7 comments/ 26501 views/ 10 favorites Afternoon Footsie By: Vincent E I have had to give the whole question of whether or not a man and a woman can be just friends a great deal of consideration. If there is an attraction, even a slight one, by either him or her the whole issue of restricting the nature of the relationship to that of a platonic friendship can become a great philosophical struggle. If one presses too hard to move the rapport between a man and a woman in the direction of a romantic coupling one risks not only failing to fulfill his amorous desire but also jeopardizing the existing friendship. You would not want to lose everything simply for taking the chance that she has similar romantic feelings for you. Then again, as the poets would say, nothing ventured – nothing gained; by not attempting to move the relationship towards a coupling one might be missing out on the love of a lifetime. What I did not know, and what I had to learn from experience, is that there is a middling ground: a third option that I had not considered, and one that I still to this day struggle to understand. There seems to be a sort of relationship limbo that resides somewhere between passionate love and friendly companionship where sexual attraction wraps itself around your neck like a noose. Then you get hanged. You spend the rest of the relationship with your feet dancing below you in the fruitless effort to regain your footing. The truth is, and this is what hit me the hardest, once you have unsuccessfully pressed the relationship in a romantic or sexual direction you can never return to the previous state of affairs. However, you do not get the sex either. I hope you are enjoying a hearty chuckle right now. I know I would if I were you reading this. I would be sitting there in front of the screen reading all of this philosophical rambling, realizing that some poor chump tried to take the plunge only to find out that there was no water in the pool. Well, the joke is on you, smartass. There was water in the pool. In fact it was the pool full of water that put me in this whole fiasco in the first place. The pool I am speaking of belonged to my uncle, and it rested in the back yard of his home. He was away for two weeks on vacation. Knowing him as I do, he was probably chasing after some drunken college girls who were looking for an excuse to give it up to a graying father figure. While he was away he lent me the run of his house; it was a welcome change of environment from the crowded apartment building I lived in. All I had to do was keep the place tidy, make sure that the plants were watered, and promise not to burn it to the ground. It was a simple job for a simple person. I had invited my friend Claire - that is if the word friend is still the appropriate term – over to my uncle's house one summer Saturday afternoon for a little cool relaxation poolside. I knew that she would be looking for somewhere to suntan, and thought that she too would appreciate the relative solitude and quiet of a private pool. Crowded beaches, scant parking, and kids running around and raising seven kinds of hell were as unappealing to her as they were to me. Besides, I was in the mood for some pleasant female companionship. Claire accepted the invitation, naturally enough, and arrived late-morning in her little blue Volvo. She stepped out of the car wearing a pair of wedge sandals, tan safari shorts, a light blue short sleeve blouse, and a big smile. She also had on a pair of Versace sunglasses. Just as a side note, what is it about women in sunglasses that is so sexy? I find that if a woman is either covering her eyes with them or just resting them over her forehead I get equally aroused. Well, she aroused me. There was no greeting kiss or hug, merely a familiar, "Hi Vincent," as she reached into the back seat of her car and pulled out a beach bag loaded with her necessaries. "Ugh," she said, "traffic is terrible today. I can't believe it's a weekend." "Yeah, it must be beach traffic. Everyone's going in the same direction on a day like this. They say it's going to go up to around ninety." "As long as it doesn't get too humid," she said. "I hate the humidity." "Probably not." I replied. "Don't worry. We could always go inside and turn on the AC if it gets unbearable. We've got all the comforts of home here." "I'm not going inside. How would I work on my tan?" We walked through the house and out to the backyard. Claire set herself up on the stone deck that surrounds the pool. She draped a large beach towel over one of the wooden Adirondack loungers, then she took out her sundry warm weather day items from her bag and set them on a table next to the lounger: suntan lotion, lip balm, a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses as a backup, a book she had been reading, a little FM radio with a headset, and a pack of cigarettes. I wished she would quit smoking. "Hey, no smoking out here," I said. "We're outside. It'll be okay." "No. He's got a strict rule: no cancer sticks inside or out. He doesn't want any butts or ashes around, and I'm not going to screw things up." "Okay, okay," she withdrew from any argument by conceding. "Besides, I need to quit anyway." The conversation was normal friendly, I-know-you-so-well-that-I already-know-the-answers- to-half-the-questions-but- I'm-asking-them-anyway- to-be-polite questions that we all ask each other in the course of our friendships. Mind you, the sexual tension part of this story had not yet begun. The truth is that I had always had some sexual feelings for Claire, but I attribute that to my being a normal, well-adjusted, red-blooded American male with a pulse. She is, after all, an attractive woman. She is the kind of woman who is used to drawing attention from men, and who has learned to deal with it as she has matured. So it is only normal that I would often look at this very attractive woman and say to myself, "Self, that is a very attractive woman. I'd sure like to get something going on with that." In the vernacular of the streets, she's all that and a bag of chips. "Vincent, do you have any water? Can I have a bottle?" she asked. "Sure, do you want any juice or a soda?" I replied. "No, it's too early for soda. Just some water would be fine." I went inside to retrieve a few bottles of water from the refrigerator. I took a bucket from the drinks cabinet (seriously, who still has a drinks cabinet these days?) and filled it with ice. Then I grabbed a pair of large plastic cups from the kitchen. When I walked out of the back door to the house, Claire was sitting Indian style on her chosen lounge chair reading her book. I gave her a bottle and placed the ice bucket on the table with her sundry bag items. "Thank-you," she said. She twisted the cap off of the bottle and took a long sip of water. "Here, I brought some cups," I said. "No thanks." "Seriously, here. Drink like a civilized human being." "I like drinking from the bottle." "Do you have any idea of where those bottles have been? Do you have any idea who has been handling them? The guy who screwed on the caps probably didn't even wash his hands. Here, use a cup. I brought some ice, it'll keep your drink cold." "The caps are put on by machines, dumb-dumb," she explained. "Still, what about the guy with the sweaty palms and body odor who put them in the truck, or on the shelf of the store?" I said as I twisted the cap off a bottle and poured the water into a cup full of ice. "I'm not putting my mouth on anything that I don't know where it's been." "You drink beer straight from the bottle," she challenged me. "Yes, but that's different. The alcohol kills the germs." "What about soda bottles?" she asked. "Well now you're just being difficult. If I wanted to have a silly conversation I would have invited over some of my clown friends." "All your friends are clowns," she said. "Does that include you?" I asked. "Shut up and go find a radio; mine isn't working. I want to listen to some music." You can see that it was all friendly banter between two pals. Meaningless arguing over the minutiae of daily life that we all engage in with those with whom we have developed well-rounded and fulfilling interpersonal interactions. It was a day like any other. It should have played out like any other day except for one thing – I am an idiot. I got the radio. We listened to it. She read her book. We talked about whatever topic came up. It was a normal conversation. It makes for boring reading now, but please bear with me. I am trying to create the setting. That doesn't happen very much in these stories, and I am trying to raise the bar a little. If you have read this far you might as well stick around. Most of the readers who were hoping that I would walk out with the bottles of water and see Claire in her teensy thong all oiled up and prancing around in a pair of six inch stilettos only to have me jump on her and start fucking her from behind as her triple D size breasts bounced around her chest have already clicked the back button on their browsers in utter frustration that this is not some suck and fuck fable. Besides, her breasts are not size triple D. I don't know what her cup size is exactly. But I digress. Breast size has nothing to do with this story. Suffice it to say that late morning turned into afternoon. We continued having a normal time, and had a light lunch consisting mainly of fruit and salads because that is what happened to be in the refrigerator. Claire lay in her lounger soaking up some sun while I slipped into the pool and began swimming some laps. Here is where my trouble started. Every couple of laps of the pool I would stop at the shallow end and lean on the side of the pool looking over in Claire's direction. By now she had put her book down and was laying idle in the large plastic lounge chair listening to the radio and half ignoring anything that I was saying to her. At times I thought that she had drifted off to sleep, but then she would move around to adjust her position or put on some added suntan lotion. Soon I just stopped to look at her, swim a few more laps, and then spend more time looking at her. She was wearing a black bikini. It was not a thong; it was not overly revealing. It was a simple black French cut bikini that makes me hard just to think of her in it. I got hard looking at her wearing what amounts to underwear. I gave myself a couple of gentle squeezes down there then took another few laps of the pool. "Hey Claire, you really should come in. The water is fine." I tried to tempt her into the water for no other reason than I was tired of swimming alone. Also, I wanted to see her get her black bikini wet. "I don't like to swim," she said. "Well, you don't have to swim. You can just, ya know, float around." She looked over at me briefly and then turned her face back into the sun. "There aren't any floats," she retorted. "I can get you one." "Well, then go ahead and get me one." My uncle kept a stash of vinyl inflatable rafts in the pool closet along with other necessary items such as chlorine, ph tests, and beer. I took one of the rafts from the closet and tore off the covering. After unfolding the raft I began blowing into the nipple to inflate it. I blew, and blew, and blew fruitlessly. "Having any luck over there, dumb-dumb?" she asked sarcastically. "These frigging things are impossible to blow up," I gasped. "Just as well." She shifted her legs. I was determined to get the damn raft inflated. It had less to do with a desire to see Claire in the water than with my determination not to be undermined by a mindless piece of hollow vinyl. There was a bicycle pump in the garage, so I got it, connected a small plastic funnel to the nozzle, and got the raft inflated in moments. I walked back to the pool and tossed the raft into the water. "There you go, Claire. Go take a float." "Thank-you," she said. Claire got up from the lounger and stepped into the water. "Oh, it's cool," she remarked. "You'll adjust," I replied. She got onto the raft gingerly then lay back and relaxed. I dove into the water from the deep end and swam over towards her. "Go turn up the radio so I can hear it better," she said. "Your kind of commanding today. Do you want anything else?" "No. Just please turn up the radio. I like this station." I exited the water, cranked the radio a few notches, and then dove back into the water and waded over towards her. I waded close to her raft and stood between her and the sun casting a shadow on her face. "You're in my sun," she complained. "Just trying to make sure your lovely skin doesn't prune," I countered. "Thanks, but get out of the way." I stepped aside and let the sun shine down upon her. It was moments like that when I started feeling something stir inside me. Here was my friend, my pretty tanned friend, floating around absorbing the sun like a bronze goddess. Part of me wanted to reach out and caress every inch of her warm body from head to toe. Part of me wanted to slide my manhood inside her and ride her as she lay on the raft. Mostly, I just wanted to kiss her; that was a far more realistic goal. I dove into the deep end of the pool and swam underwater to her. Swimming under her raft, I turned to look at her from under the water and got a shark's eye view of her outline silhouetted against the sun. I surfaced gracefully at the side of her head. "Hello," I said quietly. "Don't splash me," she replied. "You're really being friendly today." "Just don't splash me." "I wouldn't dream of it." I submerged and swam underneath her body again. I came up just at the deep end of the water and looked at her rotating slowly as the water current carried her raft towards me. I submerged again and swam beneath her body a few more times, each time turning to look at her silhouette. "You're drifting perilously close to the deep end," I whispered in her ear after emerging from the water. "Then pull me over to the shallow end, but don't splash me." "I've got it already; you don't want to be splashed," I explained as I gently tugged on her raft and brought it to a wall at the shallow end. I quietly dove into the water to swim back and forth under her body once again. I was trying to tease her. I once read somewhere that women enjoyed being teased. Of course I read that in a book about giving proper cunnilungus, and all I was doing here was swimming under a close friend's body. In hindsight, I think the parallels were simply not present at the time. Again, this whole sexual attraction to a friend thing is problematic under the best of circumstances. I was hard the whole time I was swimming beneath Claire. In my head it may have been some psychological alternative for being beneath her in a more intimate manner, or it may have simply been the twelve-year old in me dealing with an attraction to a pretty girl in an immature way. "Why are you doing that?" she asked. "Doing what?" "Swimming under me." "I have to." "What do you mean you have to?" she asked further. "If I swim on the surface I'd splash you," I explained as I crept closer to her head. "And you don't want to be splashed." "Stop it." She had a slightly commanding tone in her voice. She felt justified in giving me an order to cease and desist an act she found annoying. She never turned away from the sun; she kept her eyes closed behind her Versace sunglasses. I stopped swimming and remained mostly submerged by her head. I didn't know if she sensed me close by. If she did, she did not give any notice to my presence. I was quiet. I looked at her shoulder, and the rise in her chest. I was getting an arousing view of her cleavage. After a few minutes I felt like a peeping pervert, so I submerged once more and swam all the way to the deep end of the pool. Resting at the wall, I gave myself a few discreet strokes inside my swimming trunks. Truth be told, I had masturbated many times to the fantasy of conquering Claire's maidenhead. I know that is a fancy way of saying I fantasized to the thought of fucking her senseless, but then again this is a friend I am talking about, not some drunken tramp I spotted in a bar. Let's have some respect here, people. I was hard, I was getting hornier, and I was getting a feeling in my chest that someone was squeezing my heart. She was beautiful, she was sexy, and she was also beginning to act like a selfish bitch, which she has a tendency to do. That pisses me off. I invited her over for some afternoon relaxation, and while I never realistically expected any sex – that never happens – she could have bee a little more polite about being my guest. Then again I was probably being an asshole, something that I have a tendency to do and that probably pisses her off. Life is a two-way street after all. I submerged and submarined my way over to her again, this time intent on either annoying her or at least getting a little something-something. Know what I mean? I swam the length of the pool, came up for air, and then waded my way over to her to seize her raft by the corner. "You're drifting again," I said. "Don't splash me," she replied. "I haven't splashed you yet." "Don't," she repeated. "I won't" "Just don't" "I'm not going to splash you," I paused. "I'm going to kiss you." "No," she replied. "Then I'm going to splash you." "No, you're not." "Yes I am," I teased. "Don't splash me. I don't like being splashed." "Yeah, I gathered that from the way you told me not to splash you like about a million times." "Good," she said. "But I am going to kiss you," I teased her. "No you're not." "Come on. Let me kiss you, just once." "No." "Please," I whined. "No." "Pretty please," I whined again. "No." Her resolve was strong. She never turned to face me. She merely dismissed my appeals for some slight affection and continued sunning herself. It was turning me on. "Come on," I begged. "Pretty please with sugar on top." "No." "Pretty please with a cherry inside." "No," she said more firmly. Pretty please with chocolate sauce all around. You've got to like that." "No." "Just let me kiss your cheek," I asked. "No." "Just a little peck on the cheek. Please." "No." "Please, please, please." "No." "Just let me kiss your shoulder then." "No." "Your elbow. Let me kiss your elbow." "No, you're not kissing me." "Yes I am," I said smiling. However, she could not see my smile, as she never looked at me. Bizarrely enough, all this rejection was getting me hot. "No you're not." "Let me kiss your wrist." "No." "The back of your hand," I continued to negotiate. "No," she continued to refuse. "Let me kiss your belly button." "No!" she exclaimed. I might have hit a tender spot. Maybe there was some significance to a belly button kiss of which I had not been aware. "Please." "No. Now stop it," she rebuked me. "Let me kiss you. Let me kiss some part of you. Just a finger." The fact that I was continually asking her permission to press my lips against some part of her exposed flesh only to be denied once and again paints a pretty graphic picture of a man begging for affection. Pretty pathetic, isn't it? The fact that I had to kneel in the shallow end of the pool in order to line up my head with hers added the perfect symbolism. I was literally on my knees begging for affection. "Come on, just a little kiss," I implored. "No," she replied sternly, again. I let it rest for a few minutes. I submerged, but did not swim under her body. I sat on the bottom of the pool as long as I could hold my breath, about a thirty count, and then surfaced. She paid no attention to me. I submerged again, this time for a forty count. Still she paid no notice as I surfaced. I submerged once more, this time for a forty-three count. I surfaced and quietly slid over to her side. In a moment of nerve, I kissed the back of her hand as it rested at the edge of the raft. Afternoon Footsie She swiped her hand at me and struck my in the face with a backhander. "Stop it!" she ordered. "Okay, okay. No need to knock my eye out." "Did I hit you in the eye?" she asked. "Yes," I lied as I covered my right eye with my hand. "Serves you right." "That's pretty heartless," I remarked as I uncovered my eye. "Then stop being a pain." "I'm not being a pain. I just want one little kiss. That one doesn't count." "You're not kissing me." "Please," I begged. "No." "Pretty please with sugar on top." "You already tried that," she pointed out. "Just let me kiss your foot," I continued the fruitless negotiation. For the first time Claire did not say no. Of course she did not say anything. At first I thought she was just tired of putting up with my constant begging for one little harmless kiss that would not mean much of anything – and if she had just let me kiss her in the first place I would not be writing out this long, drawn out story, and you would be jerking off to some other story. She merely lay there absorbing more of good old Sol's bronzing rays. "Just one little peck on the foot," I repeated. She gave no response. I drifted over towards her legs. "Just one tiny little kiss, just on the foot. Just let me kiss you there." She lay still and did not make a sound or give any indication one-way or the other. "If you don't say anything I'll take it as a yes," I said. "I'll kiss your foot. Okay? Well, okay, you're not saying anything so that means yes." I stood up for the first time in a while. I got a chill as the water dripped off my body; my temperature must have come down a degree or two. I stood over Claire's legs just to one side of her body. She had very pretty legs; she had pretty feet too. "Okay, here we go. I'm doing it." I paused. "Don't think I won't. I'm going to kiss your foot. Okay, you're giving me permission. Here it goes." I leaned over, and without touching her with my hands I pressed my lips to the inseam of her right foot and gave her a long gentle smooch. Claire did not move. She did not kick me away as I had feared she might after the swipe she gave me minutes before. She just lay there expressionless. "See, that was harmless. Pretty pleasant too, I'd bet. I can't see what the big deal was all about. You think I've got the cooties or something?" She did not answer me. "Claire. Claire. Hey Claire," I addressed her, but she acted as if I was not there. "Claire, guess what: I'm going to kiss your other foot too, just to balance things out. Okay?" Still, she ignored me. "Well okay. You know the rules. You didn't say no, so that means I can. Alright?" I paused for a reply that did not come. "Alright then. Here we go; I'm kissing the other foot." I waded around her body to her left side. This time I cradled her foot in my hand. I held her by the heel with one hand and by the ball of the foot with the other. I again gave her foot a long, slow kiss on the inseam, but this time followed it with two quick smooches: one just below her toes and one just near her ankle. "There, you see how harmless that was?" I asked. She just lay there. I knew she was alive; I could see her breathing. "Hey, this whole ignoring me thing is pretty lame. If you don't answer me I'll kiss your foot again. Say something." She said nothing. "Say something." She said nothing. "Hey, ding-a-ling, I'm talking to you. I'll kiss your foot again." She said nothing. "Okay, you asked for it. I'm kissing your foot again." I braced both of her feet together gently, then alternately kissed them: left, right, left right. "How about that, I kissed them both. Two for one." She didn't flinch. "Say something." She said nothing, so I kissed her feet again. This time I kissed each foot three times. "Say something." She said nothing. I kissed her right foot the length of her inseam and down to her arch. "Hey," I said and kissed her left foot. "Say something to me." I kissed her left arch. Next I alternated syllables with random kisses to her feet. "Say..." Kiss. "...some..." Kiss. "...thing...' Kiss. "...to..." Kiss. "...me..." Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. "This is getting ridiculous. You're like that Genesis song: and there's no reply at all." I sang a few bars while kissing her around the ankle of her left foot. "Is anybody listening? Oooooh. And there' no reply at all." "Claire. Hey Claire. Hey, beautiful woman floating around in my uncle's pool with me kissing her feet, are you listening?" She refused to acknowledge my presence. My erection was now straining. I cradled her feet and caressed them gently. "You have pretty pink toenails," I complimented her. "Thank-you," she said. "Wow, finally a response. Did I wake you up?" "No, I've been awake." "Why did you paint your toenails hot pink?" I inquired into her feminine reasoning, if there is such a thing. "Just for fun." "They're pretty," I complimented her again. "Kiss them," she said. "Really?" She did not answer. "Do you really want me to kiss them?" I asked again. I cradled her feet and ran my fingers around her toes. "I will." She remained silent. "Okay, this time you explicitly asked for it." I kissed the pretty pink toenail of her big tow first. Claire had painted all of her nails impeccably well. There was no paint on her skin, and she had stayed within the lines. In all I felt it was a very professional job. "You did a very professional job," I said. I kissed the nail of each toe on her right foot from the largest to the smallest. Then I went backwards, kissing the smallest to the largest. Without pausing between feet, I kissed the nail of her left big toe and proceeded to kiss all of the nails on her left foot. Then I kissed them in rhythm going along all ten toes back and forth several times. Claire, for her part, merely lay on the raft and said nothing to me. "How is that?" I asked after several minutes of kissing her toes. "Good boy," she answered. "Do you want me to keep it up?" Just between you and me, that last line was not meant as a double entendre; I was hard. I don't know if the humor of that statement was lost on her, but she did not answer me. "Again with the silence. I thought we made a breakthrough. You know the rules: if you stay quiet it means yes." She remained silent. "Okay, here we go again." I stopped cradling her feet. Now I just circled around from left to right kissing her feet at random. I kissed the inseam of one foot. I kissed the arch of the other. I licked her big toe. I kissed her ankle. I sucked on her pinkie toe. I kissed the bottom of her feet: first the balls of her foot, then the underside of her arch, finally her heel. I kissed the side of her foot. I kissed between her toes. "Are you enjoying this?" I asked. You already know what happened – she did not answer me. "If you stay quiet it means you're enjoying this. Are you enjoying this?" I waited for the answer, but it did not come. "Okay, you didn't say anything, so that means you like it." I kissed her feet back and forth. Whatever I kissed first on her right foot, I then kissed on her left foot. I kissed her big toes first, her inseams next, her ankles third, and finally her arches. Then I kissed the underside of each of her toes starting from the pinkie toe on her left foot and kissing each of the ten in order. I licked the arch of her right foot then followed that by kissing the tip of each toe; I repeated the attention on her left foot. Standing by her feet, I held her left heel with one hand and cupped some water in my free palm and poured it over her toes. The small rivulets of water dripped down her feet towards her ankles and rolled off into the pool water. I ceremoniously poured one handful of water after another on each foot. "You're standing in my sun," she said. "O, pardon me. Shall I turn you around, your highness?" "Yes, make me face the other way so I can even out." I turned her body so the sun could reign down on her from the other side. I stood by her for a minute or two holding the raft in place and pretty much just admiring her body. "I'm going to swim a few laps," I said, preparing to submerge again. "No," she said. "Stay right there." "Why?" "I want you to hold the raft so I don't float around. I want to even out on this side for a while." "I want to swim a few laps and cool off." "No," she demanded. "Hold the raft in place. Do what I tell you." I did what she told me. I held the raft in place. I do not know why I did what she told me. I do not know why I complied with an instruction given to me in a rather rude manner – yes I do. So do you. I held the raft in place because I started crossing that line I mentioned earlier. I had placed myself in the untenable position of erotically kissing the feet of a woman with whom I was not already romantically involved. If she were a lover things would have been clearer to me; we would have been playing a sex game. All of the foot worship would have been just some amusing foreplay leading to a sexual encounter. However she was a pal, a buddy, and that has left me wondering just what position I placed myself in. Do you see how that works? First I took the rope and tied the noose. Then I put the noose around my next. Guess what comes next. Go on; guess. I was getting hot; by hot I mean that the temperature was beginning to get to me. Even standing waist-deep in water, I was over heating from the sun beating down on my chest. The glare from the light reflecting off the water was playing hell with my rods and cones as well, but I did not turn away from looking at Claire's body. "Hey Claire, can I put on your Ray-Bans?" I requested. "No," she answered. "Thanks," I said sarcastically. "They're too small for you." "Are you saying I have a big head?" "Yes," she answered. "That's not all that's big, baby," I said like a sleazy lounge lizard. "Shut up." There was a slight disgust in her voice. I had to cool off somehow, so I sank to my knees again and held the raft in place. "Don't splash me," she said as I sank to my knees. "What are you talking about? I didn't even make a ripple." I looked at her body from the side and decided to press my luck. I leaned forward and kissed her calf. Claire instantly slapped the back of my head and pointed her finger in my face. "No!" she exclaimed. "That is not my foot. Don't do it again." There was a commanding harshness in her voice. It was the way you would reprimand a puppy for peeing on the carpet, or a child for drawing on the wall with his crayons. I must have upset her because she got off the raft and walked over to the steps leading out of the pool. "Sorry," I apologized. "Geez, don't get so upset." "I'm not upset," she said. There was no harshness in her voice now. "Go get me something to drink." "Do you want another bottle of water without a cup?" I asked sarcastically. "No. I want a soda." "Do you want some ice?" I asked as I walked up the pool stairs. "Yes, and put something in it." "What? You want me to spike it? You want me to slip you a Mickey?" "What do you have?" she asked. "I don't know. I'll have to check the liquor cabinet." I went into the house as Claire lay out on the lounger she had claimed earlier. The sun was moving over a large maple tree in a neighboring yard, and her chair was beginning to be shaded by the tree. I thought she may have had enough of the sun for the day and wanted to cool off in the shade. I took some ice from the freezer and filled a large plastic cup. It was one of those oversized summer cups that hold about twenty-four ounces. I poured some cola into the cup until it covered the ice. Checking the drinks cabinet from where I retrieved the ice bucket earlier, I found some spiced run and poured a few ounces into the cola. I brought Claire's drink to her as she was sitting on a different lounge chair. "Move my chair into the sun over there," she said, pointing to a sunnier part of the yard unaffected by the maple tree. It was a friendly half-request, half-instruction that she was used to making and that I was used to hearing. I obliged her by picking up the large wooden Adirondack chair and struggling to move it into the sun. She took a sip from the cola and rum; I grunted as I carried the heavy chair to a more suitable position for tanning. "Oh, stop your grunting," she said. "Hey, this thing is heavy." "That's okay. You're strong." "Why don't you tell me I'm handsome too," I said, and I positioned the chair to face directly into the sun. "You're tall," she replied. "Great," I rolled my eyes. "I guess that's the best compliment I'm getting from you today." "Yes, it is," she teased me. "How is it?" I motioned to her drink with my head. "That's good; it's sunnier over here." "I mean how is the drink." "Oh that? You did a good job, dumb-dumb." Claire took a few more sips of her cocktail, then she lay down on the lounger to resume tanning. I was beginning to wonder if she would one day fully prune from overexposure. For the time being I was content to admire her bronzed flesh and indulge her desire to continue tanning herself. "Bring the radio over here," she requested. "Sure. Do you want anything else?" I asked, stressing the word 'any.' "Yes, come over here and clean my feet. They got dirty from the deck." "You're a spoiled brat. You know that?" "Yes," she smiled. "But you don't care." "Yes I do. Stop being a brat." "No, you like it when I'm bratty." She was smiling so that her every tooth shined in the sun. "You're annoying when you're bratty." "No I'm not. I'm cute." She smiled even more. "Yeah, you're right," I conceded. I brought the radio to her. I then got the ice bucket and filled it with water from the pool. If my uncle had ever seen me doing that with his cocktail bucket he would have ripped me a new orifice. I poured the water over her feet to clean off the sand and dirty they had picked up from the stone deck. "Good enough?" I asked. "No. Do it again." Claire smiled whimsically at the sky as she ordered me to repeat the cleansing. I got another bucketful of water and poured it out deliberately over her feet one palm-full at a time. I pushed my fingers between each of her toes to make sure that all the sand and dirt was gone. Finally I poured the remainder of the bucket over her feet. "How's that?" "Fine. Dry them for me." She smiled again. I could sense that she was making a game of this. We were playing a game that I had initiated, but she was making the rules. If it was a competition, she was winning. If it was not a competition, I was simply getting my nose rubbed in my own mess. "I'll get a towel," I said. "No. I want them blow dried." She giggled. "Blow dried? How the hell am I supposed to blow dry them?" Claire turned away from the sky to look at me. Pointing at her feet she said one word. "Blow." I kneeled down at the foot of the lounger, cradled her feet in my hands, and blew gently on them. I took one breath after another blowing on her pretty pink toenails. I blew on her inseams and her arches. I had to move my head all around her feet to blow on them from every angle. As the combination of my breath and the sun had dried her feet, I brought them up slightly to my mouth and kissed each foot again. I placed her feet back on the lounger and tried to caress her legs beyond her ankles. Once again she changed her attitude and immediately reprimanded me. "Stop!" she ordered as she pointed at me again. "Those are not my feet." "I'm sorry," I apologized. I was beginning to wonder if I was pissing her off too much. Claire can run hot and cold, and her attitude can change at the slightest infraction. I knew from experience that she would just get up and walk out if she were not getting her way or if she were getting too aggravated. It was one of the bonuses of not being her boyfriend: I did not have to put up with her more annoying personality traits. I could usually tell her to screw herself. Because we were not linked amorously that did not cause a problem. However, I did not want her to leave, so I backed off of touching anything but her feet. "I'm sorry, Claire," I apologized and kissed her big toe. "I won't do it again." "You'd better not." "I won't," I said. Then I kissed her ankle. "Don't upset me," she said calmly. "I won't; I promise," and I kissed her pinkie toe. "I like this drink," she said as she took another sip. "Thank-you." I wrapped my mouth around her little toe. I held her feet and sucked on her little toe. I looked up at her, but she was not paying attention to me. I sucked on her toe and licked it when I got to the tip of her nail. It was only the littlest toe, so there was not much sucking to do. Still, I enjoyed having that least little part of her in my mouth. My penis was hard and straining against my wet swimming trunks. We spent more time in that position: she absorbing the warmth of the sun and I kneeling at her feet sucking alternately on her toes and giving them each a little lick or a smooch after taking them into my mouth three or four times each. I caressed her feet and drew my fingers around her ankles in circles. I brushed the back of my fingers along the bottoms of each foot. "Don't tickle me," she said. "Does that tickle," I said as I brushed the back of my finger along her arch. "No." "So I can do this," I said as I brushed all four fingers along the bottom of her foot. She remained silent. "Do you want me to do this or not." She ignored me. "If you don't say anything it means you want me to keep it up. Do you want me to keep it up?" She did not say anything. Claire just smiled and sipped the rest of her drink. For the next half hour I caressed her feet; she lay in repose silently. The sun finally began to set over the brick wall that separated my uncle's property from his neighbor's. The shade drew in on us covering me first. As it did, Claire lost interest in being outside. By the time the shade was halfway up her body she decided to go home. "Okay that's enough," she said. I ignored her and continued to brush the under sides of her feet with the back of my fingers. "Stop." Now I played the game she had been playing. I did not respond to her. It's funny, but she did not seem interested in playing. "I said stop." She pushed me away with her foot and knocked me off the lounge chair. "If you wanted me to stop, all you had to do was say so," I said. Claire stood and began to collect her belongings from around the deck. I took her place in the lounger and watched her as she put on her shorts and blouse. She put on her wedge sandals then walked around in them retrieving her things from around the yard. She filled her bag with her things and walked over to the back entrance to the house. "I have to go pee," she said like a little girl. "Too much information," I replied. She walked into the house ahead of me and went into the bathroom. Meanwhile, I gathered up the ice bucket, the water bottles, and the cup. I brought it all into the kitchen and placed them in the sink to be washed. As I stood in front of the sink running the hot water, I thought about what had been taking place between the two of us. I thought about how sexy it was to have played with her toes that afternoon. I also thought about how Claire had probably sensed that she had the upper hand, and how she had treated me that day. "She slapped me, scolded me, reprimanded me, and kicked me," I murmured to myself. "Much more of this treatment and I'll ejaculate spontaneously." Afternoon Footsie Claire came out of the bathroom as I completed that thought. She checked her bag one more time then walked to the front door. "Walk me to my car," she requested politely. We walked out to her little blue Volvo and she opened the door. She tossed her bag into the passenger seat then turned to face me. I let the front door of the house close behind me. "Are you locked out?" she asked. "No, I can go back to the pool and into the house through the yard," I answered "Thanks for having me over today," she said gratefully. "I didn't want to deal with the crowds at the beach." "Did you have fun?" I asked. "Yeah," she replied. "Great. Do you think you got enough sun?" "Just about. How do I look?" she asked. "You look like the most beautiful woman in the world," I replied, stroking her feminine vanity. "Thank-you." Thank was the first expression of true gratitude that I think I had received all day. "You're welcome." "Come here," she said as she held out her arms. Claire hugged me in the driveway. It felt good. It felt very good. "Okay, that's enough," she said and kissed me quickly on my neck then pushed me backwards. "Time to go." She sat in the car, closed the door, started the engine, and rolled down the window. "I'll call you this week, okay." "Alright," I answered. "Bye-bye," she waved and backed out of the driveway. "Bye," I gave her a little salute in parting as she drove into the street and out of sight. I went back to the pool through the yard, but I neglected to latch the gate. I dragged the Adirondack lounger a few feet farther into the full sun. There was still one corner of the yard that would get sun for about a half-hour longer. Now I wanted to lie there aimlessly and relax. I was so damn horny. I pulled my swimming trunks down to my knees, and grabbed my hardened penis. The poor guy had been straining for hours with very little in the way of attention, and nothing in the way of relief. I would have loved to have pulled him out and given him a proper introduction to the woman who had been responsible for so many encounters between him and my palm, but the moment just never seemed right. That is to say she would probably have given him an introduction to my spleen when she kicked me in the groin for being so vulgar. I began to pump myself slowly while replaying the events of the day in my mind. All of the foot kissing and toe sucking now seemed quite an erotic inspiration. I desperately wished that I could have seduced Claire properly and made love to her in the pool, on the raft, on the lounger – anywhere. At that moment I was just desperate to be with her. I pumped my manhood thinking about all the attention I had given to her feet. Not being a foot fetishist in the classic sense, I was aroused more by the minor physical contact that she granted me, and less by an attraction to her feet. I pumped myself faster as I imagined Claire giving in and letting me caress her body. I stroked harder and harder changing the scenes in my mind. I thought about her beautiful body, and a tryst between her and me: our first together. I imagined her wrapping her legs around my body as the buoyancy of the water supported her; Claire embracing me with both arms and legs as we kissed. Here I would slide into her. I wanted to feel the heat from her body against mine as we embraced in the cool water. I wanted to feel the soft crush of her breasts against my flesh. I imagined her nipples riding up and down my bare chest as we made love rhythmically, alternately kissing and looking into each other's eyes. She has such a lovely face. I was closing in on a climax. I could feel the pressure building. "By careful you don't pull it off," I heard a female voice say. "What?" I cried as I jumped from my repose and twisted around to a seated position and covered myself with my arms. Claire walked across the deck to the spot where she had originally begun sunning herself. I was mortified at being caught masturbating. I buckled over in my seat and watched her as she picked up something from the table, and then crossed the deck again. I was not able to pull my trunks up without exposing myself to her again. As I sat there I had to contract every muscle in my groin to prevent myself from ejaculating. That would have been humiliating. "I forgot my Ray-Bans; wouldn't want to lose them. Good thing the gate was unlocked, huh." She put on her sunglasses as she walked across the pool deck to exit the yard. She took deliberate strides in her wedge sandals, like a fashion model treading down the runway. It was very sexy. She looked directly at me on her way out of the yard. I thought she was trying to muffle a laugh. "Enjoy yourself, dumb-dumb. Bye-bye." She wiggled her fingers at me and walked out of the yard smiling. Well, what's a guy to do? I pulled up my trunks, ran around to the corner of the house, and watched her pull out of the driveway again. This time I made sure the latch to the pool yard was locked before returning to the lounger. I did not want to run the risk of playing Judge Reinhold to Claire's Phoebe Cates a second time. Doesn't anybody knock? I pulled my trunks down and finished myself off. It did not take long for me to explode in a satisfying climax. It was quite a gooey mess that I got all over my abdominals. The momentary embarrassment of my being caught in mid-stroke by Claire may have added a little extra boost to the blast. It was as if all of the tension that had wound up inside me that day received one final priming that led to the eventual release. I took my time lying on the lounger before getting up to clean myself. The sun passed over me while I idly drew circles and random patterns in the fluid on my body still contemplating Claire and the upper hand she was now going to have over me. After the shade completely overtook me, and the rest of the yard, I got up and just dove into the deep end of the pool naked. Later that night I masturbated a second time. This time I thought about Claire catching me, and of that look she had on her face, as she must have realized that I was fantasizing about her. Maybe she was amused. Maybe she felt a rush of power. I did not know what she experienced, but I knew that reliving those events excited me. At least I shared my embarrassment with a close friend. So there you have it. That rope I mentioned earlier is fitting quite snugly around my neck. I often feel like I am dancing a jig at the end of that rope whenever Claire and I get together. I feel the tension, but I still do not know what she is thinking. It is worse when we are alone than when we are with other friends; having people around seems to diffuse any tension I feel in her presence. I do not think she has told anyone about that day; at least no one has ever teased me with the knowledge of that afternoon. To that extent she has kept that intimacy confidential. I crossed the Rubicon that afternoon, and Claire knows it; I am sure of that. Now she is basically in control of where the relationship is going; she is piloting the ship, and I am left as a passenger looking out the porthole hoping for a pleasant view.