The prospect of a high school reunion is something that always made me feel ill. I never thought I'd ever go back to the place I graduated from, so many years ago, to play "remember when" with a bunch of doughy strangers. The mere idea of it made me want to skip the whole ordeal all together. But that didn't stop me from going on Facebook from time to time, to see what some of the women from my graduating class were up to. No surprise --most were married. Kids. Job. Some got ugly. Some (very few) had maintained their beauty from the days when I knew them.
It's not like I'm one to judge: Father Time had done a number on me. When I look back at pictures from my high school heyday, I was handsome. There was a shyness to my baby blues, but my jawline and shoulders were strong, and exuded the illusion of confidence. In grade 12, I could bench 285 pounds without any difficulty whatsoever. Now, I couldn't remember the last time I'd set foot in the gym. My ex-wife (when we were still together) gifted me a Fitbit for my 38th birthday. I'd always thought such a gesture was like giving a woman a Thigh Master for Christmas, but I took the hint and started to walk. Even though I'd averaged about 5,000 to 8,000 steps a day, I was still gaining weight at a steady clip. I now have what you would call a 'dad bod' --nothing too terrible, but all the same I wished it were different.
After my divorce, I decided I wanted to be different. I joined one or two of those dating websites but had very little luck. I wasn't much of a photographer, nor were my co-workers, and so most of the pictures were taken at either a local restaurant, or some place outside that didn't resemble a parking lot. The women that 'liked' me were not to my liking so I never messaged anyone back that had initiated contact. One night, as I was perusing my latest 'matches', I received a message on Facebook from Carol. She and I were classmates in Grade 11 and 12, but I never really spoke to her at that time. I would describe her as kind of shy, but my memory from that time is more than a little hazy (I was a stoner at the time).
When you're in a class of 30 + kids, the faces you are likely to remember are: 1) your friends 2) the weirdos 3) your crushes and, without a yearbook handy, very little else. I knew that she'd sat at the back of Miss Haversham's English class and didn't say much to me. I can't even recall if she went to prom or not. Her message was a simple 'Hello, how's it going?' but it left me stymied on how to respond. If I had just replied with a 'Good thanks', I don't think she would have continued the conversation, so I decided to tell her a little bit about what was happening on my end of things. I don't like to sugarcoat things in life, so I was honest and candid about my current situation. Divorced after 5 years of a loveless marriage. No kids. No assets to speak of. A deadening government job that I'd be stupid to leave because of the sweet retirement package.
She told me that she was also divorced, with two kids that she shared custody of. As we spoke, I looked through her profile pictures to get a sense of how she had aged. I'd be lying to say that it had been graceful. Time and circumstance had morphed her once youthful looks into something resembling a resilient (but nonetheless beaten) middle-aged woman; weary from life's misgivings yet unwilling to throw in the proverbial towel just yet.
I was decidedly unattracted to her, until I came across a photo from a recent trip to Cancun which displayed her feet in a pair of white flip-flops. As far back as I can remember, I've always had a foot fetish. I used to gaze longingly at my classmates' toes as they wiggled excitedly in their Birkenstocks, flip-flops, and Nike slides. All winter long, I would pray to receive a set of X-ray specs for Christmas so that I could have a gander at what was inside their boots and shoes. When I saw Carol's feet, I was immediately turned on--I knew I had to put them in my mouth and worship them as soon as I could. As she was telling me about some MLM she'd recently become a part of, I interjected with an impulsive invitation to meet up. 'Sure', she wrote, followed by an emoji with a massive smile. The mere sight of that yellow, grinning face, mixed with the prospect of my touching her feet, got my cock rock hard.
We agreed to meet up at a local restaurant known for its chicken Caesar salad. I know that doesn't sound like much of a brag, but the food at this place was actually decent. I was so giddy and excited that I barely touched my meal as we sat and spoke about our lives in further detail. She was dressed in a long beige cardigan (not a very flattering colour given her complexion), Lululemon pants ( yoga pants, my favourite), and blue/gray Hoka running shoes. As she spoke about her kids and the difficulty she faced with their smartphone addictions, I imagined the fragrant aroma emanating from those beautiful toes. I imagined her embarking on a pre-dawn jog around her suburban neighbourhood; working up a considerable amount of foot sweat in the process. The meal was pleasant enough and the conversation was seasoned with a lot of laughter; not from recollections of our shared past, but rather the current state of things. At times, during pauses in the dialogue, we just looked at each other and chuckled in a knowing sort of way.
I paid for our food and we made our way to the parking lot. Reaching for my keys, my mind went blank on what to say next. Were we meant to part ways at this point? I was worried that it'd be too presumptuous to ask if she'd like to go back to my place, but this fear was quickly alleviated when she invited me back to hers for a Tassimo. Before getting in her car, she produced a purple vapour pen from her (fake) Fendi bag and took a long draw from it, staring at me the entire time. The bright blue light on its shaft flashed three times and she exhaled a cloud of passionfruit vapour in my direction; smiling all the while. Normally, such a gesture would not turn me on remotely, but my cock stiffened almost immediately and I could feel a pre-cum puddle forming on my upper thigh.
Carol's house was a dump. There was no nice way of putting it, other than to say that she was in dire need of a cleaning lady, or a chore wheel for her kids. There was laundry, to-wash/to-fold, heaped upon a stained, gray sectional couch that was already covered in plaid blankets to prevent her dog, Marley, (why are all dogs named Marley?) from shedding anymore onto its surface. The walls were covered in pictures of her kids, her parents; pictures of her from a few years ago, along with some pictures of her ex husband which I'd concluded that she'd neglected to remove. He was conventionally handsome, with straight (whitened) teeth, a decent hairline, and an affinity (seemingly) for Polo shirts in primary colors. Tellingly, in each photo where he made an appearance, he was standing at the opposite side of where Carol was positioned; their two sons serving as a sort of buffer zone, and perhaps an explanation, for their marital discord.
"Have a seat and I'll make us some espressos. Or would you prefer something different?" she asked from the other room.
"No," I said, "I'm fine with whatever you're having." I carefully moved a few articles of clothing so I could sit down on the couch, unobstructed. I also cleared a spot for where I had assumed she would be sitting.
"Do you want a cookie or something? I think I have some left over from my son's bake sale."
Not wanting to appear rude, I agreed to have a cookie even though all I wanted to do was snack on her toes. When she was done busying herself in the kitchen, she came back to the living room with a plate full of cookies and two black coffee mugs bearing the emblem of our alma mater.
"Hey" I said, gesturing to the cups. "now that brings me back!"
"Yeah, my kids go there now. It's hard to believe it."
" Where'd all the time go?" I asked aloud, somewhat stupidly.
"I haven't a clue. It's all been a 'blink n' you'll miss it' kind of a movie." she said in a somewhat mournful tone.
She mused silently at this and then looked at me. I smiled back at her, and my gaze went down the length of her legs, zeroing in on two black Adidas athletic socks. I wanted to peel them off with my teeth, in spite of the dog hair.
"Everything's so stressful these days. It's a lot different than when we went to school." Carol said. "Even though I try to keep Hunter and Adrian off their tablets, they never seem to listen to me. Thank goodness they're in sports, but it's been too hard to get out to all the games, especially with my schedule."
"Is your job exhausting?" I asked, genuinely interested.
