I'm in no position to deny it anymore - I'm a tease, always have been. For years now, almost as long as I can remember, I've always loved to turn heads with my feet. I started small - a few pics here and there on the internet, and the comments would roll in. Then I'd post more and more, a few videos here and there for good measure. It was a point of pride, almost an obsession. I'd spend ample time every day, caring for my feet, making sure they were always as presentable as possible. Soft, smooth, well-maintained in every way. For a long time, that's all it was - some "innocent" pictures and videos spread across the internet. Even that, though, was enough to bring a smile to my face when I thought of someone viewing them.
A little over two months ago, I finally made the big move - got out of the little town I'd been in all my life, and into the big city. The opportunities seemed endless....full of opportunities to do new things in life, find all kinds of work....and opportunities to "show off", if you know what I mean. It seemed like every day I'd find myself in a cozy little outdoor cafe, or a bench by a busy sidewalk, letting my feet slip out of my flip-flops, casually looking around to see who noticed. There were always a few - men and women both, sneaking quick glances as they walked by, or pretended to play with their phones. Then there's always the few who don't even try to hide it, their eyes perpetually pointed at my feet. The ones who wouldn't even try to glance away when I'd knowingly wiggle my toes. Sometimes it was the same people day-to-day always, taking a seat behind me at the cafes. Luckily for them, I didn't mind. I have to admit, I did feel silly sometimes - obsessively caring for my feet, teasing with them at every turn...felt like something more suited to a college girl than a 23-year-old guy. But I never could resist....maybe I should've tried to.
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I was on the bus home when it happened. I remember thinking it seemed empty that day; just me and a few others onboard, only a couple stops to go before I got off. It was at one of them where we picked up our next passenger, a well-dressed man, in maybe his early forties. A small goatee, glasses, seemed like the professional type. He walked by me, took one look directly down at my feet, still in my flip-flops, and picked his spot. A few seats back, across the aisle. I knew he was getting into prime viewing position. My feet slipped out, my tiptoes touching my sandals, soles on full display for him. I remember hearing him make a call. I wasn't deliberately eavesdropping, but I heard a few phrases - in retrospect they all make sense.
"Yeah, I can see them."
"No, no, I know it. I'd recognize them anywhere."