My girlfriend, Emily, is utterly the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me, and that's quite the understatement. I have loved a few women before in my thirty-eight years, but not one of them can even come close.
We often get asked why we haven't married yet. We have been together for over three years and have lived together for two of those. It's not that we don't want to, but we are both extremely happy with what we have as it is. I'd love to marry her.
We have had several discussions on the topic before, and we both have the same feelings about marriage. To us, marriage is for when you're ready to have children and get the house in suburbia with a white picket fence. We want that, of course, just not yet. We have way too much fun as we are now. I know she's mine and I'm hers.
In our time together we have explored all of my kinky fantasies and fetishes and hers as well. Hers aren't as some would call, "crazy" as mine. We love exploring different sexual thrills together and getting off to the naughtiest of things.
Last night may have been one of the most exciting nights we shared. I was cuckolded by my amazing girlfriend as she looked into my eyes with a nice big cock drilling her. It wasn't the first time this had happened. It was my kinky fantasy in the first place and she, being the astounding person she is, gave it a shot and soon it became a regular thing that we both immensely enjoyed.
But last night, there was something that made it even more intense than every other time.
Let me back up a little bit. When we met three years ago, I had the same job as I do now. I'm an accountant. Yes, it's quite boring at times and I'm still waiting for my big break. Back in high school, I wanted to have my own business and was told the best major in college would be accounting. I followed that advice. I never have had the funds to start my dream, so I got a job as an accountant. I can't say that I love it, but it pays more than just the bills.
We met through a mutual friend's Christmas party. I remember it like it was yesterday. She was adorable in a strapless satin red dress with a bow on the back that made her look like a present. It wasn't too short, stopping just above her knees.
Her curly light brown hair sat on her shoulders, pulled back at her temples by green barrettes with little green bows on them. Her brown eyes twinkled as she laughed with her friends.
I kept looking over at her, shying away when she would look back. I'm not confident in myself around women. But I kept looking, studying her.
She was, and still is, my dream woman. She is even better in real life.
I loved the tasteful amount of cleavage her dress showed in the sweetheart neckline. She doesn't have breasts that are classified as large, by her standards at least. She always tells me that she wishes they were a bit bigger. To me, they are beyond perfect, fitting into the palm of my hands with a bit of extra flesh left over.
She is shorter than me even wearing heels, which is not always easy to find since I'm not even close to being six feet tall. Her body is petite and she almost always has heels on to elongate her legs and to make her feel taller.
If nothing else got me that night, it was the stockings she had on and the peep-toe red sling-black heels. I figured they were stockings; the nylon was black with a red seam that trailed down the back of her legs. Pantyhose usually don't come in that style. Sure, some do, I guess. But it was the way she carried herself, like the sweet and innocent next-door neighbor with something hidden inside of her that made me sure they were stockings. What guy isn't drawn to a girl in stockings?
I may have been staring too much. My friend Kyle came over and nudged me and said that I needed to grow some balls and talk to her, or stop being so obvious. As I said before, I'm shy. I chose to not be obvious anymore.
I was going through one hell of a dry spell. It had been over two years since the last time I had any form of sex, even a hand-job. My ex and I had broken up a year ago, and the last year of our relationship was sexless. We had become more like best friends that lived together than lovers. Every time I tried to make a move she would turn me down, so I eventually gave up. Thanks to my friends' months of convincing me that I deserve more and deserve to be happy, I got out of that hell.
When I stopped trying to pay as much attention to Emily, she started looking over at me more. I could feel her eyes on me as she giggled with her blonde friend, I now know as Kate.
The first time we made eye contact, I was hooked. It was love at first sight, if you will.
She smiled the sweetest smile I had ever seen and she mouthed "hello" to me across the room. I felt the heat rise up on my cheeks and butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I waved some stupid little wave back.
I was dumbfounded. I wondered what she could possibly see in me. I'm short, stocky, have brown hair and brown eyes. I'm nothing out of the ordinary.
I felt like an idiot waving to her after eyeing her for over an hour. She could have any man in this room, but she was smiling at me.
My heart fluttered and I forgot how to connect my hand with my beer and get it to my mouth and spilled it all down the front of my striped button down dress shirt.
I thought I was done for. She giggled with Kate for a second, and then disappeared. A few agonizing moments later, she appeared in front of me with a handful of cocktail napkins.
I couldn't speak and she just grinned as she blotted up the stain on my shirt. A woman was touching me, not under the circumstances I would have wished. But if you've missed the feeling of being touched as long as I had, you'd take it. You know what I mean.
She broke the awkward silence first, looking up at me, still smiling that genuine smile, "Do you have a name? Or should I call you the guy who doesn't know how to drink out of a bottle?" she teased me.
I didn't think my cheeks could get any hotter. She raised a brow awaiting my answer.
"I'm Brian," I was finally able to blurt out.
She took her hands away from my shirt. I inwardly cried, not wanting her to stop touching me. I watched her wad up the napkins in her hand.
"Nice to meet you, Brian, I'm Emily," she said.
Emily. My dream girl was named Emily. I said her name over and over on my head, not wanting to forget it.
My eyes trailed down her legs to her toes poking out at the front of her shoes. The black nylon shrouded the neon green polish in the most perfect of ways.
I'm a foot guy. Well, I'm a lot of things guy, but one thing a time. I have been since I had house sat for a family friend during my freshman year in college. I stumbled across his stash of porno magazines. He owned the typical ones, "Hustler," "Playboy," and "Penthouse." There were several issues of one that stood out against the rest called "Leg Show."
I was hooked. There were pictures of naked women in there, but there was much more of a focus on their legs, and especially feet. I found it to be extremely erotic. I couldn't stop looking at the cute little toes and their polish colors. I swiped a few magazines, and little did I know it would become a lifelong fetish.
From that night, feet have been a fetish of mine. Looking at them, sucking toes, rubbing them, being teased with them, foot jobs, pretty much anything you can think of gets me going. Another perk of being a foot guy is summer time. When girls wear sandals and flip-flops, I am in heaven. Think about it. Are there any other parts of a woman you can ogle without them noticing? I think not!
After I noticed Emily's cute green polished toes and smiled inwardly, she got my attention again.
