Trust Ch. 03

Chapter 3 -- Getting to know you...

It was fortunate that the time leading up to meeting Emma were filled with activity because otherwise I don't know how I could have coped with my excitement and anticipation. I purposely stayed out late every evening to avoid further thoughts of Bryony invading any self-pleasure. After waking up much earlier than normal on Sunday morning, as I knew I would, I went for a long swim and then shopped for picnic food before having a long pub lunch. Even so, the final hours dragged by as I did my best to keep myself busy with preparations for the picnic and getting myself ready. As I slipped my bare feet into my clean white canvas Supergas I felt breathless with excitement for a moment at the thought of seeing Emma in her white Keds and white ankle socks.

I got my timing hopelessly wrong and arrived much too early. I could have gone for a quick coffee but I was occupying an ideal spot to observe the ticket barriers so I stayed put and did my best to occupy myself with people watching. Kensington, being an affluent and fashionable part of London, had no shortage of pretty and fashionable girls that day, many of whom I noted with pleasure were wearing plimsolls of all kinds and colours with all kinds of outfits. I wished I had the nerve to get out my camera and photograph the sexier-looking examples and did my best to commit them to memory for later reference.

When the long-awaited moment arrived with no sign of Emma my heart sank and I had to endure three minutes of agony until my heart leapt at my first sight of her ascending the steps from the platform. Emma is one of those girls who when you see her you think that everything about her is just right, from the way her wavy blond hair tumbles down around her lovely fine-featured heart shaped face, with her gorgeous smiling hazel eyes, to caress her beautiful shoulders and back; through the way her beautifully proportioned body fills out and moulds to her pretty little strappy summer dress that shows off her curvaceous figure and lovely long legs to perfection; to the way the line and the form of those lovely long legs lead the eye appreciatively downwards to her exquisitely shapely ankles and slender feet.

She eased gracefully through the ticket barrier and, waving and smiling at her first sight of me came straight to me. It was easy to tell she had done dance training by the ease and grace with which she wove in and around the crowded station concourse. In her brightly patterned yellow summer dress that seemed all of a piece with the light honey golden tan of her skin and her plimsolls and ankle socks that were so clean and new they seemed to radiate whiteness all around she looked like the embodiment of summer fun, freedom and beauty. As I noticed lots of people, men and women, glancing up and around to admire her I felt a great of pride inside that the girl they were all admiring was the girl who was going to be with me.

Any uncertainties about how I should greet her were decisively thrown aside as she came right up to me, placed her hand on my shoulder, planted an affectionate kiss on my cheek and graciously accepted one from me in return.

"I'm sorry I'm a little bit late but I'd bought these yesterday in your honour and I just needed a couple of minutes to change into them before I met you." Upon saying this she skipped on her daintily pointed feet to show off her brand new spotlessly white Keds plimsolls, the skirt of her dress swaying attractively against the honey golden curves of her thighs as she did so. I was instantly captivated by her.

"I'm honoured and delighted you did that for me," I smiled at her warmly. "I hope you think my efforts do a little justice at least to yours."

She looked me up and down approvingly before replying, "It's a real pleasure, believe me, to meet a guy who looks really good in shorts, like you do. There are very few that do. And you look really good in white Supergas too. I've got a pair in my collection that I like to wear with skinny jeans during the autumn, but in summer it's got to be Keds."

"That's totally fine as far as I'm concerned because you look lovely in them," I agreed. "What have you done with the pair you changed out of?"

"You'll find that out later," she smiled mysteriously, casting a quick look at the large canvas shoulder back she had placed on the ground next to her. "If you and I are going to be friends you're going to have to get used to little mysteries and surprises. But don't worry; they all turn out to be nice in the end if you trust me. I'm very big on trust, are you?"

Her directness took me by surprise for a second. Knowing that this was no time for a glib reply I opted for honesty.

"I do honesty pretty well but because of stuff that's happened in my life I find trust a bit more of a problem. I'll so my best to make you an exception though," I smiled.

Emma beamed at me and kissed my cheek again. "I think that's a pretty good starting point. Let's eat."

Without a trace of self-consciousness she slipped her arm in mine and we walked out into the High Street and headed for Kensington Gardens. As we walked I couldn't stop myself from regularly snatching quick glimpses of her feet and enjoying the soft patting of her steps on the pavement. I admired the graceful stride of her legs and the light tread of her plimsolled feet and the way she planted her feet with her heels neatly together and her toes slightly turned out when she stood still.

As we continued our conversation I found out that her parents had a farm in Wiltshire and she was the second of four children, with an older brother and younger twin brother and sister. She told me about her sister's hen night the previous evening, including her outfit of a grey linen jacket and trousers suit worn with a white tee shirt and white plimsolls which was inspired by one of Linda Koslowski's outfits that she wore in Crocodile Dundee. I half-jokingly and half-hopefully asked her if she also had 'that' bathing suit, referring to the incredible contraption of strategically positioned thin straps that Linda Koslowski wore with her white plimsolls when Paul Hogan rescued her from the giant crocodile.

"I'm not promising anything at this stage," she smiled, and left it at that.

We found a suitable spot in the Gardens in easy walking distance of the Albert Hall and settled down for our picnic. Emma sat down and straight away started to take off her right plimsoll. I had a pleasurable moment admiring the shape of the sole of her plimsoll that she faced in my direction as she rested it on the point of the heel to begin untying the lace.

"I've got an itch right in the middle of the sole of my foot I've been longing to scratch for the last few minutes." Then she smiled at me and swung her outstretched leg towards me to rest her foot on my lap and added "Would you kindly do the honours for me?" The sight and the feel of her lovely foot in her plimsoll pressing against me made me almost shiver with pleasure.

"I'd be delighted," I beamed, as my heart began to thump with excitement. I took hold of her foot, finished untying her plimsoll lace and carefully slid her plimsoll from her foot to reveal the lovely form of her foot cocooned inside her ankle sock, which was soft and snowy white with just the merest hint of sweat stain on the sole. I immediately noticed the delicious smell coming off her foot and from inside her plimsoll, it reminded me of lightly toasted Demerara sugar.

"How do you get your feet to smell so nice?" I asked her as with my left hand I cradled her ankle from underneath where her sock encircled it and with the tips of my outstretched first and second fingers I began to explore the sole of her foot through the soft cotton covering of her sock for the source of the offending itch.

"I discovered that tea tree oil reacts really well with the natural oils in the sweat from my feet. So I rub my feet with tea tree oil instead of washing them every time I change my plimsolls, which I do several times a day. Ooh, just a little bit lower and to the left. That's it, Ooh that's lovely!"

She sighed with pleasure as I ministered to her foot and I smiled with pleasure as I slipped her white plimsoll back onto the lovely soft white form of her foot and she placed her foot firmly on my upper leg for me to tie her lace. When I had finished and she had thanked me she suddenly said,

"As soon as I saw you I was sure you reminded me of someone. Tell me some more about yourself and name some names, it might help me remember."

I began an edited highlights account of my life to date and it was when I mentioned Bryony to her that she exclaimed, "That's it, of course. I should have realised straight away: you're Bryony Bartlett's Big Brother. I remember her mentioning you now."

"Bigger by about ten minutes," I smiled. "We do look quite similar so we often remind people of each other. At school people called us identical twins to take the Mickey out of us but we both thought of it as a compliment of sorts. In fact I look pretty much like her identical twin when I'm wearing her clothes." We both laughed and then I asked her, "How do you know Bryony?"

"We met at a dance studio where we both went for classes a few years ago now. I was at a dance college training to teach ballet and Bryony would come for classes when she was dancing in London. She's a lovely girl, we got on really well. I was so sorry when I heard she broke her leg and had to give up dancing, she was a wonderful dancer. How is she now?"

I told Emma about Bryony's success in interior design and how happy she was in New York, gave Emma her email address and suggested we all met up the next time she came over to London. Emma was pleased to have good news of her and enthusiastically accepted my invitation.

We finished our picnic and continued our conversation as we walked to the Albert Hall and queued with the other Promenaders for tickets. We found a good place to sit on the floor in front of the orchestra and settled down to enjoy the concert. As the performance progressed I slowly moved my foot closer and closer to Emma's foot until they just touched. I looked at Emma just within the edge of my vision. She continued to look straight ahead as if absorbed in the music but I noticed the slightest trace of a smile on her face as she pushed her foot closer against mine. I thrilled at the sight of her lovely foot in her gleaming white plimsoll and ankle sock nestled against my foot. I shuffled closer to her so my leg ran alongside hers, her skin warm and smooth pressed against mine, and rested my arm against her back. She leaned against me, rested her head against mine and then gracefully lifted her left leg over my right leg so her left foot rested on the floor between my feet. I wanted her so very much

The concert finished and we walked from the Albert Hall to a nearby pub. It was a warm evening and the pavement outside the pub was crowded with groups of people chatting and enjoying their drinks. As we walked into the bar we saw a couple vacating a small alcove tucked away in the far corner and we moved smartly to take possession of it so we could talk in private about what we knew we wanted to talk privately about. Once comfortably settled in I headed to the bar and after a few minutes of frustration and impatience whilst waiting to be served I returned with a large glass of chilled white wine for Emma and a pint of best for myself. She smiled warmly at me as she touched my glass with hers and began to nudge my ankle with the toe of her plimsoll on her crossed-over foot.

"You can keep that up all evening," I smiled.

"As long as you don't mind me varying it a bit; Cheers, My Dear," she grinned and after taking her first sip and declaring her satisfaction with the contents added, "So tell me all about how you became a plimsoll lover." The warmth in her eyes and the expression of anticipation and interest they communicated as she fixed them on me made my heart swell and my breathing tighten with excitement. No-one had ever asked me that before.

My smile beamed back at her as I took a long sip from my pint and began my story.

"It all started when Bryony and I were 14. My Dad sold his company for an obscene amount of money, bought a huge house in leafy Bucks and decided to send us to a pretentiously posh private school which had all sorts of odd traditions and old fashioned ways. Quite a few of the teachers were eccentric to put it mildly but whoever it was who made up the uniform rules must have been a real pervert because for PE in the gym and on the asphalt and for summer games on the field girls had to wear plain white plimsolls with white ankle socks and white polo shirts and blue pleated short skirts while boys had to wear black plimsolls with grey socks with white vests and blue shorts; absolutely no trainers allowed.

"So we were at the school outfitters getting our kit. I'd got on an athletics vest and a pair of shorts and these daft looking grey socks and I'm just about to try on these black plimsolls. Now I was quite an early developer and my hormones were already starting to do strange things at really embarrassing moments. So I put on these plimsolls and it's the first time I've worn plimsolls since I was at nursery and I don't know if it was the look or the smell or the feel of them that got to me but as I was slipping my feet into them I just suddenly felt incredibly horny and I got this massive hard on.

"Now I'm sitting there with my legs crossed wondering what the hell's going on and what to do with myself and I look over at Bryony. She's got on this little white tennis dress showing off her long legs really nicely and these really cute little white ankle socks with the tops turned down. She's already wearing a white plimsoll on her left foot that she's standing on and as I watch her she puts her other plimsoll on a chair, lifts up her leg and bends forward to slip her foot, which looks so cute in her white ankle sock, into her plimsoll and fasten the lace, which all just looks incredibly sexy. Not only that: Bryony was also an early developer so as she's bending over I'm looking right down her cleavage between her little breasts nestled in a new white sports bra and I can just about see her bush under the waistline of her white panties and at that moment...."

I paused for a second as I decided whether or not to trust Emma with what I was about to say and risk losing her before we'd hardly begun. I chose to trust myself to her and continued,

"....I just wanted to fuck her right there and then."

Emma and I looked at each other for a moment. She, sensing my discomfort, placed her hand on top of mine and her beautiful hazel eyes fixed on mine were full of care and compassion, as was her voice as she spoke gently to me,

"What happened to you after that?"

I moved my hand from underneath hers so I could enfold her hand in mine, while the gentle rub of her plimsoll on her crossed over foot on my bare leg helped me to relax again as I continued.

"I asked the shop assistant if I could use the toilet and as soon as I'd locked the door I took off my vest, shorts and pants so I was naked down to my plimsolls and socks and I jacked myself off into a big handful of toilet paper while trying hard not to imagine it was Bryony's vagina. Then I cleaned myself up and got dressed and went back as if nothing had happened. But I was totally fucked up after that. I started dreaming every night about us having sex and because the school rules wouldn't allow me to wear white plimsolls and because my parents refused to let me have some because they thought it was sissy I also became obsessed with wanting to wear them, and not just in an ordinary way but also with wearing them as much as possible like a girl does, with really girly clothes, to get the same feeling of wearing plimsolls that girls have.

"For a long time I was in this intensely frustrating situation of having this obsession with white plimsolls and cross-dressing and not being able to do anything about it. At night I would wear my black plimsolls in bed and masturbate whilst imagining having sex with Bryony with us both naked in white plimsolls. Our house was in the country near to some woods so I had plenty of places to hide in and indulge myself. There was no point in trying to tell my parents because they never listened to us about anything and they were completely useless about anything to do with sex. You'd never have known they grew up in the '60s. It was like they never happened.

"I got involved in school sports as much as possible so I had as many opportunities as I could get to see girls in their white plimsolls. Then I started chatting some up them up and eventually started going out with one of them. I was fifteen by then. Her name was Joanna Parkinson and she had long ginger hair with a fringe and her teeth stuck out a little and she was a bit skinny but she had nice long legs which looked really sexy in her white plimsolls. She was really good fun to be with and she was a terrific kisser too. She could have snogged for England, that girl. We went out a few times but she never wore her plimsolls and then one day when we were arranging a date I suggested to her as casually as I was able to that she could wear them and she said to me like I'd just gone soft in the head, 'You must be joking! I wouldn't be seen dead in plimsolls outside of school and neither would any of my friends. We all hate them!' I lost interest in her after that and soon afterwards I picked a huge argument with her over something totally trivial so I could break up with her, which was a really shitty thing to do to her but I couldn't think of any other way of getting out of it.

"A few weeks after that I was at home by myself; Bryony was at her best friend Becky's house and Mum and Dad had gone shopping. I'd managed to get out of going with them by pretending to have a headache. I'd planned to have a marathon masturbating session while they were all out so as soon as I was alone I went up to my room and got naked. I was about to put on my black plimsolls when I suddenly realised that now at long last I had the perfect opportunity to borrow Bryony's white ones, because we have the same size feet.

"So I went into her bedroom feeling really excited because I'm going to be wearing white plimsolls at long last and it's the first time I've ever been in her room without her being there. It was a real girl's bedroom: all light and bright and pink and soft and fluffy and sweet smelling, with pictures and posters of ballerinas, horses and cats and kittens everywhere. I went into her room intending to take her plimsolls to my room and wear them while I masturbated; but when I opened her wardrobe to take them I noticed the drawer in which she kept her ballet kit and I had this sudden deep desire to put it on.

"First I put on this little G-string that she wore for ballet because it didn't show through her leotard. Then I put on her white ballet tights which felt so fabulous on my legs that I've loved wearing tights and leggings ever since. Then I put on her leotard which was pale blue and had little cups for her breasts which I filled up with some of her panties. I loved the way it moulded close to my body all round and the way the edges of the gusset circled around my crotch and my thighs. Then I put on her pink ballet shoes and I found a book on ballet with pictures showing how to tie the ballet shoe ribbons around my ankles, which felt and looked fantastically sexy and cute. Then I put on her little pink gauzy tutu skirt and finished off by putting on her stretchy pink headband. I looked at myself in her full length mirror while I tried to do ballet poses and did my best to look like a ballerina. Then I supported myself on her practice barre while I tried to stand on my toes like a ballerina but it was agony so I gave up on that. But that started my ballet fetish and I'd wear a leotard and tights all the time if I could.