It all started back in the fall. A recently retired guy named Jerry falls for 42-year-old Becky, who does pedicures for a living in Middle Tennessee. It was love at first sight.
At least it was for me--I'm Jerry. Just turned 63. I got tired of trying to cut my own toenails. Every time I bent over and cut them, the end result looked worse than the last time.
It got so bad my toenails were poking holes through my socks, and ruining my expensive walking shoes about every six months. Lots of those type shoes have mesh type netting in the toe area. It usually rips out quickly if you wear the shoes every day, or if you don't trim your toenails often.
I finally decided I needed to stop buying new sports shoes all the time and invest in a pedicure, which would make my shoes last longer, make my feet look better and make me a happy camper.
Although it is a sissy thing to do, I realized I needed a nail-cutting specialist for the job. I needed an out-of-town pedicure, even if it might be weird for an older Southern white gentleman like me to do such a thing. But what the hell. What is the worst thing that could happen---someone from my hometown sees me at a spa then gossips about me in our little town just south of Nashville. Guess I'll run the risk.
Near as I can tell--a decent pedicure here in the Volunteer State is about forty bucks, plus the tip. I once gave an older pedicure lady a tip of ten dollars. Yeah, I admit it, back in 2005 I got my first pedicure. Cost 45-dollars for a couple then. So I am not a pedicure virgin after all.
At the time I was trying to bond with a female co-worker. It surprised her that I suggested we get pedicures together on my dime, but we did, and we enjoyed it. She seemed to think it was somehow unmanly on my part. I thought at the time that it was a brave move. Her name was Linda. I distinctly remember her saying this: "You get your toes painted, and I'm out of here, Jerry." I did not get mine painted, not even a clear coat. But that was then, and this is now. Pedicures for men these days are more widely accepted, though it is still an odd thing for old men to get done in the small-town South.
Becky is my new pedicure girl. She is nice, and did an extra good job on my feet. She well-earned the tip I gave her, and seemed to need the money. I felt sorry for her, but loved how she touched my legs and feet. It made me feel special. It was erotic at times. She probably spent a good hour giving me a pedicure, with all the washing, cutting and scrubbing she did. Becky used a salt-based solution on my feet. Then the best part in my judgment--the famous hot towel treatment. Drying me off was fun, too. It was wonderful. At the end she even got my flip-flops off the floor and put them back on my now soft feet. It was a nice touch. I loved that part.
Becky is a white girl. She stands about 5'5" tall, and weighs maybe 135. She has short brown hair, and a bunch of tattoos on her arms, even on her neck. I dreamed about getting her nude and seeing all her wild tattoos at once. It'll be erotic for her to reveal them to me a little bit at a time, though. She also has a small nose ring, and a tongue stud, I noticed.
Normally I would be put off by all this stuff, but not this time. She was so fucking hot I did not give a shit. These folks sporting tattoos just want to express themselves through body art, I guess.
Besides that, I badly wanted her. I am about 5'10, and figure my 6-inch penis would be a good fit for her if I somehow manage to sleep with her. She is kind of a small slim person, but you can bet your bottom dollar that pussy has had its share of invaders.
Becky flirted with me slightly, but she was kind of cool about it as many women are. Subtle is perhaps the best way to descibe it. As she scrubbed my feet she leaned in extra close toward me. I could not help but notice her perfume and small tits under her loose-fitting top. No bra to worry about. Hell yeah--my kind of woman! Her tits seemed to be swaying and it kept happening, maybe five or six times. I clearly saw "the small girls" several times when she leaned down in front of me.
Becky did not mind me watching one bit. She loved it so much I wondered if she'd ever been a nudist, a prostitute, a stripper or even all three. I hoped she had some wild ass background story to tell me. No ENF here. Her breasts were small, but pointy from what I could see. Fun to watch. Best of all--she loved the attention. I got hard, and she noticed that right away, and kind of laughed.
After that we just looked at each other, held a long stare and smiled. I loved it. She was playful in a fun way that was sexy to boot.
Kind of out of character for me, but I said, "push your hair on top of your head and hold it there a second, Becky. I want to see how you look with your hair up." The answer: hotter than hell.
It was an overcast day when I met her back in November. I was wearing long pants, a button-down blue shirt and a sweater vest, with flip-flops, no less. I wanted to bare more skin than my naked feet, but had to wait for a warmer day to wear shorts and summer clothes for Becky. I looked forward then to summer weather.
I did not pass through her town again for months. I actually missed her. The wait was painful. I kept wondering what the small sexy pedicurist would be like in bed. My mind raced, and my dick stood at attention when I thought hard about her. I tried to think about her right before going to bed hoping she would get into my wet dreams. It helps to sleep nude, or at least be naked from the waist down. She briefly got into one dream wearing only a bikini top. I woke up right after that. I decided I wanted her on top in real life. I hoped her big brown eyes would look into my blue eyes when we made love. I would be so gentle with her, but have as much sex as I could. She was 21-years my junior after all. Just hoped I could keep up with her sexually. It would be exciting.
I then started to think about the big question. Was she married, did she have kids? In one sense I wanted to know, in another sense, I did not care. The little devil on my shoulder cleared his throat, got my attention and then said, "go ahead man, just fuck her. Don't worry about it. Life is short, pussy is sweet, but harder to get once you pass 60. So play now, and pay for it later, dude." I didn't know if he meant pay for sex in cash, or if he meant going to hell for it. Turns out that little red-caped fucker was smarter and wiser than I thought.
Months later it was hot outside and I badly needed a pedicure. More than anything else, I badly needed to see Becky's hot ass and tight pussy.
It was July by this time. Hot, hazy and humid. I wore short-shorts, some expensive flip-flops and a v-neck sweater without anything under it. I probably looked slightly gay to people at the spa, although I am straight. I felt nearly naked, which was great. Becky saw me, and said "wow, you look good." I said, "Look better with a pedicure, my pretty lady." I kissed her cheek. She especially liked my bare arms, which I had just shaved. She was surprised I had not come back sooner.
