Footspotting

In fact, almost everything was subject to Goldilocks-like "just right" ranges. The skin from the toes to the leg could look veiny and tough with wiry, exposed tendons. But if it was too smooth, the foot looked chubby and round. The toes themselves could be too long, looking spindly. But if they were too short, they looked chubby and fat.

It was mind blowing to Roger. With tits, they just needed to be more or less round and somewhat big. With an ass, it just needed to be proportionately big and round, without cellulite. Roger still saw the attraction in T&A, but he came to appreciate feet so much more.

Beyond his own photographs, he started getting into foot porn during his masturbation sessions at his computer. Sexy still images, but also videos of foot massages, foot jobs and the like. He was no virgin, although he was single at the moment, and couldn't imagine a pair of feet feeling as good as a vagina, or even a mouth. But the thought of the relatively simple stimulation combined with the sight and the feel of the feet drove him wild.

Even though he could find great looking foot models and women in porn who used their feet, Roger never failed to appreciate the allure of the women around him, who he could see every day.

A girl named Nicole in his math class always wore sandals and sat on a bench outside of the classroom, waiting for the previous class to let out. Her feet weren't perfect (toes just a little too long) but Roger got great shots of them every Monday-Wednesday-Friday. They never spoke to one another and he had no real interest in trying to date her (the sorority letters on her backpack marked her as not his type). But knowing that he had jerked off to secretly taken pictures of her feet filled him with a perverted kind of confidence.

The same thing was true for Mia, who had been in Roger's biology lab group a previous semester. She had a habit of studying at a particular spot in the library, with her shoes off and her feet resting on another chair in front of her. From the right position, he captured many shots of her smooth, soft-looking soles.

And then there was Haley, who had been a floor-mate of Roger's when he had lived in the dorms his freshman year. She liked to eat her lunch seated on the edge of one of the campus fountains, her flip flop sandals dangling from her toes as she idly swung her legs.

Roger didn't share these pictures with James, even though he knew they might get him a good amount of money. They were his own private stash and their exclusivity added to their appeal.

***

Roger had almost forgotten about the pool, until his car started having problems and he needed to scrounge up some extra money for repairs. Still not wanting to distribute his personal collection of foot pics, he figured a return to hot college chicks in bikinis (with or without prominently featured feet) would get him the hundred or so bucks he needed. And it had been over a month since his last image dump to James—maybe the pervs would be hungry for more.

When he returned to the rooftop one Monday afternoon, he was greeted by a familiar sight—a figure hunched behind the tomato trellis, phone in hand, pointed toward the pool below. The twist to this scenario was that the photographer was a woman.

Like he had done with James, Roger politely cleared his throat to inform her of his presence. Just like James, she responded by fumbling her phone into the planter and quickly sputtering a reply.

"Oh, hey, just checking out these tomato plants," she said nervously without looking up. Roger drew closer and inspected her a bit more. She wore sneakers, which was the first thing he noticed. Beyond that, she had an average to somewhat slim build and long, straight brown hair. She wore jeans and a t-shirt.

"Yeah, the 'tomatoes' are looking pretty nice," Roger replied slyly.

She turned to look up at him, her expression only slightly embarrassed—mostly, she seemed curious. Her face was pretty enough, but a pair of huge wire frame glasses did little to help her image. She noticed the camera around his neck immediately.

"Whoa, you're hardcore about this!" she exclaimed.

"I guess you could say that," Roger chuckled with no small amount of pride. "I'm actually a photography major. Wildlife photography, specifically. This stuff is just a side thing for me."

"Wow," she said, in awe. "Well, if you can spare the time, there are a couple hunky 'animals' down there who really need to be photographed. But, like, artistically, of course."

Roger laughed aloud at this. Her demeanor was certainly different from that of James. He didn't even think of bringing up money.

"Why not?" he said as he sat beside her and set up his camera. "So, who's the first target?"

"Alex Miller," she said. "He's in the shallow end, by the edge closest to the—"

"I know who he is," Roger said, cutting her off. "I went to high school with him. Total douchebag, by the way."

"Oh, I know," she replied. "But just look at those ABS."

Roger chuckled again at her brazen attitude. Alex was indeed pretty shredded. He got a few closeups but he was at a weird diagonal angle that was less than ideal. So he kept his eye out for any movements that might grant him a better shot.

"Anyone else?" he asked.

"The lifeguard in the tower is pretty cute," she said.

Roger got some shots of him too. The process of photographing men didn't feel as weird as he thought it would. He approached it from a non-sexual viewpoint, treating them like he would an interesting bird or some other animal.

He took shots of several other guys for her before he began his real work. A redhead in a very revealing bikini top was facing away from him as she talked with a friend and he was keeping a close eye on her, for when she finally turned around.

"So, what else are you into?" she asked him as she watched him go about his business. "I mean, besides photography."

Roger would normally "hide his power level" around women he had just met, pretending to be less of a geek than he actually was. But she seemed so non-threatening—and non-sexual—that decided to skip casual introductions and get to it.

"I play Overwatch and I read comics," he declared, not looking up from his camera.

"Ooooh, who's your main?"

Roger's brain had to pause for a second. He pulled back from the camera to face her as he answered.

"Uhhh, I play Lúcio most of the time," he said, somewhat hesitantly.

"Oh, he's the DJ guy, right? Support class?"

"Yeah. You don't play?"

"No. It's all too fast paced and competitive for me. But I have friends who play. It looks fun. Marvel or DC?"

"Marvel," Roger answered with a smile. "It's tough to keep up with all the titles but I try to collect everything—"

"Spider-Man?" she interrupted him to guess.

Roger glanced down at the camera with a grin.

"How did you know?" he asked sarcastically. "So, do you read any comics yourself, or is this another 'guilt by association' thing?"

"I tried to get into it. I read some trades of the big events. They were fun but, like you said, it's hard to keep up with everything."

Roger nodded in agreement. He was not about to defend the gigantic barrier to entry in the comics world.

"So, what are you into?" he asked.

"Dungeons and Dragons. And board games. And anime—kind of."

Roger had a passing familiarity with D&D, although he had never played himself. And he knew there were tons of board games out there more complex and interesting than Monopoly or Candy Land, but, again, had no personal experience. Anime, however...

"Oh, I've been into, and out of, anime myself," Roger began, settling in for a lengthy rant.

What followed was a hours-long discussion of anime—the good shows, the bad shows, the overuse of certain tropes and the stagnation of the medium... the whole gamut.

They were actually in agreement on pretty much every point, complaining and lauding most of the same things. Roger felt good talking about all of this with someone—since he moved to college, he didn't get to see his old nerdy high school friends very often. Before he knew it, the sun was starting to go down and the pool was clearing out.

"I had better get going," Roger finally said as he looked at the time. "Hey, I don't think I ever introduced myself. I'm Roger."

"Ingrid," she said in a sort of self deprecating tone. "Yeah, I know it's, like, an old lady name, but whatever."

Roger considered this. Somehow, the completely un-sexy geriatric name fit her well.

"And there's really no way to shorten that, is there?" he pondered.

She shook her head.

"Innie?" he hazarded.

"Ugh, like a belly button?" she replied in disgust.

"Griddie?"

"Ugh, like a map of Cartesian coordinates?"

Roger chuckled at this.

"Ingrid it is," he said. "Well, for what it's worth, I'm pretty sure you're the only Ingrid I've ever met. You've probably known a ton of 'Roger's."

"True," she admitted. "Although you're the only Roger I've ever met who's gonna email me pics of a half-naked hot guy who sits in the row in front of me in my western civ class."

Roger laughed aloud at her shameless attitude. In truth, he had forgotten all about what had initially brought them both to the rooftop. They exchanged email addresses and parted ways.

***

Roger got the photos transferred to his computer and processed the next day and soon got Ingrid's high-res images sent off to her. She replied to his email shortly after it was sent.

"Wow, these look fantastic!" she wrote. "Say, will you be back there later today?"

"Nope," Roger replied. "I have a studio art class that runs into the late afternoon on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I'll be back up there Wednesday though."

"Great! I'll see you then!"

Roger furrowed his brow at this turn of events. He disdained the prospect of becoming this woman's personal creep shot photographer, if that was all she was trying to get out of him. But, on the other hand, he had enjoyed her company. She wasn't unattractive, but he didn't feel much of a sexual attraction to her either. Ultimately, he decided to go for it.

***

He arrived at the rooftop a few minutes after 2:00 p.m. on Wednesday. The door was already unlocked and Ingrid was waiting for him by the plants.

"Hey, I was startin' to think you might not show," she said with relief.

"Sorry to have made you wait," Roger apologized as he knelt beside her and got his camera out.

"It's okay," Ingrid replied with a smile. "You haven't missed anything. Although there's a blonde with absurdly big tits talkin' to the lifeguard—better get her before she leaves."

Roger chuckled as he took his shots. Her tits were pretty impressive...

"No guys down there striking your fancy?" he asked.

"Not so much. I'm willing to wait though. Some of those shots you got last time were really, really nice. I've gotten off three times in the last few days thanks to them."

Roger did a mental double take at that last statement. Having a woman openly talk about masturbation was a unique experience for him. If she had been really hot, it would have made him very nervous to have the conversation enter the realm of sexuality. And if she had been ugly, it would have made him kind of disgusted. But Ingrid wasn't hot. Or ugly. So, he kind of just took it at face value.

"Hey, happy to help," he said after a slight pause.

"I'm sorry, I hope that wasn't awkward," she said. "I just kind of assumed that that's what it was all about for you too."

"Oh, it is," Roger said with a smile. At that moment, he decided to not tell her about James or his sales of the photographs. His mind went to one photo in particular: Nicole, the girl in his math class, has just gotten a fresh pedicure, her toes a vibrant shade of blue, her legs crossed at the ankles, her feet relaxed in a perfect position to show off their arches. He had blown a lot of loads to that picture in the past few weeks.

While they were on the issue, Roger decided to push it a little further.

"But, it's different than just random pictures of models or celebrities or whatever on the internet, right? There's something about the fact that they're, like, real people. They live here. And you see them around on campus."

"Oh, absolutely!" Ingrid agreed enthusiastically. "I have some pictures I got of a guy in my English lit class, when he was hammocking with his shirt off. Every time I see him I get a little charge from thinking about how many times I've come looking at him, and how he has absolutely no idea."

"I couldn't have put it better myself," Roger agreed with a smile. "Now, if we could only agree about Gurren Lagann..."

"Like I said, it's *supposed* to be over-the-top and ridiculous," she said, getting heated immediately at the revival of a discussion from Monday. "It's not cliche, it's satire!"

They talked shop about anime again, but eventually got into other subjects, including school. He learned that she was a double major in math and nursing. A bizarre combination, but she had a good explanation for it: she liked math, but she wanted to actually have a job when she graduated. So it made sense.

They parted ways when the sun began to set, but met up again that Friday. They talked about video games, but also family, hometowns and childhood. The met again the following Monday and gossiped about various professors and the food at the cafeteria.

And so it went on, meeting for a few hours every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, chatting and taking creepshots of half naked men and women. Ingrid continued to talk openly about masturbation and sex, when it came up. They occasionally brought up their shared love of voyeurism, but Roger never mentioned his particular love of feet.

They had become pretty good friends, in a fairly short period of time. Roger still felt no romantic attraction to her, and she seemed to feel the same about him, he presumed.

Their relationship took an unexpected turn one Friday afternoon, in the midst of a conversation about the Lord of the Rings books and movies.

"Hey, I gotta use the bathroom," Roger declared. "Can you watch my stuff for a bit?" The camera, lenses and other gear was probably worth around a thousand dollars in total, but he trusted her.

"Sure," Ingrid replied. "No problem."

"Thanks," Roger said as he made his way to the door. He took care of his business and returned to the roof. Ingrid was looking at the screen of the camera, mounted on its tripod. No problem with that. But as he approached, Roger realized that she wasn't looking at the current view—she was browsing through the library of images stored on the camera's SD card...

"Hey, you really like feet, don't you?" she commented. She didn't sound judgemental, but Roger was exceedingly embarrassed nonetheless.

He rushed to the camera and, seeing his reaction, she let go of it and scooted away. The damage was already done, but Roger still turned off the camera screen and began to pack it away. He was so ashamed, he just wanted to go away.

"I'm sorry," Ingrid said softly. "I didn't mean to snoop. Please don't be mad..."

Her sincerity gave Roger pause. He wasn't mad, just frustrated. He calmed down and sat, his back resting against a planter growing cabbages.

"It's not a big deal," Ingrid explained with a nervous smile. "I mean, the voyeur stuff is probably weirder, on the fetish scale, and that's something we're both into. It's really not that weird."

Roger sighed heavily. He knew she was right.

"I know," he said. "It's just, you're literally the only person in the world who knows this about me now."

"So what's so great about feet anyway?" she asked. She seemed genuinely curious, without even a hint of judgement or disgust.

Roger arched an eyebrow at her. Did she really care, or was she just trying to soothe him? He decided that he didn't care. He had opened up to her about pretty much everything else so far, so why not?

"There's just something special about them," he began, somewhat hesitantly. "I mean, feet are supposed to be rough and gnarled and dirty. So when they're smooth and soft and clean, they just seem so much more... pretty."

Ingrid listened with an eager smile on her face. So Roger went on.

"And they're so complex. What I mean is, there are so many different parts to appreciate. The arch and the sole and the pads of the toes. The toenails and how the toes spread, and their length."

"Length?" Ingrid interrupted to ask.

"Well, yeah, in a way. I mean, relative length. Like how they all look together, side by side. And, like, whether the second toe is longer or not."

"I'm not sure I follow..." Ingrid replied. "Here, give me a second."

With a look of mild confusion on her face, she pulled off the sneaker from her right foot and shucked off the plain white sock as well.

"Isn't the big toe always the longest?" Ingrid asked, inspecting her own foot.

Roger struggled to respond. He sat, transfixed by her foot. It was perfect. No foot he had ever seen before had been completely free of imperfections—there was always one little thing or another that was less than ideal. But her foot was flawless.

"Oh, come on, stop playin' around," she chided him, thinking that his intense gaze was somehow a joke. "You can't be impressed by this old thing. My toenails aren't even painted."

"That's actually not that big a deal," Roger explained, swallowing hard and finally remembering to blink.

"Well, then, what is important?" she asked, extending her leg and resting her foot just inches from his lap.

"Your tips have a perfect shape—rounded but not too circular. Your nails are the perfect size—short enough to see the skin of the tips, but not too short to look stubby. The spacing is perfect—each toe gets shorter and the pinkie is small but not crooked or off-set. The skin up to your leg is perfect—smooth and not veiny or with pronounced tendons. Your arch has a perfect curve. And your instep and sole took soft and smooth."

Roger had to stop himself from going on. He hoped that the hard-on in his pants wasn't too obvious.

"C'mon, you're messing with me, right?" she asked with a nervous chuckle. She flexed the foot, spreading the toes apart. Roger's erection intensified to almost painful levels.

He just shook his head, still admiring the foot before him.

"Wait, you're serious?"

Roger nodded solemnly.

"You have very, very sexy feet," he said to her.

She was taken aback by this statement. Shocked, and a little confused. This reaction made Roger feel nervous as well.

"I thought you said it wasn't weird," Roger said worriedly.

"It's not," Ingrid replied, still a little stunned. "It's just... nobody has ever said I was 'sexy' before..."

"Well, you are," Roger said, looking up at her. He saw her completely differently now. Before, he had seen plain brown hair, riddled with split ends. Now he saw the deep brown of her eyes and how they matched the color of her hair. He had initially just seen ugly, unfashionable glasses on her face. Now he saw her soft, pink lips, which he longed to feel against his own.

"Then how come you never asked me out?" she said, getting indignant, withdrawing her foot and returning it to its sock and shoe. "We've been hanging out all afternoon, three days a week for weeks now. You never seemed to like me before. Now you just like me for my feet?"

Roger frowned and took all this in. He felt trapped—and she had a point.

"Of course I like you. I've liked you this whole time. As a friend. You're right, things are different now. I can't argue against that. Now I like you as a friend AND I think you're hot. So, can't we just go forward?"

She frowned at this. Still not convinced.

"Hey, it's not like you asked me out, at any point in these past weeks," Roger pointed out. "We're livin' in the 21st century—that was an option."