When I was a teenager, I lived in England with my parents who both worked for an international pharmaceuticals firm. We lived in a village about 20 miles outside of the city where my parents worked and where I was finishing high school. Most days I caught a bus home, but a couple of times a month, when I had an after school activity, I had to go to someone's house and wait for my parents to pick me up at 6:30 or 7:00. At age 18 I chafed at this restriction, but there wasn't any way around it. If I caught the later bus, my parents would be home before me.
The people I had to stay with were also Americans living in England. They were about my parents age-- in their forties I'd guess. Bob and Laura Walker were friends of my parents and they were certainly nice people, but boring. Bob was some kind of saleman and Laura worked part time at a library. They didn't have any kids, and their house was empty of anything to amuse me. They had a TV, but there wasn't much on after school for teenagers. Fortunately I liked to read, and sometimes I had homework that I could do.
Still, I liked them. Bob was a nice guy, but Laura was especially nice to me, maybe because she didn't have any kids. I liked her because she liked me, but also because in the way of most 18-year-olds, I enjoyed looking at her in sexual terms. I had a girlfriend, but that didn't stop me from noticng the attributes of almost every other female that I encountered . Laura was one of those women who could best be described as "average." She was medium height, medium weight, etc., etc. She dressed relatively modestly and was the sort of woman that you wouldn't glance at twice if you passed her on the street. But, if you were in the same house with her by yourself for two hours...
Sometimes I got to their house before either one of them got home from work, so they showed me where they left the spare key-- under a flower pot beside the door. That alone ought to tell you how boring they were. So, it didn't surprise me when I arrived at their house one day and no one answered the bell. I let myself in, got an apple from the kitchen , and settled down in the living room with a spy novel. About 10 minutes later, I heard someone come in, and I heard Laura's voice call my name.
"I'm in here, Laura," I called back.
"You left the key in the door," she said from the doorway.
"Sorry," I said. I knew she wasn't upset-- it wasn't the first time. I heard her set her bag down in the hall and hang up her jacket. The phone rang and I heard her pick it up in the kitchen.
"Bob's meeting a client this evening," she said as she came in living room and heaved a sigh. "These heels are killing me." She sat down in a chair and slipped off her white high-heeled sandals. "I don't know if it's worth it," she remarked, rubboing her feet against each other.
"Well, it makes you look good," I pointed out.
"Do you really think so?"she asked. "Yes, I suppose so," she sighted again, "but I wish I could choose who was looking at me."
I looked at her, but she didn't seem to mean anything by the remark. She was wearing a dark blue skirt that came to the middle of her knee and a white turtleneck that slightly emphasized her 38C breasts. Not exactly sexy, but not bad to look at either.
"Why don't you let me do that?" I said.
"What?" she responded, looking puzzled.
"Rub your feet," I replied. Seeing her doubtful look I went on. "We've been studying muscle relaxation techniques in Phys. Ed. at school. I now how to give a good foot massage."
She didn't look entirely convinced, but she said, "OK, what do you want me to do?"
I wanted to say, "Rip off your clothes, lay down, and spread your legs, so I can fuck you," but I didn't. Instead I said, "Lay on the couch and put your feet up on a cushion," which is what she did.
