Footboy Tales 1: Psychic Foot Love

"No, Jim," she insisted, "You're dreaming. Truly. I'm just your dream girl. You're going to wake up soon and you'll realize what we did was all just a lovely dream. All of it... the mall, the theater, the foot worship, going down on me, all of it. Lovely, delicious, but unfortunately just a dream."

"Helen, why are you... "

"Jim, don't talk. Listen to me. You're going to wake up soon. Look, forget what I just said. There ARE women out there who want their feet worshipped. There really are, just not very many of them. I'm going to tell you something I shouldn't, but I feel so bad for you... " Again she hugged and kissed him. "There's a secret society, a group of women who are definitely into foot worship, and I mean to the max. Some of them make me look quiet and reserved by comparison. You just need to know how to find these women, and it's not very difficult."

"You're kidding me, right?" Jim said, somewhat disgusted, but a tad grateful that Helen felt bad enough for him to try to help him find his foot goddess after all.

"No, Jim, unlike myself, these women really do exist. They call themselves the "F Girls," which, as you might guess has led to confusion in the past, but because of their group's actual title they prefer to keep that shortened name. I can't say anything more about that. You'll find that out for yourself. At any rate, there are maybe a dozen or so women in the group so far, and all of them want men worshipping their feet. HOW they want that done differs from woman to woman, of course. These women are all in their forties and fifties, more mature, like myself. I can't tell you much, but I can tell you that they, too, have members who go to the Crystal Run Galleria to look for compatible partners. These women always dress the same when they go, their 'team colors' so to speak. They can be recognized by their clothing - generally a red blouse and either black pants or black skirt. If they wear a dress it'll be some combination of those colors... if they're trolling for foot men, I mean. They wear hoop earrings - they claim it symbolizes a man's never-ending devotion to their feet. Sometimes they'll wear a red hat or red bow in their hair. And always they wear shoes they can quickly kick off if they see a likely candidate for foot worship. They proudly show off their feet to men they think are interested, and their preferred toenail polish color seems to be a bright orange color. It changes from year to year."

Jim just stared. He shook his head. "Helen, please, I still don't know why you insist... You don't have to do this, really. We can part as friends, honest. I'm not angry at you or anything. Really... I... "

"Just shut up and listen! I'm serious about this. You're about to wake up, and I need to tell you this before you do. Trust me, dammit!"

"Fine." Jim said, waving his hands in the air. "Go ahead, finish your story."

"The bottom line is, Jim, that you need to keep going to the mall. Eventually one of these ladies will spot you or you'll spot her. Don't give up. I know you've failed hundreds of times, but don't quit. Your Foot Goddess IS out there. Keep going to the mall to find her. And when you do make sure you dress exactly the way you were yesterday, with your Giants Super Bowl cap, your Bazinga! shirt, jeans, white socks and black New Balance sneakers, and dress the same all the time. That way, if a member notices you but isn't interested herself, she can always tell another member about you and that member can check you out on another night. What one member doesn't care for, another might. So do exactly what you did last night and maybe your Foot Goddess will show up. I know for a fact that their favorite times to look for hookups are Tuesday and Thursday afternoons - don't ask me why. Must be something to do with club rules or maybe meeting days or something. Either way, those nights the members head out for the mall and look around for guys interested in their feet. So, a word to the wise... get your ass out there and look for these ladies."

"You're actually serious?" Jim still couldn't buy into this.

"Yes, and what's more, if you go on Tuesday the 13th, you'll find your Foot Goddess, I'm sure of it. Remember the red haired girl?"

"The one who wanted to shoot me in the face with a hunting rifle?"

"Yes. She'll be there, but not exactly her. She was in your dream, remember? This red haired woman might look a little different, but it'll be one of the society members and she'll be much more tolerant of your admiration for her feet, trust me. So I'd be there if I were you. But if you can't make it, check out those Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. Maybe she'll show up again."

"You want me to go to Crystal Run every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon and look for these Secret Society ladies and try to hook up, right? But you most want me to look for the red haired lady from yesterday by going to the mall on the 13th. Am I reading you right? You know this sounds crazy, right?

Full tilt off-the-wall bonkers. You say you're just a dream, but you're telling me the real thing is out there? Really? A dream telling me what's gonna happen in real life? Wow... way bizarre, Helen."

"I know. Just take my word for it, please, and be there. If you go on the 13th the red haired woman will be there and you'll be in like Flint. Again, she'll be different, but she'll have red hair and be dressed like a Society member. Trust me, Jim, you won't be sorry you took this chance. Remember how well my last promise of not being sorry turned out? Would I disappoint you, Jim? Would I?"

"You are now," he replied, "By leaving me and claiming that I'm dreaming. I understand you doing what's right for you, but I hate this. We're so right for each other."

"Jim, just do as I ask, okay? Trust me?"

"Sure. Fine. Whatever." He once again shook his head in disappointment and bewilderment.

"I have to go now," Helen said, kissing his cheek tenderly, "Because it's time for you to wake up. But just remember everything I said. Your Foot Goddess does exist, and if you keep positive and don't give up, she'll find you. Bye, Jim, and thank you for a wonderful night... even if only a dream one. Take care, Jim. Good luck. You are super and you deserve happiness."

"Yeah, sure. Bye, Helen. I still wish you could just be honest... "

Jim's eyes slowly opened, hazy and unfocused. He looked about himself and recognized the familiar surroundings of his bedroom. SHIT! he thought, it WAS just a damn dream. Christ, what a dream. It seemed so real. He could TASTE Helen's feet and her pussy as if he were licking them right this moment.

How could a dream be so real? He looked down to see his pajama bottoms drenched with his cum. By the looks of the huge spot, he must've had at least two orgasms. It figures, he thought, just a couple of wet dreams. My friggin' luck. I guess there really are no women into foot worship. That's the true curse of a foot fetishist's life... not the fetish itself, but not being able to find women who share the interest.

He got up, grumpy and pissed off. How could he actually believe he'd find a woman like Helen? Did he really think that just by looking at women's feet he'd one day find a woman who was actually FLATTERED by his interest in her feet? Really? No, they generally either wanted to pound him into a lump of Silly Putty or they just laughed at him. Women just don't want their feet worshipped, and that's something he should've learned by now, after nearly five decades of searching and never finding even one woman who enjoyed having her feet adored. What a crock. Life sucks. But, in all reality, what other choice did he have? To give up trying meant to give up the dream.

And so, on May 13th he honored Helen's dream wish for him. He shuffled off to the mall, fully convinced that he was being ridiculous, but knowing he had no choice but to either keep trying or to depart this world without having worshipped a woman's feet, a choice he simply found to be unacceptable. And he remembered that old saying, "If you don't try, then you've already failed." So, what the hell, why not waste some more of my time, Jim thought bitterly. Business as usual, as they say.

He bought some oriental food and sat in the glass-enclosed section of the mall again, finding the same seat he'd occupied in his dream. Superstitiously, he wore the same baseball cap, Bazinga! shirt, jeans, socks and sneakers he had in the dream, though he felt pretty silly doing so. Still, if Helen said it was the right thing to do... Damn silly, though.

About a half hour later, as Jim was finishing up his meal, a red haired woman walked by Jim's table and sat at the table across from him. Her curly red hair dropped all the way down to her shoulders and covered one half of her face, which appeared smooth and creamy in the shadow of those cascading locks. She wore a red blouse and tight black stretch pants and black, backless high heeled sandals. Her fingernails and toenails were painted a bright orange. Jim's mouth dropped open. No way, he thought. This has to be just some weird coincidence. Dreams don't foretell the future. Not even ones with a beautiful Helen in them.

Needless to say, Jim couldn't help but look at her feet. The red-haired woman continually slipped her feet in and out of her shoes, showing off lovely feet. Not as beautiful as Helen's, but very attractive nonetheless. Not quite as deep an arch, and the toes weren't as slender, but still completely kissable and worthy of any man's worship.

Jim looked up to find the woman smiling, though looking down at her food and not at him. She stopped eating for a second and slipped off her shoes again, this time raising her legs and stretching them out, placing her bare feet on the chair opposite her, wiggling and stretching them in a way that made Jim's pants tight at the crotch. The wiggling toes and flexing soles continued their playful activity for quite some time, riveting Jim's eyes to them and bringing a stupid grin to his face.

The red haired woman raised one foot, then there other, flexing and splaying her toes as if working some kinks out of them. She rubbed the soles of her feet on the edge of the chair, up and down, up and down, Jim's eyes following the movement hypnotically. Suddenly, dishearteningly, those lovely feet zoomed off the chair and flew swiftly back into their shoes, breaking Jim's heart.

The red haired woman swung her legs around and stood up. Jim looked up, finally tearing his eyes from her feet. The woman was walking toward his table, quickly covering the short distance between them. Without a word she sat on the chair across from Jim, apparently inviting herself to his table.

"You one of those foot boys?" she asked.

"What?" Jim answered stupidly.

"You've been staring at my feet for nearly half an hour. I don't think you've taken your eyes off my feet for more than thirty seconds the whole time. Look, you haven't even eaten any of your meal. Are my feet that beautiful or do you have one helluva crick in your neck?"

Jim still didn't believe in dreams predicting the future, so he played dumb. "I guess I was just daydreaming. I sometimes phase out that way. Sorry if it looked like I was ogling your feet."

"Oh, that's too bad. I was hoping you were fantasizing about my feet, maybe wanting to snuggle up to them and make them feel loved."

Jim thought he was being baited, trapped somehow. Maybe she was security in disguise, trying to catch him by making him admit he was a pervert. So he still played down his interest. "Sorry if I upset you. I didn't mean to. But I was just daydreaming... no offense to your feet."

The woman looked dejected. Her pretty lips even pouted. "So, you don't like my feet?"

"Uh, your feet are lovely. I just wasn't staring at them. I'm sure some lucky guy will be happy to stare at them at some point, though. Sorry."

"Huh," she replied, looking at Jim as if she was sure she was right, "I could've sworn you were admiring my feet like a little boy pining over a toy he can't afford. Too bad. You would've looked cute all curled up at my feet. You sure you aren't into my feet?"

"Sorry, ma'am, no. But I'm sure some lucky guy will be someday." He wiped sweat from his brow and, unknown to himself, his face flushed red with both embarrassment and mounting desire.

The woman grinned. "Bullshit. You're hot for my feet. I'd know the look anywhere. Why are you denying it? Don't you want to smooch my tootsies and feel like you're in heaven? Are you worried I'll smack you or report you to mall security if you admit you like my feet?"

"Look, I... "

"That's it, isn't it? You're afraid you'll get into trouble of some kind. Well, listen, I'm just being friendly and offering up my pretty feet if you want them. I've no intention of getting anyone in trouble. I just like guys who are hot for my feet. I just LOVE foot worship, and will happily take off my shoes for any guy who is willing to wrap his lips around my toes and suck for all he's worth. Would that fella be you?"

"Uh... heh... listen, I'm just... I... just... I mean... "

"Okay," the woman said, "Let's take it from the top. My name is Brenda. What's yours?"

"I'm Jim. Nice to meet you, Brenda."

"Same here, Jim. Now, look, I KNOW you were gawping at my feet. I KNOW you think my feet are sexy and you would just LOVE to give them great big smooches and slurp your tongue all over them, so let's cut the crap. Admit to me you want my feet and you'll have them in your mouth within the next thirty minutes.

Deal?"

"Okay, look, Brenda, I do think you have lovely feet, and I apologize if I was staring, but... "

"But what? If you like my feet say so. If you want to put worshipful kisses all over them, I can understand that. My feet ARE sexy. If you feel the need to stick some or all of my toes into your cute mouth, then just ask and I'll pop them right between your lips. But quit this coy denial crap. You wanna suck my feet, say so and open your mouth. Otherwise I'm gonna walk and you'll miss out on the opportunity of a lifetime. C'mon, Jim, don't be stupid. There aren't many women out there like me who appreciate men who want their feet. So, don't screw this up." She fixed a stare on him that told him she was serious. She wanted him to play with her feet, and if he didn't 'fess up soon, she'd split.

"All right," he admitted, laughing nervously, "I do think your feet are hot, and I would love the opportunity to worship them. I mean, literally worship them, not just drool on them and such." The look on his face was boyish, timid and nervous. Brenda was amused by the look, but ultimately only had use for a man who wanted her feet. She had no time to play games.

"Well, Jim, here's how this works. I might have a different idea of what 'worship' means from what you think it means. So here's what we should do. Let's go somewhere where we can be alone and talk about this. If what you want to do to my feet matches what I want you to do to them, then I'll shove my feet in your face so fast the air friction alone will give you a wind burn. If we're not compatible, we can each go our own ways - no harm, no foul. Sound like a plan, Jim?"

"Okay," Jim said, smiling at her, "Sounds good to me."

"Great. But before we go anywhere, I want to make something clear. When I let a guy play with my feet, I want him to play with them for a long time, otherwise it's not worth the effort. None of this crap where a guy has an orgasm and then says 'ok, I'm done, thanks and see ya.' I don't like that garbage when I'm having straight sex and I won't put up with it when a guy's doing my feet. You start sucking my feet, you're in it for the long haul, got it?"

"Uh, sure, I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Well, you better make sure you mean that. You worship my feet, you do it right. No slacking off crap or

getting lazy or deciding you want to do your own thing when I've asked you to do something else. You do my feet my way and for as long as I want it done. Otherwise you can hit the road right now. You okay with all that, Jim? We on the same page here?"

"Wow, you like making rules, don'tcha?"

"Sure do, Jim. It's my way or the highway. Way I see it, there are ten thousand foot guys for every woman who wants her feet licked. That puts the odds way in my favor, so if I want to make some rules, most foot guys will live with them. What about you, Jim? Your pride more important than getting your lips on my tootsies? You gonna stand up for your rights and ruin the whole thing for yourself?"

Jim smiled. "No, Brenda, I can live with a few rulse, I guess, as long as they don't get too crazy."

"They won't, Jim. I just want a little common decency, consideration and proper respect. I don't like when guys get their rocks off and then leave me high and dry. Know what I mean? So as long as we're in agreement, I say we ditch this place and get into a little more intimate environment and talk about likes and dislikes, and then maybe get the foot action started. You game?"

"Okay, Brenda, let's give this a shot. I think you'll like what I have to offer, depending of course on what you like having done to your feet."

"And I think my feet are gonna rock your world, Jim. You're gonna be in love with my feet five minutes after you start adoring them. You'll never forget my feet, that's for sure. You'll remember everything about them for the rest of your life. They might even ruin you for other women's feet. That's something you'll have to live with. And remember, above all, it's my way or the highway. No compromise there. You cross me in the slightest and I'll take my pretty feet away from you and send you packing. Understood?"

"Yeah, yeah, Brenda, geez... we already established that."

"Just making sure. I've played this game before."

"Fine. I'm all yours. Let's go talk."

"Great. Let's get out of here. And, Jim, if this works out between us... prepare to be wowed."

"Pretty sure of yourself," Jim said.

"You bet I am. I know how to make footboys weep. Most of them BEG for my feet before I'm through with them. Just so you know. I guess it is only fair to warn you that my feet will own you before long. You'll cry whenever you can't have them. Now, let's go start your training. You need to learn how to worship a real woman's feet. C'mon, Jim, let's go." She stood up and turned, snapping her fingers at Jim for him to hurry along behind her.

"Damn," Jim mumbled to himself, "Thanks Helen. What the hell did you get me into here?"

Brenda stopped short and turned around, fixing Jim with a wicked grin and winking suggestively at him.

"Now, Jim, dear, how on earth did you know my middle name is Helen? Not only a darling little footboy to play with, but I do believe you're psychic as well. Come, worship me, my little psychic. You won't be sorry."

The twinkle in her eyes mimicked exactly the twinkle he'd dreamed about not so long ago... that of the lovely, mischievous, incredible Helen.

END

"Footboy 1: Psychic Foot Love" copyright bacomicfan, May, 2014.