Forget about it.
I just went through a tough period when I initially met her. I was a divorced man in my mid-fifties with no kids. I was consistently broke since my divorce didn't go well and I had to give my ex a lot of money at that time.
At the present moment, I'd define my hasty marriage back then as a "bad bargain". I had married a woman who surely had some sex appeal, but apart from that, she wasn't particularly attractive. The only thing that drove me insane at the time - without a doubt - were her mesmerizing feet.
I've been fascinated by attractive, unique feet since I was aroused.
I find that the vast majority of women's feet are repulsive. People who call the ideal - long, thin, even bony toes with nicely polished nails - completely unattractive.
No. Feet like that were meaningless to me. They didn't attract me at all, and for a foot fetishist like me, that meant a lot.
Dora, my spouse, was different. She had captivating feet. They were small, perhaps a size 37; her toes were short and even. Her feet exuded what I desired: a delectable body part that drove me crazy as a teenager and had become a regular wet dream I could indulge in at any time.
Therefore, my decision towards Dora was entirely based on my dick. A decision that eventually proved to be gravely wrong and damaging.
So, I had just moved on from Dora when I encountered Anouk.
She was very dissimilar from Dora. She was young. Very young. At 19, she had just left school. She had no notable life experience (at least that's what I believed). Some could have called her naive, yet it was her apparent inexperience and shyness that reinforced this notion.
In contrast to Dora, she wasn't just attractive, she was beautiful. She had her shoulder-length, golden-blonde hair messily gathered in a bun on the top of her head, providing a charming touch to her round face with her cheerful smile.
But the most appealing element was her feet. I'm not exaggerating when I say they were even more beautiful than Dora's. She also wore a maximum shoe size 37, and the exquisitely formed foot was elegantly crowned with adorable, short toes.
As soon as I saw them, I experienced an involuntary urge to touch them. I wanted to touch them, smell them. I wanted to place them in my mouth like a delectable treat. I wanted to lick them until I felt I had licked away all the sweet sweat.
"Can I assist you?" I was suddenly startled from my thoughts by her kind voice. She looked at me questioningly with her alluring green eyes.
Having made a ridiculous or at least somewhat crazy impression on her, I realized.
"Uh... I..." I stammered, disconcerted, and choked awkwardly. After regaining my footing, I was able to reclaim my composure. Then I shook my head and said, "No, sorry, I was just preoccupied."
Anouk smiled sympathetically and looked highly puzzled. I had the sensation that I'd made a terrible blunder with her prior to anything even starting. So, I hastily asked her, "Can I offer you a cup of coffee?"
Her eyes conveyed it all. She appeared irritated.
I pointed at the novel she was reading. "I've read a lot of his work too," I added, pointing to the name Charles Bukowski, who was the writer of the book of poetry in her hands. It was evident to me that it would be appropriate to discuss it with her.
"You know," I continued, "I'm sort of a 'Bukowskie specialist', I..."
I hesitated. It seemed as though I was acting inappropriately for attempting to draw her in in a shoddy way. Was I actually doing this now, I contemplated, glancing at her, a bit embarrassed, as if looking for an explanation.
And that's exactly what I did, since my gaze soon fell on her, feeling slightly awkward, remarkable feet - now encased in trendy Birkenstock sandals with toe separators, which absolutely boosted their appeal.
My dick got hard once more at the sight and I mustered all my self-control to avoid losing my composure.
"Fine," I finally said. "I spotted you sitting there," I remarked, changing to a conversational tone, "and I liked you. In other words, I really found you appealing. I didn't know how to approach you. I mean..."
I pointed at myself, then at her. "I mean, we seem quite different. But I'd simply like to get to know you because I truly like you. That's why I'm asking you out for coffee."
I paused and when she didn't respond, I tacked on: "And I would be delighted if you accept my invitation."
There was an awkward pause where we stared at each other. Eventually, a wicked smile spread across her lips, and she said, "Okay."
Walking towards the café I planned to visit, I had some extra time to take a closer look at her. There wasn’t much talking between us - whether it was due to awkwardness or the mounting nervousness - it was hard to say.
She was petite. Her head barely reached my chin. Golden-blonde hair with a soft, stunning sheen encircled her delicate face. It flowed flawlessly around her round head.
Her eyes were mesmerizing, offering a whole new perspective to the onlooker. Behind her adorable little snub nose, she had plump lips that could easily transition from a kiss to a pout without appearing strange or unnatural. She had a slender figure. The generous but sheer blouse suggested she had rather small breasts.
Her casual but not extravagant jeans highlighted her neighbor-next-door look.
However, her choice of reading Bukowski hinted at some intriguing secrets or at the very least a curiosity and desire for novelty.
Upon reaching the café, a charming place with a primarily student crowd, I held the door open for her. She seemed to appreciate the chivalrous gesture.
We sat down and I ordered black coffee, while she chose a latte macchiato. It was almost a cliché.
And that awkward pause reared its head again. "How old are you?" she finally enquired. I blushed. Then I revealed, "I'm 52."
She observed me and grinned. "Do you always attempt to swoon younger women?"
Bam! Exactly on target!
Initially, I didn't think we would exchange more than one cup of coffee. But my perspective drastically changed in an instant. I went from eager expectation to intense unease.
She certainly recognized this shift in my mood, as her expression transitioned between bewilderment and pity. "I apologize," she stated, "I genuinely meant no harm. My question was likely poorly phrased and implied the complete opposite of what I intended."
She tried to maintain a cordial demeanor, but now seemed apprehensive. I attempted to exude a mildly scolding yet conciliatory face and said, "Let's just pretend our interaction hasn't progressed yet."
Her hopeful expression reappeared and a warm smile lit up her face.
"Okay," she echoed, mirroring the first time she agreed to a coffee.
"You know," she began anew, "why I agreed and came with you?"
"No," I retorted, eager to hear her reason.
"I've got a thing for older guys,” she admitted frankly and started stroking my leg with her foot.
"When I said you, I felt that unmistakable tingle that arises when I see a man like you - a paternal figure who is at least twice my age."
"Have you known any older guys like me?" I inquired, intrigued.
She nodded. "The oldest was 81," she proudly proclaimed. "He was astonishingly agile for his age, and incredibly attractive. The aspect I adored about him was our shared fetishes and sexual preferences. He was a true foot fetishist and no one succored my sweet little toes with such enthralling devotion."
Her final words made my throat tighten.
That horny young woman, I thought, she's into precisely what I'm craving for. And the first person permitted to fondle her exquisite toes was a geriatric with three decades more on his back. Did I think my exclusivity had been indiscriminately violated?
I quickly gathered my thoughts and banished the negative emotions. Instead, I opted to focus on the positive aspects: My chances of enjoying more than this coffee and licking her remarkable little toes before long had dramatically increased.
"What attracts you?" she inquired casually, as though we were discussing lattes or espressos.
"Can you guess?" I smiled broadly.
After a brief moment, a broad grin graced her face as well. "I almost thought you'd guessed it," she said and added, "because I noticed how your stare was fixated on my feet and how your trousers were starting to distend in that area."
The rest of our dialogue was quite delightful. As we recognized each other's deepest desires, we both felt no shame or shyness about indulging in these fantasies. We pondered the sensations she might experience if I not only licked her toes, but also the spaces between them. Or whether I would climax faster if she massaged my glans with her toes.
We opened up a promising range of new possibilities.
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