After Erica drove off I realized I wasn't sure where I was going. I decided to get a motel room for the night and figure it out in the morning. I made enough money to get my own small apartment, but that would take time. There were friends I could stay with, but I found myself turning away from that option for a reason that was more than a little bizarre.
I didn't want anything to interfere with my "relationship" with Erica. I imagined having my own place would give her a chance to come over in her short shorts and taunt and tease me. As much as I wanted to be with her, to be her boyfriend and make love to her, the longer I continued to constantly fantasize about her, masturbate while thinking about her, and otherwise obsess completely over her, the more I found myself enjoying this role.
Once I got to the motel room and unpacked my things, I went to sleep. In the morning I walked down to the store on the corner to buy writing paper and envelopes so I could write love letters to Erica.
I wrote about how beautiful she was in every way, how when she smiled at me it made all my worries and cares go away, and how my life would be incomplete without her in it.
I knew that to most people this would seem strange and wrong. From the outside it would look like I was a pathetic fool, throwing myself at a woman who had no intention of being with me as a traditional girlfriend. She treated me like an inferior, like I was a peasant and she was a queen, but I was growing to love our strange relationship more than any relationship I'd had with a woman in the past.
Before Jean there had been two other women who had filled the role of girlfriend in my life. Elizabeth was the first, a bookish woman who dressed very conservatively and devoted herself to learning as much about everything as she could. She barely paid any attention to me, and when we made love she just lay there beneath me, never moving or reacting in any way to my attempts to arouse or excite her. Sometimes she'd be reading a book while we made love, and I always cringed when she'd inevitably sigh and say, "Aren't you done yet?"
After Elizabeth there was Lisa. I met her in a coffee shop when I was trying to organize a group to protest construction of a strip mall on sacred Indian burial grounds. Only three people came to my meeting on the topic. Lisa was one and the other two were a loudmouthed old man who wanted to yell about every injustice he perceived in the world and a little person who smelled like ham. Things moved quickly with Lisa. We slept together on the first date, we moved in together two weeks later, and within six months she had strip mined my bank accounts, maxed out my credit cards, and disappeared without a trace.
Most of my attempts to approach women and ask them for a date ended badly. One time I approached a woman at a meeting of a homeowner's association I didn't belong to and asked if she would like to have a drink with me sometime. Everyone at the meeting started laughing at me and then I was thrown out of the meeting after being unable to verify that I lived in the neighborhood.
I would have killed an entire family, including cousins and grandparents, to be Erica's boyfriend. That wasn't going to happen, at least not in the traditional sense. On the plus side, this meant that I wouldn't do time in prison, but it also meant something more.
I fantasized about women like Erica, women who were so beautiful that their mere presence could light up a dark room, but I always knew I would never be with one. I played in a different league where women like Elizabeth, Lisa and Jean were the only women who had any interest in me at all.
Those relationships were incredibly unsatisfying. They didn't pay any real attention to me, what I had to say, or what I was interested in. The sex was boring, repetitive, and deeply unsatisfying.
I'd turned to porn and masturbation to satisfy my sexual desires because none of my girlfriends had ever come close to giving me the kind of sexual satisfaction I craved.
Most of all, my ex-girlfriends had all treated me like dirt. It was always, "Clean the kitchen" and "Don't wear those shoes" or "Why do you have such a small dick?" They ordered me around and never took anything I said seriously. I didn't mind being ordered around, but I hated the mundane things they ordered me to do. There was only so much satisfaction to be gained by scrubbing pots in my underwear while Jean drank wine and listened to Leif Garrett music.
Now Erica, who had the most incredible body I'd ever seen, wanted me to worship her and do everything she said. She wanted me to masturbate while fantasizing about her and to write her love letters every day. She wanted me to be at her beck and call like a dog.
It was the perfect relationship for me.
I finished my first love letter to Erica and drove to the post office. I told them it was a local delivery and could they please put it in her post office box for me that day. The clerk told me he would if I slipped him a fiver, which I quickly agreed to.
When I got back to the motel and checked my email on my laptop, there was an email from an address I didn't recognize. The subject line read "The present I promised you." I opened it and saw there was an attachment, a photograph of some kind. All the email said was "You should be able to get off more than three times today" and was only signed "XOXOXOXO."
I opened the attachment excitedly, wondering what it might be. The motel's WiFi was hideously slow, so it took time to download. It was a large file, a picture that was larger than the screen on my computer. It was very high density and amazingly clear.
She had sent a photograph of her left foot that was life sized and so clear it was as if it were dangling right in front of my face begging for my love and affection.
It was like it was Christmas. After years of surfing the web and masturbating to pictures of women's feet and legs I had received the most perfect picture of the most perfect foot imaginable, and it belonged to a woman I knew and loved. My heart was racing, my body was shaking, and my cock was so hard it felt as if it were going to explode.
It took me no more than thirty seconds to get myself off while looking at the picture. Every curve, every wrinkle, every tiny detail of Erica's gorgeous foot was right there in front of me. It seemed to be pointing up in the air and curled just enough to highlight the soft, wrinkled skin of her foot's wonderfully high arch. Each of her long toes was bent down and her big toe, with its perfectly manicured pink toenail, glistened with just a slight hint of sweat or oil. It was begging me to suck on it.
Her skin was so flawless, and that extended to her foot, which showed no sign of cracked skin or callouses. She had to use some kind of skin care product, a cream or oil of some kind, to keep her foot so perfect and so flawless. Her heel, which I dreamed of biting in a loving way, looked so strong and so delicate at the same time.
Even after my orgasm, I could not look away, and my cock remained fully erect. I started talking to the picture, telling it how beautiful it was, that I loved it, and would treasure it forever.
With tears in my eyes I started masturbating again with a furious passion. I was crying as I called out Erica's name, over and over again, professing my love for her. After I came the second time, I went to the bathroom and took a cold shower. I could not stop shaking and crying. I could not stop thinking about Erica and how much I wished I could be with her.
Looking at my tear-stained face in the mirror after my shower, I told myself, "This is more than I deserve and I can't believe how happy I am."
I was happy, but part of me kept saying I was sick, this was wrong, and that I was being ridiculed and made fun of by this woman. I didn't care. This was easily the most sexually fulfilling relationship of my life and for the first time ever I was in love.
I went back to my laptop and saw Erica's foot in all its glorious detail and I found myself getting hard again. It took me a half hour to get off the third time, but after I did I sent a return email that said, "Three times in an hour. Thank you, my love."
A reply came moments later that read, "You can do better. XOXOXO."
I drove to the computer store and got the biggest screen available that was compatible with my laptop. It cost me a great deal of money, but I didn't care. I wanted a screen that was large enough for me to put the entirety of Erica's foot in full detail on it. My laptop was unable to display the entire photograph at one time at full size and I wanted to rectify that before spending the afternoon looking at it and worshipping it.
I called the sex therapist that Jean had sent me to after I started to show a lack of interest in sex with her and an inability to get an erection. I had told her I didn't want to take any erectile dysfunction medication when I had seen her before, mostly because I didn't want there to be any chance of getting an erection with Jean and disappointing Erica, but now I told her I'd changed my mind.
