggested it, and it wouldn't look entirely weird if everything became a bit too much for me. I nodded restlessly as we got out of the car, just wanting to rip the Band-Aid off of my social anxiety, and together, we made our way inside. Even as we passed through the front door, I noted the house was packed with people, and I felt a pang of hesitance as I realized how out of place I must look. I wasn't wearing anything fancy, just my mom's leather jacket and jeans, while every girl there seemed to be dressed in quite revealing and sexy clothing. I was never one for all that, and preferred to remain in the backdrop, never wanting to be the centre of attention. I mean, I couldn't really wear some figure-hugging dress, because then every would notice how flat I was. Still, I wanted to look cool, but it seemed simply wearing a leather jacket wasn't enough to win me that title, despite whatever assurances Chet had given me.

Chet led me through the crowd, introducing me to his friends along the way, and I had no choice other than to reluctantly follow, feeling completely out of place the whole time. They all seemed friendly enough, but I couldn't shake the feeling that they were just being polite. I felt like an outsider, like I didn't belong. I mean, I even recognised some of them from school, but none seemed to really show a particular interest in catching up or anything. They asked a few polite questions, but I kind of nervously stumbled over my answers while they appeared distracted, not entirely listening to me anyway.

As we mingled with the partygoers, moving from group to group as Chet carried the introductions, I looked around uneasily. Even as everyone appeared welcoming, I couldn't shake the notion that I was out of place. It just felt so wrong, and as if like something was going to happen where I would realise this was a ruse and I was going to be the butt of jokes. I'd seen that awful Carrie movie enough times, and I always viewed these parties as having similar ulterior motives, like I'd end up with a bucket of pig blood over my head. It made no sense, particularly with how chill everyone was being, but I just had this feeling. It was a paranoia that had been with me for years, and one that I had never been able to quite shake off.

Anyway, as the minutes passed, and nothing untoward happened, I tried to think positive, and accepted that, at least while in Chet's company, I could be considered marginally cool. I mean, I even noted the surprised looks on a few of the girl's faces, as they realised that Chet was here with me. They could barely believe it, but he was so confident and exuded charisma; I felt somewhat safe in his grasp as he occasionally took my arm and led me around; feeling butterflies whenever his fingers slipped between mine. I had well and truly lucked out, firstly by accidentally getting to work with him, and secondly, by him not being immediately repulsed by me, the same way most other guys seemed to be. They'd always find me weird, and in some ways, that would double-down on the inner feelings that festered within me. Chet had been a bit of a popular, nonchalant douche during school, but it seemed all of that was behind him and he'd well and truly grown up.

I'd always put popular guys and girls like that on a pedestal, feeling like they were out of my reach and I was beneath them. I couldn't place exactly why, but it had always been that way ever since I was young. Perhaps it was a result of a few girls bullying me for the way I looked, but I'd reached the mentality that I almost felt bad for my presence offending people. That was partly the reason why I hated attending places like this. I always felt like everyone was looking down on me and that I didn't belong amongst such company.

These thoughts had kind of developed into a number of kinks I had, where I seemed to crave being mistreated and belittled by others, despite being terrified of it actually happening. It made no sense, because I lacked self-esteem and was deathly self-conscious, so why did I find it a turn-on to think about such things? I'd even indulged a little online, touching myself while role-playing situations where I was mistreated, but after I'd orgasm, I'd always feel regret, and the same insecurities would leave me feeling depressed. I was always too much of a coward to actually do anything in person; which is why any sexual encounters were always a dud. I'd just lay there, covering myself, too ashamed to reveal the inner workings of my sexuality. It just felt so much different when it was real, and I needed to openly talk about the weird things that made me gush, like the sheer embarrassment would overwhelm me and swiftly obliterate any of the enjoyment. I kind of longed for it all to be taken out of my hands so that the pressure wasn't on me to perform, and I could, in some ways, feign not actually desiring those seedy, deviant things. I'd only truly dabbled one time...but...we'll get to that later.

"How are you feeling?" Chet whispered into my ear as we headed towards a table and he poured both of us a drink. "That wasn't so bad, was it? Are you glad you came?" He handed me a cup, before taking a sip himself, his gorgeous eyes remaining firmly on mine as he swallowed.

"Yes," I said, a bit too eagerly, while already having visions of us getting married. There was just a warmth that tickled me while I was in his company, and it made me feel like nothing else mattered. Like, with him, I could be completely safe in being myself. "I guess it's not so bad around here." I took my own swig of the punch or whatever it was in the cup, then glanced around, trying to look cool in my leather jacket.

Everyone seemed to be having a pretty good time, and as my eyes shifted through them all dancing and gossiping, I realised, that no one was paying me any mind at all. Other than Chet, all of their attention was completely elsewhere. They were just focused on enjoying themselves, and I accepted that my paranoia had been out of place. The girls, in particular, seemed pretty pre-occupied with dancing, whereas most of the guys were sat off to the side, laughing and cracking jokes while they were swigging beers.

There was a loud group off in the corner, which seemed to be made up of a load of jocks and the cheerleader type girls, and even though I was terrified of that type of crowd, they hadn't shown any interest, even when I'd accidentally made eye contact with a few of them. There was a tall one stood with her back to me, dark hair right down to her ass, and at one point she turned, thoughtfully looking off to the side while she was whispering in some guy's ear. I squinted slightly, recognising the shape of her nose and instantly, I felt everything drain from me. Every shred of confidence and optimism that I'd managed to drum up inside me during the last few minutes in Chet's company, immediately abandoned me. I blinked, not quite believing what I was seeing, but it was definitely Imane, a girl I had known since I was young, and someone who had been a big part of my life up until a few years ago. I hadn't seen her in a while, but at once, I was immensely embarrassed, a feeling of dread running through me. The last time I'd seen her...well...my back was already perspiring and I refused to allow my thoughts to wander there.

At that moment, Imane, amidst conversation with the stud at her side, turned casually and looked away from the group, almost as if she was in the process of thinking about whatever they were discussing. However, during that lapse in her concentration, she stared off nowhere in particular; that nowhere being right at me. By chance, she'd turned, and looked me straight in the eye, while I was stood there, looking awkward, shrunken in my demeanour and staring at her in total, paralysed fear.

For a second, she paused, her mouth caught in the motions of whatever she'd been in the process of saying. She looked even more beautiful and refined than the last time I'd seen her, and for the briefest moment, I clung to the hope that she hadn't recognised me. That I was so irrelevant and such a wallflower, that she'd turn back to her buddies and continue the conversation. However, her big, green eyes lingered, then they narrowed through their thick eyeliner, her bushy brows arching in consideration. She cocked her head while her drink dangled from her grip, and then, her eyes suddenly widened in surprise; her tongue poking marginally between her juicy, scarlet lips.

Instantaneously, I swallowed a lump in my throat as I felt the temperature rapidly rising in my entire body. A deep, growing uneasiness began to collect in my tummy as I experienced it speedily sinking, and for a second, I thought I may have to dash to the restroom. My heart was pounding in my chest as I appreciated exactly who I was staring at: the same Imane that had lived only a few houses away from my family home. She wasn't just some random girl at a party, we had history, and I should have already been fleeing to safety. It had never even entered my head that she may be at a party like this. I mean, she'd moved away with her family during our senior year of high school. Of all the fears and reservations about coming here, most of which were justified, the idea of being confronted by Imane had never even seemed a remote possibility. As far as I'd known, she was studying at a college in some other state.

Imane lifted a hand, and lazily pointed at me, her face contorted in a mixture of surprise and confusion. She nudged the arm of the girl next to her; another tall, athletic girl who also had her back to me, her hair wavy blonde and hanging just beneath her shoulders. Imane leant over and whispered into her ear; the other girl dropping her shoulder so she could get a better listen. There was a freezing in her posture, before her head turned to the side. She looked over towards me, following Imane's accusing finger, and after a second of her own confusion, she blinked, as if she didn't quite believe what she was hearing. My eye's shifted to hers, and a deep fear overcame me as I looked at Brittney, the most popular girl in our college year. Brittney, the girl who I avoided at all costs, was looking at me with complete amusement.

It was bad enough that they were staring at me, especially with the thoughts of worry swirling around my head, but it was like I could instinctively tell they were talking about me. Meanwhile, my eyes drifted back to Imane and her gorgeous appearance, her dark, exotic features contrasting her pale skin; all except for those shimmering green eyes. She looked so different from the last time I'd seen her, as if she'd escalated up a few levels in attractiveness and now really knew how to highlight her assets. I mean, the last time I'd seen her, she'd been wearing baggy clothes while gaming in her room. She was a gamer, just like me, so why didn't she look like I did? Why wasn't she nervous and out of her element? Why was she hanging with the cool people? We'd gamed together...we'd...I awkwardly swallowed, willing those thoughts to get the hell out of my head.

However, I'd awakened something, and as much as I tried, I was struggling to shake it off. Now, seeing her at this party, I felt a pang of anxiety and something came to the surface that I hadn't thought of for the past few years, something I'd put down to being a phase that was now safely in my past. Something that I'd considered just experimentation that had led to my current kinks; the same kinks that made it difficult to find a partner. Something that I'd dabbled with and was fearful of being brought up again. What if she recognized me and started telling everyone about what happened between us before? What if she told everyone about that thing we used to do? My entire body shivered as I recalled the embarrassing activity we used to partake in, whenever I'd go over her house. I swallowed nervously, convinced that she was going to walk over, and then spill all of the truth. What if she brought it up while Chet was stood next to me? I glanced away through the crowd, towards the entrance, and everything inside me was calling out to escape. When my eyes shifted back to the jock corner, I noted the two of them, Imane and Brittney, were laughing together while nodding in my direction. Why the hell was Imane friends with someone like Brittney?

"I should be going," I said in a somewhat squeaky voice. I had an escape plan, and it was time to evacuate.

Chet seemed confused, and he looked towards the direction I was staring in. "Oh, it's Brittney." He quickly necked the rest of his drink, before grabbing another. "We should totally go say hello." He couldn't help but lick his lips, staring over at her in an almost smouldering way.

Already I was completely shaking from the dread, and as Chet took my hand and tried to pull me in their direction, I remained rigidly stood in place, resisting him with everything I could muster. I didn't want to go and see Brittney, and I most certainly didn't want to go and see Imane.

"What's wrong?" he asked, while looking back, completely perplexed by my behaviour. "It's only Brittney," he said. "You know her, yeah? She's head cheerleader or something at your college, right?" He draped an arm around my shoulder. "This is how you work social situations, Erica. If you're friends with someone like her, you'll be like royalty, trust me. Let's go over."

Oh, I knew her, for sure. Brittney was this bitchy cheerleader that all of the guys seemed to be completely obsessed with. Simply seeing the way that Chet had animatedly come to life was already making me worry. Brittney had actually attended a different high school, though I knew of her as she'd dated one of the jock guys in my class. However, we were now in the same college. Whereas I was there thanks to my strong grades, that obnoxious shit was there as a result of a sports scholarship. Besides her cheerleading, she was good at running track or something. That's how it went for girls like her who kept in shape. It didn't matter that she didn't have a lot going on between her ears, because the shallow society we lived in seemed to care more about the things we could do with our bodies, and how good we looked while doing it.

Brittney, in typical douchebag fashion, was wearing one of those college football jackets over her dress, which she'd likely swiped from one of the smitten football players. She'd barely put in any effort as far as I could tell, looking like she'd swung by the party straight from track practice or something. That only annoyed me further, because, being honest, she was a total knockout. She had those maddening pronounced cheekbones that all models naturally possessed, as well as a perfectly slender figure and long, toned legs. She could turn up to a party wearing a potato sack, because all that mattered were her immaculate face, blue eyes and large, bouncy breasts; simply seeing her cleavage peeking out from inside the jacket was making me feel self-conscious. I could already tell that Chet was swooning as his fingers slipped from my own as he worked his way through the crowd, evidently not bothered enough by my hesitance to stick around. I thought about just cutting my losses and getting out of there, but something was tugging at me. I couldn't just let a haughty bitch like Brittney steal my guy from me, could I? Chet had come with me, after all. I had to at least put up a fight, even if I was completely terrified by having to see Imane again. I stared at my old friend, appearing so carefree and comfortable in the party setting, all while I shrank beneath the loud music, and I just couldn't do it: I couldn't risk her bringing up the past.

But then, a thought came to me. Imane was probably as embarrassed as I was by everything that had happened in the past. She looked so cool and popular now; the last thing she'd want was for people to know that she used to hang out with someone like me, right? She wouldn't want people to know about the things we did. I mean, I knew it wasn't normal, and I hadn't told a soul since. Even if she had recognised me, she wouldn't want anyone else to know about those things we'd done in her bedroom, surely? I looked on as Chet, with his curly hair and those skinny jeans that hugged his ass, bounded up to them, and as they both looked him up and down with approval, suddenly, I chuckled to myself as everything made sense. Perhaps I was overthinking things, and they'd been talking about something completely different: Chet. They weren't looking at me at all, were they? They were looking at him. Imane probably hadn't even recognised me because her attention had been completely on the gorgeous guy at my side. Still, though I felt somewhat better about the situation, I couldn't help by feel a little annoyed as I witnessed him laughing and joking with the pair of them. He was supposed to be with me, not that jackass Brittney, and as he leant over to whisper something in her ear, I felt compelled to fight for him. Even if it was a losing battle, at least I had to try, right?

So, despite everything inside me urging me to run, I fought through the nerves, and followed my way over towards them. Just keep quiet and nod along, Erica, I thought to myself. The same way you've been doing all evening. Try to look cool. Don't get rattled. If Imane does says anything, play it off and make a joke of it. You're cool. All eyes were on Chet anyway, and I figured that Imane would be so into checking him out that she wouldn't even notice I was there anyway, which was ideal. Likely, the same would occur with Brittney. She was just the sort to completely overlook the presence of someone like me, finding those beneath her on the social hierarchy to be nothing more than an annoyance. There had been a few instances in college where her knuckle-dragging behaviour had spilled over into my life. One time, she'd been goofing around in the canteen with some of the football jocks, and had thrown an apple at someone, trying to nail one of the ridiculous football throws they were teaching her. All she'd managed to do was launch it straight into my lunch, spraying my soup everywhere.

"Umm, sorry," she'd said while ruffling my hair. "Try and stay out the way of my throw next time." She'd even had the nerve to take one of my grapes and smirk before tossing it between her naturally pouty lips.

I'd wanted to reprimand her, but hating confrontation, and accepting the fact she was taller, better looking and way more popular than me, well, I just went to get some napkins to clean myself up while she continued to ass around and flirt with the guys.

On another occasion, she'd roughly barged me aside while passing in the corridor, knocking me over so my books were left sprawling everywhere. Her and her clique had sauntered off, high-fiving and hollering at each other. I don't even think she bothered to look back and knew who she'd knocked over in the first place. I was just a random nobody that was in her way.

As I approached, I made sure to keep my eyes averted from Imane, though thankfully, she was turned away and talking to some guy. Instead, I focused all of my attention on Chet. I had one goal in mind, get him away and back alone with myself, before Imane even realised I was there, never mind her recognizing who I was. However, he hadn't even noticed I was there either, and was putting on some annoying seductive voice, a voice he'd never previously used for me. "How's things with cheerleading?" he said while looking all shy, curling some of his hair between his fingers, dipping his head slightly and looking up at Brittney through his eyebrows. "You dating anyone at the moment?"

Brittney was clutching a cup of beer, and she looked Chet up and down, pursing her lips while she enjoyed taking in his chiselled jaw and broad chest. She didn't appear at all shy in openly ogling him right there, even humming approvingly as she squinted her eyes and nodded her head in approval. "Nah, just fooling around a lot," she said with a smirk. "You know, plenty of meals to sample."

I expected Chet to balk at her obvious slutty attitude, but instead, he chuckled, before timidly taking a sip from his drink. I was utterly bemused, seeing the cool, collected guy I was used to working with acting like some lovestruck boy.

At that moment, Brittney took another swig of her beer, before she looked away and noted I was stood there awkwardly; almost like I was an intrusion that was getting in the way. "You lost, girl?" she asked, while narrowing her blue eyes. "Because, you're like, blocking the music."

I gulped, already feeling my face redden as I stewed under the gaze of her unwanted attention. "I...ummm..." I licked my lips, before looking to Chet pleadingly. My voice became all squeaky and high-pitched, "Chet, can we leave? I don't feel—"

Before he could even respond, Brittney snorted and said, "Why's a stud like you hanging out with this weirdo?"

Instantly, the group of girls around her started laughing, and I looked about in a panic, feeling incredibly vulnerable and exposed. My eyes even lingered on Imane for a second, but she hadn't really noticed what was going down; her attention fully on some jock type.

Chet flinched somewhat, and his eyes flicked to me. His lips parted as his entire head jolted, as if he was about to leap forth and defend me. However, he seemed to catch himself, darting his eyes between me and Brittney. I swear I even recognized the moment his courage abandoned him; the sparkle seeming to fade somewhat in his eyes. Finally, he shrugged, before saying, "Oh, this is just some girl I work with."

"Where do you work?" Brittney asked with another snort. "A dyke bar?"

I visibly winced as more laughs rang out, my cheeks reddening as Chet had served me straight up to that jibe. The worst part was, he was sniggering along with the rest of the other girls at her side, while Brittney looked around like she'd told the world's best joke. Though Chet looked uncomfortable, and he flashed a concerned look towards me, he was still going along with it anyway. Instantly, I had a stabbing feeling in my chest; completely ravaged by the realization of betrayal. I mean, Chet had been the one to encourage me to come along, and here he was, laughing along with this airhead buffoon for her childish suggestion that we worked in a gay bar together? It was ridiculously immature, but he was laughing all the same, playing along like impressing Brittney was all that mattered. It was obvious that Chet was smitten, and I felt completely abandoned as a result; my heart broken by having to witness my crush acting in such an unbecoming way.

I was speechless and didn't really know what to say; no suitable retort coming to me. After a second, Chet glanced in my direction, and seemingly recognising my mortified face, he stood up straight and cleared his throat. "Come on, don't be like that," he said, putting a hand on my arm. "Erica is an alright gal. She'll make some guy very lucky one day."

I blushed, part of me feeling woozy at him saying such a thing, but another part feeling devastated by the insinuation that it would never be with him.

"You're not a dyke then?" Brittney immediately shot at me, and that completely caught me off guard. It was just so vulgar and bigoted, and she said it with such confidence, almost as if she wasn't even concerned by saying something so discriminatory out loud. If anything, she seemed almost confused by the fact that I wasn't. A few of the other girls almost spat out their drinks, including Imane, who stared at me in an almost knowing way. I blinked in surprise, wondering when the hell she'd turned around and started listening in. I'd been so shaken by Brittney's attitude, that I hadn't even been paying attention to Imane. She peered at me with those green eyes, seeming to delight in how uncomfortable I was, and I couldn't help but wonder if she recognized me...if she was thinking about those things we used to do. If she was wondering whether Brittney's accusation had been correct. As her tongue remained poised between her juicy lips, I feared she was about to splurge.

"No, I'm not," I said anxiously, and I could already sense the entire temperature of my body was rising as my back began to sweat. I stuttered for a second, feeling incredibly out of place, before I whispered, "I'm...I'm not gay."

Brittney chuckled to herself. "You don't sound so sure." She suddenly leant over and threw an arm around Imane's shoulder, pulling her in close, just as my old friend had been about to return to the jock. "What you reckon, Immy?" she asked with an air of arrogance, dipping her cup of beer towards me. "You reckon this gal is a dyke?"

Imane seemed to be having a good time up to this point. She'd been fully engrossed in flirting with that jock, laughing at his jokes, and looked like she truly belonged amongst that ilk; she looked everything I didn't. It seemed like she hadn't even really been paying attention to the conversation, up until the attack on my sexuality. Unlike me, who was terrified of her exposing what had happened between us, she was just too busy being cool and hanging out, and I wished I could be more like her. Confident, outgoing, not afraid to be the centre of attention, instead of quiet, feeble and afraid. I'd always been that way around her, especially a few years ago when I used to head over her house to play video-games together. Well, I say together, but that's not really the way it went down.

Anyway, I was nothing like Imane. I was shy, self-conscious, and constantly worried about what other people thought of me, especially her. Now I'd foolishly followed Chet over, and it was obvious that Brittney wasn't about to go easy on me, I was petrified Imane was going to say something. I knew how these cliquey gals were, with all of the bitchiness and backstabbing, and she wouldn't hesitate for a second to make a fool out of me if it meant her friends would be impressed. I could only hope that she hadn't actually recognized me, but now I'd moseyed up and given her a closer look at my face: she had to have recognized me. You're such an idiot, Erica, I thought to myself. You've stumbled into the lion's den.

After appearing annoyed at being interrupted for a second, Imane's face suddenly became serious, and she was clutching her cup of beer tightly. She narrowed her eyes towards me, really taking a good look for the first time. After a few seconds, her eyes widened, her mouth dropping slightly open. "Erica?" she asked, somewhat hesitant. "You're that girl who used to live on my street, right?" She cocked her head. "Is that you?" She waved her cup of beer around. "I didn't recognize you with the curls, and the music and everything."

"Ummm, well..." I said hesitantly, totally shell-shocked and out of my comfort zone. What a fool I was, she hadn't recognized me at all from across the room. If I'd just stayed away, I'd have probably been safe, but, I'd foolishly felt like I actually had a chance with Chet. As if he'd ever choose me over a girl like Brittney. I mean, even Imane had noticed the effort I'd put into curling my hair; Chet hadn't noticed jack shit! Now, I was apparently having to face a dark part of my past as a punishment for simply having a crush on a guy.

Already the fears were starting to take a hold of me. She knew who I was. She'd recognized me. She'd obviously remembered the things I'd done. Embarrassing things, that everyone else was going to find completely weird. I looked towards Chet in a panic, and already, I was foreseeing how strange he was going to find my previous interactions with Imane. My eyes shifted back to her pleadingly, squinting somewhat as I silently willed her to take pity on me. No one else needed to know. That was all in the past, and right now, stood amongst all of these people, especially someone as hot as Chet and a gal as brutal as Brittney: couldn't Imane just pretend she was mistaken and that we didn't actually know each other? I was already beginning to feel unwell. If she told Brittney, of all people, about the things we used to do: I'd never hear the end of it.

I gulped some of my drink nervously and couldn't find the courage to answer, even as Imane waited, an eyebrow raised. Instead, I looked away shamefacedly, dropping my eyes down in disgrace as I played over all of the times I'd gone to Imane's house. Without even thinking, in my embarrassed state, I glanced down at her sneakers, and suddenly, I felt incredibly exposed. Her feet appeared even bigger than the last time I'd seen her, if that was possible in only a few years passing. I shrunk backwards until I pressed up against a wall, my palms sitting flat as my fingers clutched desperately. Suddenly, the fears I'd held about coming to this party were compounded further, and already, I was beginning to feel as if I was about to vomit. It was like the pressure had risen dramatically ever since I'd recognised her face, and my body began to tremble as an overwhelming feeling of dread began to plague me.

"I dunno if she's gay," Imane eventually added in my hesitation, before taking another slurp of her beer. "From the look of her though, she could be into a lot of weird stuff."

Weird stuff? Stuff like we used to do together? There it was. I knew I was being toyed with, and no good could come from sticking around. I began to whisper to Chet, tugging at his wrist, "I think I need to be going."

"Already?" he asked, while looking at me with disbelief. Disbelief, and a hint of annoyance, that I'd actually have the gall to drag him away from his fun. "But we've just got here?"

"Looks like the dyke wants to bolt," Brittney said, and then she lewdly slipped her hand inside the football jacket, grabbing one of her hefty breasts. "Maybe she's getting nervous because she's seen something she likes."

A few of the other girls began to chortle in response, however, Imane was deadly silent. She simply looked me up and down, and seemed to be considering me, plotting her moves carefully while she decided how she should handle the situation. "It wouldn't surprise me," she finally said, and there was a stinging sensation prickling the length of my spine.

I was shaking, and turned away, instead focusing on Chet. "You said I could split whenever I wanted?" I asked him anxiously, trying to avoid looking at the two taller, prettier girls that were leering in my direction. Whereas Brittney was laid back and apparently just goofing around, I could feel Imane's eyes staring straight through me.

"Yes, but not after thirty seconds. Geez, come on, Erica. At least stay for an hour or something." Chet looked me up and down, appearing disappointed by the uncomfortable squirming of my body language. "Get to know a few people. Your social life could definitely do with expanding a little. There's more to life than playing those video games with internet dweebs."

I paused in my attempts to wriggle away, taken aback by the accusatory, and frankly, unfavourable nature of Chet's tone. It almost seemed like he was going on the attack, and simply because I didn't want to be there anymore? Was he that desperate to hover in that bitch Brittney's presence?

"What was that?" Imane asked abruptly while steering her ear closer to us. "What did you say?"

"Video games," Chet repeated, raising an eyebrow. His annoyed face suddenly softened, and he squeezed my shoulder reassuringly, almost like he was feeling guilty for the previous outburst. "Erica loves playing those silly video games, you know the type?"

I trembled, feeling like it was all getting a bit too much for me. "Video games," I whispered to myself again. "It was just video games." I looked towards Chet and willed him to understand. It was just video games, he'd know that, right? I tried to brush it off, but already the unease was rushing through me. As much as I wished for it all to have been just 'video games', unfortunately, the reality was way different.

"I don't remember you playing many video games," Imane said, and then it appeared on her face, exactly what I was fearing most: an arrogant smirk. She placed one of her hands against her bosom, before leaning slightly into the group. "I remember playing video games, and I remember you coming over my place, but, I don't remember you playing video games. Not much anyway." She looked towards the ceiling, acting like she was lost in thought, a fingertip pressed to her lips. "You were too busy doing something else." Her green eyes quickly dropped to me. "What was it you used to do, Erica?"

My lips parted as terror overwhelmed me, but thankfully, Brittney interjected with a snort, "You used to play video games? Geez, I didn't realize you were such a dork, Immy."

Imane was still smirking, and she raised an eyebrow. "I mean, it was fun." She narrowed her eyes. "You know, at times, it was really"—she rolled her eyes down towards her sneakers— "relaxing."

I almost had a panic attack right there and then, gulping loudly while I looked between Chet and Brittney, the pair of them waiting with interest for my response. Whereas Brittney seemed poised to pounce on whatever I said with another insult, Chet appeared most confused, his usually smooth forehead wrinkled up. As I looked to Imane, she was grinning, clearly satisfied with the way in which she'd so easily rattled my composure.

"I...uh..." I muttered, my throat becoming strained as I struggled to get out the appropriate words. Any words that would satisfy Imane and halt her from pressing the issue any further. "I...just...I used to..." I trailed off, my eyes staring into nothingness as I shivered, mortally embarrassed by that thing we used to do. That thing that I used to do...

You see, I'd known Imane since we were both kids. We used to be neighbours and she had lived close by. Occasionally, we'd play around in the street, that sort of thing, and even though we came from different backgrounds, being that Imane's family was Arabic, we had still seemed to get on pretty well. I mean, of course, there had been little differences. I'd visited her home enough times to note the disparity in the way we lived. Imane's family had eaten different foods to us, and I remember the first time I had gone over there; the air had been thick with the smell of spices, and there had been the incessant sound of her parents speaking in Arabic in the background. I had never been to an Arabic home before, and I had felt both nervous and excited. The furniture and stuff had been so different, with lots of carpets and the like, as well as various ornaments and trinkets that I hadn't recognized. I'd pretty much walked around her home that first time in wonder, feeling like I was in a completely different world. We had played board games and the like, and sometimes, we had even watched TV together, though I had found the choices often boring; her father always seizing control of the remote and choosing shows I could never understand.

Most of the time, we had just played around in the street, kind of like two tom boys, whether it be sports, various games or riding around on our bikes. However, things had changed towards the end of high school when we were both seniors, when Imane had proudly announced that her parents had bought her a new video game console. I had heard about those things, and had been desperate for one myself, but up to that point, my mother had always refused and stated coldly that we hadn't had the means to afford it.

So, when Imane had come up to me one day and asked if I wanted to come to her house to play video games, well, obviously my reaction had been one of absolute positivity. I recall I may have even jumped joyously in the air and punched my fist. Little did I know, back then, that something as innocent as playing video games would be the source of ridicule that would come to define my life. Not only my life, but my status amongst my peers. To the point, that now, the mere mention of video games leaves me feeling uneasy. I mean, since that Friday at the party, I haven't even looked at my games console.

Anyway, after going over her house that first day, I had found myself returning multiple times over the week that had followed. There had been all kinds of games, and the whole thing had been a completely new experience for me. I had hardly been able to believe just how fun it was to play games on the computer, and it had appealed to me so much more than having to go outside in the cold. However, even though I had enjoyed the variety of games she had, it hadn't taken me long to realize that Imane was better than me at playing; it had been her console after all, and whenever she had been alone, she'd practised endlessly. As a result, I had usually found myself in second place, even when I had tried my hardest to win. Still, I had continued to come over each day because playing the games had actually been a lot fun, regardless of routinely losing. I mean, Imane had been the only one with the video games at that time, so I had found myself constantly asking to come over and play.

After a week or two of that routine, I had found that I was improving somewhat, and in certain games we had actually reached a kind of parity in skillset. Consequently, I had come back day after day, and we had played various video games of differing genres; Imane seeming to delight in playing with someone of a similar age, rather than having had to play with her younger brother. "He's so annoying," she had said one time. "He doesn't even know what he's doing. He just bashes the buttons."

I certainly hadn't been a button basher, and after some weeks had passed by, I had beaten Imane as much as she had beaten me. As my talent for games grew, she had seemed to become increasingly frustrated as I had often found that I was the victor in an increasing majority of the times. In a grand display of irony, she had even flung her controller at times, bashing it against the wall. That seemed to have broken the seal on her temper a little, and on further occasions when I had won, Imane had again screeched and declared how it was a one-off.

But then, as we had entered another month of playing together, something inexplicable had occurred; completely innocuous to Imane, but having left a lasting impression on me. During a heated gaming session, Imane had become most annoyed by the fact I had been ahead. All afternoon, I had been besting her, and gradually, her temperament had become most frustrated and petty. Whenever I had bagged myself another victory, she had angrily kept quiet, not offering me any plaudits, but simply gritting her teeth and restarting the game with a violent press of the 'start' button.

"I will beat you next time," she had said, before scowling in my direction. Yet, once again, I had been the one to race ahead. At the point of victory, and about to cross the finish line, I had noticed that Imane had become increasingly agitated at my side. She had been huffing and grinding her teeth, and then, to my absolute shock, she had turned in her seat, lifted a foot and pushed it towards my face; planting the sweaty ball and toes against my cheek and flicking my head away so that I hadn't been able to see the screen properly. I had tried to keep focused, shifting in my seat and moving to the side, though unfortunately, it had been enough of a distraction that I crashed, and Imane had been able to race to victory.

"Ha," she had said. "You suck, loser!" And with that, she had retracted her foot, crossed her legs and acted like nothing had happened. Acted like she hadn't just shoved her sweaty foot right into my cheek. "Shall we go again?"

"Umm, sure," I had said, completely bemused by what had happened. My cheek had still been tingling from the impact of her toes plunging into my flesh, and I had softly rubbed it with my fingers, noting a slight moisture that could have only been her foot sweat. Blushing slightly, I had pretended like I hadn't been bothered, and neither of us had mentioned what she'd done at all. Instead, we had played the next round, Imane swiftly beating me as I had no longer be able to concentrate. All I had been focused on, was the fact that Imane had pushed her sweaty foot against my face, won the game, then called me a loser. At times, I hadn't been able to keep my eyes on the screen, instead glancing down at her long, pink-painted toes, having felt strangely embarrassed.

I had left her house that day having lost over ten games in a row, and that night, I had felt oddly weird about the whole thing. I mean, what she had done was so childish and immature. We had been two seniors at the time, after all, and she'd done that? All because she had been losing? It was inexplicable, but the worst part had been: it had worked.

I had found myself shaking that night while thinking everything over, because, I had indeed felt like a total loser. I mean, what kind of loser has a foot shoved in their face, and doesn't say anything in return? Doesn't even complain or fight back? Instead, I had just sat there and allowed her to dance around after she had unjustly snatched victory from me.

As I had laid in bed, clutching the sheets up to my neck, I had thought back to how whenever we had come in at the door, Imane had always taken her shoes and socks off. I had noticed this was a trend that the rest of his family followed too, and the first time I'd entered, Imane had told me to take my shoes off at the door as well. Being polite, I had always done this, without thinking much of it.

However, the next day, when she had invited me over, I had immediately looked down at her feet as she had kicked her sandals off, recalling the way her toes had felt as they had been pressed against my cheek. They had appeared so soft and fragile, with their pink polish, but even so, she had kept my head pushed away from the screen to the point she had been able to easily claw back victory. For some reason, that had left a lasting impression on me, and the fact she had called me a loser afterwards, having blatantly cheated in such a way, well, my confidence had been completely rocked. It had been deftly humiliating, and I had been silent for the remainder of the session, looking on baffled as Imane had beaten me time after time, feeling like a complete loser throughout.

I had noticed that the rest of her family walked around barefoot too, which I had thought was quite odd, considering my own family never did this. As a result, it had almost made me feel uncomfortable, like I had been constantly reminded of the way in which Imane had bested me at the game. In my home, feet had always been things that were considered, ugly, sweaty and smelly, and it had been assumed rude to have them out and on the furniture. But with Imane's family; it had been like I was seeing a part of their body that should have been hidden away. They'd cross them up on the corner of the couch, or sit at their desk with their feet freely visible on the floor. Apparently, Imane hadn't been bothered about shoving such an ugly, sweaty, and smelly thing in my face, if it meant that she had been able to come out the victor. She had been willing to use such a thing against me, her friend, just so she could win, and had joyously called me a loser, even though she'd cheated. To her, apparently, all that mattered had been winning.

The worst part had been, that from then on, whenever I had come over her place, I had always found myself looking at Imane's feet, almost as if I was viewing some forbidden fruit that should have remained out of sight. I had stared at them in both fear and curiosity, remembering how I had felt as her sweaty toes had been pressed into my cheek, and how my composure had been completely dishevelled by such an innocuous thing. Her feet had taken on some kind of feared position in my head whenever we played games, and I had been constantly on edge, wondering if she would repeat that tactic all over again. However, it had appeared to be a one off, as though I had occasionally taken the lead in the days since that encounter, she had never made another attempt to subdue me in that way. Despite my lingering looks towards her feet, having recalled how her sweat had felt upon my cheek, Imane hadn't caught on to the workings of my mind.

On occasions, I'd even catch a faint whiff of her feet in the room, even though I had never previously noticed it. It had been like I'd become consciously aware of her feet at all times, and increasingly, her feet distracted me from playing, without her having known anything about it. Even though she had not kicked her foot at me in the same way, I had still found that they had a detrimental effect on my performance. Quite often, I had found myself looking away from the screen a bit too long, my eyes lingering on her longish toes as they were pressed up against the TV unit beneath the game system, blushing shyly after having recalled how they had felt while pressed against my cheek. I had known I shouldn't look, but I hadn't been able to help but stare in fascination, looking upon something that had seemed prohibited as she had openly wiggled them, almost goading me. I mean, why hadn't she cared that she had a friend exposed to her smelly, bare feet? Had she just thought it was normal, the same way it had been normal to shove them in my face so she came out the victor? I had become fascinated by her conceited attitude when it came to winning.

As a result, I had found my eyes drifting towards Imane's feet regularly, especially whenever we were alone in her room. It was inexplicable, and back then, I hadn't really been able to understand why I'd continued to look. Perhaps at first it had been a result of curiosity, but over time, it had almost been like I was being forced to endure the sight of her feet whenever she was beating me at a game, almost as a reminder of the time she had reduced me from a winner to a loser. On the occasions that her feet had particularly smelled, for instance, if she'd been walking around outside beforehand, then I'd have to sit there and suffer the odour, and at times, they had really stunk a little, in a girly kind of way. Again, in some ways, it had almost been like a punishment for not being as good at the game as she was. Much to my embarrassment, I had often only been worse than her because I had been distracted, which had only seemed to encourage my focus on her feet even more. I'd notice her clutching at the wire dangling from the controller; it captured between her biggest and second toes while her eyes had remained fully focused on the screen. I had constantly noticed that her feet were quite large, for a girl, yet still feminine in their shape, with that pink polish often appearing chipped. I had never seen anything like them before and I had found myself completely gawping at times, mesmerized by how she had been so comfortable baring them in my presence. Not only baring them, but having thrusted her toes into my cheek so she could beat me.

And then after another week or so had passed of my constant sly looks towards her feet while I had been putting in poor performances, things had changed even more. Imane had been sat on her knees on the chair; her feet tucked away behind her, when I had come over. Her mother had let me in, and when she'd looked up, I'd noticed she was playing some game I didn't recognize.

"What's this?" I had asked, squinting at the screen.

"I have a new game," she had said. "I have been practicing on it all week."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to get good at it first," she had said with a little smirk. "I'm going to teach you a real lesson on it."

She had a little grin on her face, and I hadn't been about to let her think she was better than me or anything. Despite everything that had been going on in my head; some pride had still remained. Before the whole foot-in-face incident had occurred, I had consistently beaten her on all of her other games, and I knew the same ritual had been about to commence. If I had been able to keep my concentration on the screen anyway. "I'll still beat you on this one too," I had said. "Just like I beat you on everything else."

Imane had rolled her eyes and blown a raspberry. "I bet you won't," she had said. "This is now my favourite game, and you haven't beaten me in weeks."

I had blushed at that, since it had been the truth, but thankful that she hadn't known of the reason why my performances had been sucking. "Bet you I will," I had said back instinctively.

Imane had paused while pressing the start button. "You reckon?" she had asked with a raised eyebrow. "You wanna make a real bet on it then?"

"Ummm, sure," I had said hesitantly. "What do I get if I win?"

Imane shrugged. "I don't know, what do you want?"

My eyes had flickered towards the screen. "Your console?"

"My console?" she had whispered, most taken back.

"Yes," I had said with a nod. "If I win, I can take the console home with me and play it all week."

Imane had blinked rapidly, and seemed most surprised that I had suggested such a thing. "But I've just got a new game," she had said in an annoyed voice. "That isn't fair."

"Scared, are you?" I had teased, actually pleased with myself that I'd rattled her so much, especially since the suggestion had just been the first thing that had come to my head. "Well, what do you want if you win?"

Imane had shrugged, before looking at me. "I don't know. You don't really have anything I want." She had adjusted her position, turning in the seat so that she unfolded her legs from beneath her. There had always been a little cushion on the floor in front of her, which she had often used to rest her feet during playing. While I looked on, she had pushed both feet into the plush material, spreading and gripping her cute, yet fromidable toes.

I had already been transfixed, and suddenly, I had felt a little shiver run down my spine as an absolutely ludicrous idea had come to me. For weeks, I'd been having to look at, and on some days, smell Imane's feet while we had gamed. That had been from a few feet away though. Inexplicably, I had been waiting for her to shove her foot in my face again in order to ruin my performance, though, she hadn't bothered, and for some reason, that had, in turn, bothered me? I hadn't been able to understand why, but it had just tormented me so much seeing her freely have her feet out all the time, recalling how she had used them to better me. I had looked at the cushion as her toes tugged and gripped at the fabric. Then, I had shivered while imagining myself down there, with her freely rubbing her stinky feet all over my face, making sure she won the game while laughing at me for being a loser. Maybe I would have been better at the game, but it didn't matter, because with her feet, Imane could ensure I would lose. I'd be forced to stay there and suffer my punishment for losing to her, breathing in the odour from between her toes while she enjoyed her victory and continued to game as much as she liked. Had that been why I had constantly been sneaking glances at her toes for weeks, because I had actually liked the way she had used them to defeat me. Had...had I wanted her to do it all over again? I mean, if I had, it wouldn't have been possible to express such a weird desire, would it? Though...through a bet...well...

I had swallowed nervously, looking up from her feet and straight into her sparkling, green eyes. Imane's thick, dark eyebrows had wrinkled up with intrigue. "What?" she had asked. "What is it?"

"Well, it's just, if I don't have anything you want, maybe there's something else I should have to do"—I had to gulp as I had swallowed a mouthful of worried saliva—"as punishment for losing?"

Her eyebrows had flattened, before one had raised in a solitary act. "Like what?"

I hadn't even been able to look her in the eyes anymore as I had whispered, "Something like sniff your feet, maybe?" I had felt my face reddening after I had actually said such a stupid thing. In the corner of my eye, I'd noticed that Imane had looked down towards her feet, both of them raising from the cushion as she'd spread her toes.

"Smell my feet?" she had asked in a confused manner. "They must stink though, Erica. Why would you wanna smell my feet?"

I had shot my head up and stared at her in panic. "What? I don't," I had said hastily, fearing she'd seen straight through why I had suggested it. I mean, why had I suggested it? Had I actually wanted to sniff Imane's feet? As I'd dropped my eyes to them again, I had definitely felt something as I stared at them. Something had drawn me towards her feet, over and over again, but I hadn't quite been able to place it, other than that single instance of her pressing her toes into my cheek that time, and, the way it had made me felt. Broken, defeated, subjugated and...like a loser. It had been like that one action had been the birth of some kind of obsession, and in the weeks since, my thoughts had been blighted by images of Imane's cute, yet large feet.

It hadn't even so much been the smell itself that had left a lasting effect on me. I'd breathed it in enough over the weeks to know that it had a strangely strong funk. It had just been the idea of being forced to smell them, against my will, that had been reaching me in some way. The same way that she had previously forced me into losing by shoving her foot in my face. It had been strangely baffling, yet exciting, the idea of not only losing, but being punished for being such a failure too; punished in the most embarrassing of ways, even worse than the time her foot had been briefly pressed against my face. I mean, to have to smell Imane's feet, right up in my face? I had shuddered at the possibility of experience such a thing. She hadn't said no, so I had pushed on, hopeful. "It's just...ummm...well, you know," I had said scrambling. "It's a punishment for losing, isn't it? I'm not supposed to enjoy it, so I thought of the worst possible thing." I had looked her in the face again, and noted she had been considering my logic. "You know, you losing the console for a week will suck, won't it? Just like having to sniff your feet will suck. I tried to pick something comparable."

Imane had cocked her head slightly. "Yes, I guess it makes sense." She had begun to drum her fingers against her chin; her dark hair framing her narrow face. "This is my new game, after all, and having to sniff my feet will definitely suck." She had leant forward and picked up the other controller, before offering it in my direction. "You're on. You win, you can have the game for a week. I win, you sniff my feet."

"Deal," I had said with a shaky voice, and I hadn't been able to stop myself from glancing towards her feet a final time; her toes had looked so masterful as they had proudly gripped the cushion once more. The mere idea of being trapped beneath them, moaning and writhing while I had to endure their stink after having lost: it had been confusingly intoxicating. It had been incredibly risky to suggest such a thing, but I figured that perhaps it had been a good incentive to put my best effort in. I mean, I had been affected for weeks after having lost that time when she had distracted me with her foot. I hadn't wanted to go through all that torment again, had I? Yet, as I had glanced at her pink toes, I had only been able to picture myself beneath them.

"Scared?" she had asked, noticing my prolonged stare. "You better be. Because there's no way I'm going to lose. You're going to regret making this bet when you're sniffing my feet."

"No, I'm not scared," I had said, while taking a seat and grabbing the controller. "I'm going to win easily. Just like I always do." I had given her feet a final peek, before I had locked my eyes on the screen and she started the game.

It had only been a few seconds into it before I had realized I hadn't had a clue what I was doing. It had been some fighting game, like a beat-em-up, but the controls had been different to the ones I had been used to playing. I had moved all over the place and tried to figure out which buttons to push, but Imane already had most moves nailed down. While I had struggled to throw punches and kicks, she had been pulling off combos, and locking me up in various holds and throws. Before I had even realized what was happening, I'd already been completely hammered and lost the first round.

Imane had chuckled to herself, and I had looked over, a mixture of anger and frustration. "See the cushion?" she had said, while nodding down towards her feet. "That's going to be you in a minute. You're going to be down there while I make you sniff my feet."

I had gulped, and hadn't been able to resist watching her toes for a second as they had gripped the cushion, thinking about how they might feel while doing the same to my nose. I had shivered, completely rattled by the idea of being humiliated in such a way. Though the embarrassment would be unbearable, I had found the idea of it actually happening to be strangely enticing, in a way I hadn't been able to understand. I mean, I hadn't actually wanted to lose, had I? I hadn't suggested that forfeit because I'd actually wanted it to happen? That would have been ridiculous. Yet, I had found I was constantly lying to myself, trying to mentally jump around my own motivations in suggesting such a forfeit. "Ummm," I had whispered, before finally manging to pull my eyes away.

Imane had sniggered to herself, then narrowed her eyes towards the screen, confident and determined. "You ready to lose?"

"I can still win," I had said, though with less conviction, my attention briefly dropping to her feet once more. There had been a weird twitch in my tummy, as I had watched her toes clutch the cushion, almost as if they had been doing so victoriously.

Imane hadn't been able to help but chuckle. "You don't stand a chance."

The second round had commenced, and once again, it had been easily evident that I hadn't had a hope in hell of figuring the game out in time. Imane's character had moved so seamlessly, and her button-combinations on the controller had been precise and accurate. I had found myself in the process of being demolished without any resistance within seconds. Clearly, she really had been practicing all week, and as I had watched my health bar ticking down with each further blow her character inflicted, I had looked from the screen towards her feet in resignation. I'd literally given up by that point, as it had been plainly evident that I was useless at that particular game.

"All over," Imane had said proudly, before dropping the controller into her lap. She had moved her hands behind her head, letting out a sigh before lifting her feet. "Come on, get down and sniff my feet, loser."

Despite having been the one to suggest the forfeit in the first place, suddenly, I had found myself having real doubts as I had realized she had actually expected me to do it. I had looked at her feet sheepishly, and despite previously figuring it would be strangely stirring having to endure them all over my face, the reality of it actually happening had seemed immensely embarrassing. I mean, laying there and having to look up into Imane's eyes while smelling her feet? It had been a mortifying consideration and my pride hadn't been about to let me succumb to such a fate. "You're not serious, are you?" I had asked with an awkward chuckle. "I thought we were just kidding around."

"You're only saying that because you lost," she had sneered. "You trying to be a bad loser now?"

"No," I had said, while becoming a bit apprehensive by the raising of her voice. "I just didn't think we were being serious."

"Would you have taken the console?"

"What?"

"If you'd won," Imane had said with a nod of her head towards the television. "Would you have taken my games home for the week?"

"I...ummm...well...I..." I had trailed off as I thought about lying and pretending that I wouldn't have taken everything. The truth had been: I damn well would have taken her games home for the week if I'd beaten her. I'd have enjoyed playing it and getting better at it, especially knowing it had belonged to Imane. I most definitely would have danced around and rubbed her face in it too. I'd have simply been bullshitting if I'd said otherwise. "Yes, I would have."

"So, a bet's a bet," she had said as she looked down towards the floor. "Come and accept your punishment for losing"—she hadn't been able to resist sniggering to herself—"loser."

Simply being called that had caused a tightness to emerge in my chest. I had grimaced while looking at her feet, and though I'd been shyly sneaking glances at them for weeks, it had been immensely humiliating to consider being trapped beneath them. Still, I had become somewhat curious by how they'd smell up close, and whether I'd still have felt that strange excitement I'd been thinking about; the excitement of having to suffer them all over my face. If anything, the bet had given me the perfect opportunity to experience it while appearing under duress. Maybe I would have absolutely hated it, and never ever again would I have even offered the slightest glance towards her feet. At that point, I hadn't understood the lingering consequences of what I'd been about to do. "Fine," I had said. "Since we had a bet and all. I guess I have no choice, do I?"

"No, you don't," she had said with an almost evil glee. "Now, get down and sniff my feet."

Again, I had felt a warm rush travel up my spine from simply hearing Imane utter such words. Over the weeks of being distracted by her feet while playing our games, I'd never have imagined that one day she would be demanding I lay down and sniff them. I mean, since that first day where she had pressed her foot into my cheek, she hadn't acknowledged it having happened at all.

Suddenly, her tone had sounded assured and determined, and I had found myself quietly placing the controller down while a lump caught in my throat. I had looked at her shyly, almost as if I'd been waiting for her to declare it all a joke, yet, she had just silently watched my discomfort as everything had become very real to me. I had begun to feel a pounding in my chest as I had awkwardly moved towards the floor; braced to replace her cushion.

Imane had moved her feet aside, as I settled down, placing the back of my head on the cushion and looking up at her. Though she had still been sat in the same seat, from my new angle, she had appeared so much bigger and in control. Throughout the weeks, I'd been glancing down from the television towards her feet, as they had rested on the floor, pushed up against the unit or played with the controller wire. It had been humbling to find myself, abruptly down there on the floor, about to experience what it was like to be beneath her feet while she gamed. I had looked up at her apprehensively, while she had smiled back down at me. With the controller in her hands once more, she had switched the game to single player mode; a silent acknowledgement of my failure. "You ready?" she had asked, without even bothering to look back down.

I had swallowed nervously. I mean, I'd been looking at her feet so much for weeks while strange, intrusive thoughts had plagued my mind. I had often spent my time daydreaming, wondering how they'd smell up close; how her sweaty toes might have felt against my skin with both feet instead of one. However, as I had been on the brink of actually finding out, I had become apprehensive as hell, simply because of how embarrassing the whole situation had been. "Not really—"

My mouth had instantly been squashed closed as Imane had carelessly planted both feet against my face as if I had been some inanimate footstool. My arms had immediately shot up at my sides, having turned rigid as I clenched my fists; my teeth similarly clamped within my lips. There had been something just so paralysing about having her warm, sweaty foot soles pressed against my face, especially as I had felt my skin sinking into her flesh. It had been as if the weeks of slyly ogling her feet had led to that moment, and having finally experienced it for real, my emotions had danced all over the place.

I had heard the game start up, and then the weight had increased on my face as Imane settled back into the seat. She had dragged both feet down my face, and I had been offered a glimpse over her toes; her concentration remaining completely on the screen above me. Her tongue had been poking out of the corner of her mouth, as she had stared forwards, focused with determination. Meanwhile, she had nestled the toes of one foot right over my nose, jamming it into the sweaty groove beneath them. The second foot had come to rest atop the first, and I had remained buried there, my nose bundled beneath an inescapable pile of sweaty girl toes.

While I had been forced to stare up at her while she ignored me, I had instinctively taken in a breath, and immediately, my entire body had spasmed, the vinegary stink of her sweaty, Arabic toes completely taking me by surprise. It had just been way more intense than I'd been expecting, and had almost served as a reality check that the sniffs I had often smelled from across the room were nowhere near as bad as having them plastered to my nose. My hands had dropped to her ankles, and I had squirmed and writhed, trying to wriggle away on the floor while yanking her feet from my face.

"What you doing?" she had asked, and I had felt her position shift as she scooted forwards on the seat. She had wriggled one leg free from my grip, and I had been taken by total surprise as she had harshly slapped me across the cheek with the sole of her foot. Up until that point, we'd never before been aggressive with each other, but it was like something had changed by Imane having had her feet right in my face, especially since I had willing lay down. It had been kind of like that single act had erased any respect she had for me, and she had looked at me as nothing more than her footstool. I had frozen while staring up at her, and as she had been looking down, her face had been contorted with annoyance at having had to pause the game. "Stay still," she had said, before she had given my cheek another symbolic slap, demonstrating her control. "You lost, so accept your forfeit."

I had been flabbergasted by the way she'd struck me with her foot, but, it had felt strangely good, as if I had been put me in my place. As if, once again, Imane's feet had reduced me to a loser. She hadn't hesitated in slapping me, because I had been down there, on the floor, no longer her equal. My lips had been trembling as she had kept the one foot held up above my face; her sole appearing intimidating as it hovered, poised and ready to slap me once more at the first sign of refusal. "But...they stink," I had muttered. "Way worse than I was expecting." As her foot had flicked towards my face in a threatening manenr, I'd flinched, before rapidly adding, "I'm sorry, I'll behave."

"Good," she had said, and with that, she had wriggled the other foot free from my grasp. I had made an instinctive move to block my face with my hands, fearful of another slap, but she'd grunted, before she kicked both of my arms aside, thrusting both feet to my face before I had the chance to roll aside. As her clammy soles had contacted my facial features, my head had bounced backwards, missing the cushion and instead pounding against the floor. I had grimaced from the impact, but in my hesitation, Imane's feet had found their target once more, completely swarming my face until I had been left in darkness. She had pushed with extra force, her toes flexing against my forehead as the back of my head had been painfully ground into the hard, wooden floor. "Stay still," he had sneered, and I had been able to sense him gritting his teeth without even being able to see so.

"Urggghh," I had groaned, as the pressure against the back of my head had begun to tell. Even worse, my nose had squashed down to the side beneath the ball of one merciless foot, while my lips had been harshly pressed against my teeth by the heel of her other. I had tried to mumble some kind of assurance that I wouldn't move again, but everything had come out garbled.

"Shhh," Imane had said, beckoning me to be quiet, and she kept me that way for about a minute, my nostrils flaring while forced to breathe in the intoxicating stink that I'd just so desperately tried to escape. For some reason, I'd had in my head that I would simply have been expected to give her feet a symbolic sniff as part of the bet, then, having satisfied my curiosity, we would have resumed playing the game. However, while trapped there beneath her unforgiving soles, I had realized that Imane had been intent on giving me the full experience.

Without thinking, I had clamped my hands around her ankles again, however, that only caused her to press down with greater might; my fingers having released immediately as I'd wilted beneath the pressure. Seemingly satisfied with my surrender, she had relaxed the effort, dragging her toes down once more to safely settle around my nose. I had blinked my eyes open, her figure appearing blurry above as she had sat all masterful in the chair; the controller clutched in her fingers. While gazing down, she had squinted at me, before offering a ferocious nod. "Good, stay still," she had said, then her eyes had returned to the screen as she resumed playing.

I had just laid there, accepting my fate as her pale toes had remained plastered all over my nose. I had no other choice, other than to softly breathe in the strong, musky stink repeatedly, my body having twitched slightly each time the vinegary odour assaulted my senses. However, Imane had again pressed harshly against my face with her toes, before shaking me slightly, evidently not satisfied with my performance. "Come on, sniff it. Let me hear it," she had said, without even dropping her eyes. "Sniff my feet, loser."

I had still been shallowly breathing from the moment her toes had clamped over my nose, but after having been called such a thing, and recognizing the nonchalance in her posture as she had remained fully invested in the game: I had wilted. There had just been something intoxicating about being called a loser, compounding my dramatic failed attempt at beating her. Suffering the humiliation of sniffing my friend's feet while she gamed had reached somewhere inside me. As a result, I had taken a big, prolonged sniff, compelling myself to obey her winning demand, and feeling my entire body tremble to the point of hyper-ventilation. That strong, vinegary odour had left me gasping and my eyes had rolled back as I contemplated the proximity to which I had been enduring Imane's foot stink. For weeks, I'd picked up slight whiffs of her feet, but never had I fully inhaled their uninhibited odour in that way.

"How does it smell?" Imane had asked, and her feet had shifted, my nose becoming lodged between her biggest and second toe. Her second toe had appeared a little longer than the first, almost as if it had been designed to snugly hold my nose beneath. "Make sure you breathe it all in, and maybe next time, you won't suck so much at the game."

The trash-talking had been bizarrely making the whole experience more stimulating for me, and her words had rung in my ears as her raunchy feet wreaked havoc with my nose. Everything had just been so hot, and sweaty, as her skin had clung to my own, almost having reached the point of feeling claustrophobic. Still, I had remained in place, wallowing in my defeat as I had breathed helplessly over and over; twitching slightly each time the vinegary stink worked its way inside my nose.

Gradually, she had begun to pay me less and less attention, with her focus being entirely on the game. Throughout, I had just laid there, suffering and breathing through her toes as they had occasionally shifted on my face, mindlessly searching for a more comfortable position as the heat had risen. The longer her soles had remained planted against my face, the hotter everything had become for me; the skin seeming slippery and moist as she had effortlessly slid them around, completely owning my entire being with the bottoms of her Arabic feet.

I had seemed to lose all sense of time and reason as I just laid there, offering no resistance as her feet freely danced all over my face. At times, while her full attention had been entirely on the game, she'd thrash around in excitement, my soft face bearing the brunt of her movements as her toes dug around and clutched at my stinging skin. While she had been playing against an extra difficult adversary, she'd scoot forwards again in concentration, flattening her soles against my face and pinning me to the floor. Throughout, she had offered me no concern, simply using me as a footrest while she enjoyed her game in peace and comfort.

Time had seemed to pass me by slowly, my entire existence consumed by the unrelenting funk of Imane's sweaty toes and the increasingly rising temperature as her raunchy feet had their way with my face. The humiliation had withered me to the point that I had kind of fallen into a defensive haze, retreating into my head in such a way that I had no longer felt like a functioning, sentient person. I had become a footstool, nothing more, and at that moment: I had realised that things were never going to be the same between us again.

Suddenly, after however long had passed by, Imane had lifted her feet from my face and rested them back on the cushion, crossed at the ankles and casual in their posture; her pink-painted toes twitching and enjoying the air. I had blinked while trying to focus and make sense of what was happening. Her figure had appeared blurry above, as I watched her place down the controller and rise from the seat. She had leant over me, looking down, her face scrunching up in disgust. "Your face is all wet and gross," she had sneered down at me. "It's like you're wearing my foot sweat." She had wrinkled her nose, before squeezing it between two fingers. "Yuck, your face totally stinks like my feet."

I had run a finger along my cheek, blushing as I noted the collected moisture on my fingertip. My skin had become hot and flushed, and there had been a stinging soreness from the way she'd relentlessly mashed and slid her clammy soles all over my facial features without mercy, smearing her scent right into my flesh. I had thought about saying something, but no words could adequately have described how subhuman I had felt at that moment.

She had suddenly yanked her head away, grimacing in disgust. "God, you really do stink," she had said, and with that, she had kicked me lightly in the thigh. "You should be getting home. Mom will be making dinner soon."

I had still been laying there, completely shell-shocked by everything that had happened. While beneath her sweaty feet, it had been like I'd been completely reduced as a person, and my lips quivered as I had struggled to muster a comprehensible word. "I...errr...I...Imane...I..."

Imane had nudged me again, seemingly losing patience. "Come on, foot sniffer," she had said. "Get off home."

With that, I had sheepishly rolled to the side, before wiping my face with the sleeves of my shirt. My skin had become so saturated with her foot sweat, that it had actually stung to clean it off. I had to leave with my head held low, feeling completely beneath her as I had gone home with my tail between my legs. It had been intensely demeaning, the way she had kicked me out once she had finished plastering her feet all over my face. When I had suggested the bet, I had fingered it would be a funny joke between us, and once I had sniffed her feet, we'd have resumed playing our games together. The reality had been much different, and my confidence had taken a severe battering.

Once I had arrived home, I hadn't been able to stop thinking about the humiliation I'd endured. My face had still stunk of her feet, to the point my own mother had screwed up her nose in distaste and told me to take a shower. "What do you girls get up to?" she had sneered. If only she had known what I'd actually been up to.

Even while I had been in the shower and cleaning myself up, I had still been able to sense the stink of her feet in my nose, and it had begun to consume me as a person. In Imane's presence, I worried I wouldn't have been considered a friend anymore, but instead, I had become a loser that deserved to suffer at her funky feet. A loser that had walked around with the stink of her victorious feet all over my embarrassed face. Nothing could have ever undone that fact, and I'd recognized the realization in Imane's green eyes too; the way she had looked at me with utter disgust as I'd reeked of her feet.

The next time I had gone over her house, tentatively approaching and terrified of how she'd act, she had somewhat broken the ice of awkwarndess, having smirked while asking if I wanted to make a bet again. Instantly, I had frozen, mortified by what had happened before, however, part of me had been peculiarly tempted too. Despite it having been intensely humiliating, there had been something so stimulating and appealing while suffering beneath her hot, raunchy feet, as if all of my senses had been heightened. Throughout the previous humiliation, my body had remained tingling all over, and I had found it most fulfilling in a hard-to-explain way. There had just been something exciting, in some kind of self-depreciating, masochistic way, to look up at Imane, sat all comfortably, while I had been trapped and forced to breathe through her sweaty toes. It had been like a new dynamic had developed between us, and I had become deadly curious of how it could have progressed.

Even though she had been a girl, I hadn't cared, and though I didn't even like girls in that way, and I had particularly found their feet to be repulsive, it was as if for that reason, I had enjoyed being subjugated all the same, like it had been against my will and I had no choice. Ever since Imane had pushed her toes against my cheek that first time, I had been learning things about myself that I hadn't realized were there, and I had become deathly curious to explore further, especially since I had the opportunity to do so under the guise of a bet. Besides, she must have enjoyed it, or at the very least, not been weirded out by it, right? She had been the one suggesting we bet again. As my eyes had dropped to her feet, I had felt like my place was beneath them. I had almost felt like I wasn't worthy of playing games anymore, and my only use was to suffer the stink of her toes while she relaxed and gamed away.

"Sure," I had said, and Imane's grin had only grown further.

She had almost looked excited by the possibility of beating me again. "You serious?" she had asked while lifting her feet from the cushion and wiggling her toes. I had gulped while eyeing them, recalling how hot and moist her soles had felt when pressed against my face. How intoxicating her toes had smelled while wrapped around my nose. "I was only kidding, but, you know if you lose again, you'll be sniffing my feet again, got it?"

"Do I have to?" I had whined, trying to feign an attempt that I hadn't actually liked it. I mean, at that point, I had been confused over whether I had actually liked it. Part of the reason I had found the whole experience so alluring had been because I had felt like I'd been suffering. The odour had been strong and overpowering, and in essence, it had been nauseating, but there had been something appealing about having no choice but to endure it. It had been like some part of me wanted to be forced to suffer such a humiliating thing, and even though I couldn't explain why, I had been hoping that Imane wouldn't accept my feeble attempts at refusal. It had been exciting to consider that she had actually wanted me down on the floor, smelling her feet again. I mean, she had been the one to suggest that would by my forfeit once more. Still, I hadn't wanted to make my eagerness so obvious. I hadn't wanted her to think I actually liked sniffing her feet. That would have been weird. "Do I really have to?"

"Yes, you do," she had said with a shit-eating grin. "Losers sniff feet."

I had nodded my head, silenced by that proclamation, and strangely relieved that she had refused to the let the matter drop, and within seconds we had begun playing. That time, it had been a game I had actually become familiar with, and one I had bested her on a number of times. I had quickly taken the lead, almost without trying, and Imane had grown in her frustration, slapping her controller a number of times. She had screeched as I'd won the first round, and I hadn't been able to avoid laughing at the state of her protestations.

"What are you laughing at?" she'd spat while scowling at me. "You think this is funny? I'm going to make you smell my feet so badly after this."

At that, my laughs had abruptly abandoned me, instead replaced by a lump in my throat as I had pictured Imane taking revenge after I'd had the gall to giggle at her. My cheeks had reddened, while my thoughts had drifted to her sweaty toes, picturing them clutching my nose as I'd be forced to suffer their girly stink.

"Let's go," she had said, and the second round had commenced. I had naturally taken the lead once again due to my proficiency at that particular game, but as I had neared winning that second round, my eyes had dropped to Imane's feet as they were crossed in front of us both, just in view beneath the television screen. She had been gripping the toes of one foot with the scrunched toes of the other, and I had suddenly become transfixed, imagining how it must have looked to her while her toes had been freely having their way with my nose. She'd rubbed her feet all over my face and called me a loser, and I'd just laid there and let her do it, hadn't I? I supposed I really had been a loser, and as I had flicked my eyes back to the screen, I had contemplated whether I had any right to win at all.

"Yes!" Imane had triumphantly screeched, and I had blinked in surprise. Just like that, while I'd been focused on her feet and going through some mental torment, Imane had seized back the initiative and crept to a win in the second round. "Ha!" she'd added. "You better get ready, loser, because you're going to be sniffing my feet again in a minute." Her pink-painted toes had wiggled provocatively, and she had gripped the wire of her controller between them; I hadn't been able to resist envisioning my nose as the wire. She had pointed at the screen with intention. "Get ready to sniff some feet, Erica, because there's no way I'm going to lose."

After having heard that, and having pictured myself back beneath her feet, suffering beneath their sweaty aroma while Imane rejoiced in her victory by rubbing them all over my face, well, it had completely flustered me. My fingers hadn't seemed to work properly anymore as I had held the controller, almost as if my hands had fallen into some kind of catatonic state. I had simply become transfixed, watching Imane's feet flail around as she'd demolished me in the race. I hadn't even attempted catching her, just sitting idly by as she had completely decimated me, staring at her feet and knowing the fate that had been about to become my reality once more.

"You lose," she had said in an almost cackle, before she had made a show of lifting her feet from the cushion. "Get down where you belong, loser."

1. The new incident at work was reminiscent of a past foot fetish incident, which had become a subject of public humiliation and domination, further fueling my co-worker's fascination with my bizarre fetish.
2. During the party, I found myself in an unusual situation, surrounded by f/f BDSM enthusiasts, as my foot fetish and Chet's secret lesdom tendencies became the main topic of conversation.
3. I was mortified as I was subjected to a public humiliation session, involving the use of feathers, lights, and a crowd cheer, all for my foot fetish; a situation that further cemented my low profile at work.
4. In the end, I realized that my insecurities and past experiences had led me to become my own worst enemy, and I struggled to overcome the embarrassment and stigma associated with my foot fetish in the world of BDSM.
5. The incident made me question the boundaries between friendships and BDSM relationships, as I grappled with the fact that Chet's interest in BDSM, specifically my foot fetish, went beyond simple friendship and into the realm of a more intimate connection.

Read also:

• Cleaning Up, Pt. 03
• In this installment, cleaning activities are highlighted.
• Thursday Night: A Driving Adventure
• On Thursday night, an occurrence transpired at a parking facility.