Outside the wind was blowing and another hurricane was creeping down on us. I was worried that the barn might be uprooted for the second time in a month, and the animals would be swept away. I prayed with a vengeance, like never before. I heard a soft knock at the door.
I opened the door – creek - and there in front of me stood the most ravishing, intensely striking girl/ woman I had ever set my eyes upon. She was angelic. I swore she was an angel.
"Hello," she said in a voice I was certain Miriam (Mose's sister in the Bible) would have sounded like. Soothing, with only the hesitancy of the sensitivity one would have for other's needs. Flawless in its tone. Spontaneous in its rhythm.
"Hello," I replied staring at this hauntingly peaceful splendor, perhaps 18 or 19 years old. Her eyes stared back at me. My wonder of her, grew as I noticed that her right eye was boyish blue and her left eye was the green of a perfect gem.
"I was walking through the area, and became very frightened, with the wind and all. Could I come in, dear sir?" the goddess asked.
My mind was running a full 100-meter dash and I became anxious at my own thoughts.
I felt as though God had arrived at my doorstep and I wanted to please her. I wanted to give back to the supreme deity in a way, which I have never been able to do. For years, I had prayed and offered funds to orphans, widows and the deaf mutes. I had volunteered at the local food bank, and assisted abused men, helping them get back on their feet. Oh, those nights working with lepers in South Africa and those days surrounded by victims of Typhoid and other infectious diseases. I had tried so hard to be a good man, to be a good doctor and hoped that God had recognized my struggle, in a positive fashion.
She walked into my home. I wasn't certain whether I had invited her in or not. Instinctually I greeted her by reaching for her soaking wet coat and asked her if she would like to remover her stilettos, "for some snuggly slippers instead."
She did. She wanted to.
As the gentleman that I was raised to be, I helped her remover her shoes. I slipped my hand onto her shoulder and with the other I gripped her arm and eased her back onto my plush Victorian couch.
Oh my God. Her feet. As I slipped off one of her shoes, I saw, for the first time, her ravishing feet. Oh my God. I am dizzy. You should have seen them.
There in my callused hands, hard from years of toil, was a fragile foot, perhaps size 4 or 5, that shone like the sunrise. I was touching the softest skin ever, and her toes appeared faultless in stature and prominence, painted the colour of Dorothy's ruby red shoes. Slowly but deliberately I leaned forward and kissed her large toe - without invitation. I tasted the dampness and ruggedness of her trek through the forest, yet quickly realized that its taste was flecked with sweetness and sexuality. I kissed each toe dozens of big and small items; sucked them with desperation as my hands massaged the arch of her foot, stopping every moment or so to apply pressure to those points that would make her moan. I pushed.
She looked at me with the sensuality of a woman; the childness of a nymph and my penis began to awaken. Her legs had become uncovered to the thigh and my hands started a long exploration, higher and higher as she moaned deeper and deeper, as I sucked harder and harder on those holy toes.
The moment never seems to fade as it might with other angels. As I sucked on her five toes, my desire to taste her twisted away at me in a way, which makes one crave the apple of Eden, but reviles it simultaneously. It's the feeling of waking up next to a magnificent person, and asking them to leave. A sexual oxymoron! (Don't judge others. You too have felt this way). It was my fight like Jacob's heel. This was my foot fight.
As I ate her right foot I reached down for her left. She had already slipped off her shoe and I raised her leg so that both feet were millimeters from my tongue, teeth and pallet. I could hear the rain continue its bounding on my home and lightning struck around us, as thunder bellowed and screamed at the sky.
My thoughts turned to feelings, and back again. I was able to analyze her as I concentrated on the child's needs, more so than my own. She seemed to evolve into a mature woman, the more she became squeamish with excitement. Her high cheekbones and full mouth seemed to be of European descent, and her long, straight neck and shapely shoulders could only belong to a ballerina or world-class dancer.
I felt her skin and considered the velvety texture of it, even on the bottoms of her feet. It was different now. The softness…it seemed as though she had not walked at all to get her, and this struck me as being strange. This adolescent, grown-up lady, stuck her breasts majestically, so that I could see them in their fullness and perkiness. I was a great lover of large, buxomness and joyed by the sight of these mammaries - maybe 38D or even E. Yet she carried them like an aging expensive hooker would carry hers. Proud. Proportioned. Available, if she wanted.
My eyes were close and my mind and soul were in-flight feeling the sensation of freedom and life within me. She reached forward and with angelic adeptness unzipped my pants. My penis, hard and attentive jumped at her like a jack-in-the-box waiting to be fondled.
