Feet First Ch. 03

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I didn’t see Holly again that semester. Nor did I see much of Marie, who, it turns out, met a guy at the very party where I had my encounter with Holly. She had started seeing him seriously and I didn’t get much face time with her for most of that school year.

So, despite an exciting beginning, the rest of my year was shaping up to be pretty mundane. But that all changed when, around the middle of the Spring term, I received an invitation (in the mail–people still use that?) to the Delta Delta Delta sorority spring social. The envelope was embossed with the three triangles representing the Greek letter Delta and contained a nicely printed invitation on heavy card stock indicating the time and place of the party. On the back side was a brief hand-written message: “Hope you can make it! –Holly.”

If not for Holly’s message I would have thought the invitation was a mistake or even a practical joke. But for all her aloofness, Holly didn’t seem like the type who’d go out of her way to make fun of someone. She just wouldn’t go out of her way, period. And her personalization proved the invitation wasn’t a mistake. But I still didn’t get it. I had rarely seen Holly since my party, and then mostly just in passing with a quick (and somewhat sheepish) “how ya doin’?” So why she would make a point of inviting me to a sorority party was a mystery to me.

On top of that, the tri-delts were a very exclusive sorority. Regular schmoes like me just didn’t run with their crowd. Athletes, rich frat guys–that was the tri-delt clientele. It didn’t surprise me that Holly would be a member of Delta Delta Delta. Hanging out with the most fashionable girls and being seen with rich pretty boys seemed right up her alley.

The more I thought about it, the odder it seemed. Inviting me was not only a strange thing for Holly to do, I figured it might actually damage her reputation among her sorority sisters. After all, prestige in a group like that was accrued as much through who you knew as by what you did. Admitting that she knew someone like me would be a check mark squarely in the minus column on Holly’s social ledger.

I set the invitation aside for a few days and tried to forget about it, but it kept nagging at me. I wanted to figure out what was going on but I just couldn’t make things add up. I finally broke down and called Marie to see if she knew anything. She swore up and down that she didn’t. She assured me that Holly had mentioned nothing to her and that, in fact, she had hardly spoken to Holly that semester because Holly was hot and heavy with a new boyfriend and didn’t have time for any of her other friends. There was a poorly disguised tinge of bitterness in Marie’s voice as she relayed this to me. But she urged me to go nonetheless.

“You’ll never know what you’re missing in life if you won’t try new things,” she cheerfully reminded me.

Ultimately, I decided to go. My curiosity over Holly’s motivation for issuing me the invitation won out over my trepidation over hanging out with a bunch of snobby people who probably had no interest in knowing me. And I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I was more than a little curious to find out what went on at a tri-delt social, around which vague but tantalizing rumors swirled.

On the night of the party I had a brief moment of anxiety as I wondered what the proper thing to wear would be. Having never attended a Greek event of any kind, I had no clue what protocol was. In the end I settled on my usual uniform: jeans, sneakers and a clean t-shirt. The ‘clean’ part was my one concession to formality. I also brought along a six of Bud. Never come to a party empty handed, my mother always taught me.

When I arrived at the tri-delt house it was already packed. I had to show my invitation and have my name checked off a list at the door. I was surprised they didn’t use security scanners, too! I presented my six-pack to the two girls manning the security station.

“Can you tell me where I should put this?” I inquired, lifting the six-pack to their eye level.

They looked at each other like I had just handed them a dead lizard.

“Kitchen,” one said, barely indicating with a tiny motion of her head in which direction that room might lie.

They turned their attention to a couple waiting behind me and I was dead to them forever more.

I made my way through the crowded living room back to where I thought the kitchen might be. Most of the guys were in jeans or casual slacks and polo shirts. At least it wasn’t white tie, I mused to myself. The girls were dressed too variably to describe, but I did notice quite a number wearing what at first seemed like white t-shirts, but upon further inspection I saw were adorned on the front with three golden triangles and trimmed in red–the tri-delt logo. These were the hostesses.

I continued through the crowd and found the moderately populated kitchen. Off to one side were several kegs manned by a cute brunette in tri-delt garb. When she saw that I was carrying beer she called out to me.

“You can put that on şahinbey escort the counter anywhere. Do you want a draw?”

“What is it?” I asked.

“Bud. The real Bud,” she answered. “From Czechoslovakia.”

Sure enough, I saw there on the keg a simple red logo that read: “Budweiser-Budvar”.

“Yes ma’am. I’ll have one,” I said enthusiastically.

The brunette poured and handed me a cup and I ventured back into the crowded living room.

Despite my fears, I actually ran into a couple of guys I knew from my swimming class and we struck up a not-too-awkward conversation that centered on the upcoming March Madness basketball tournament. As one of them was waxing eloquent on the chances of our school’s team I noticed someone waving at me across the room. It was Holly, wearing the tri-delt T, a short skirt, and black leggings.

I excused myself from the conversation and worked my way over to her. She was standing next to a tall, handsome, and thoroughly vapid looking guy dressed in a white Lacoste polo shirt, tan slacks, and penny loafers. Hey, stereotypes get started for a reason.

I thought she looked a little anxious as I approached.

“Seth, I’d like you to met Todd. Todd, Seth,” she introduced us.

Turning to Todd she explained, “Seth’s an old friend.” She hesitated ever so slightly before the word “friend”, as if she were unsure that was the right word, but Todd didn’t seem to notice.

Todd extended his hand, gave me his “Nice to meet ya,” and proceeded to quiz me on my major, study habits, origins and family life. I think he was about to delve into my dietary preferences when we were thankfully interrupted by another presence.

Standing next to Holly was a girl with stringy shoulder-length blond hair wearing the house shirt, a short pair of gold nylon athletic shorts, and cowboy boots. She was of moderate height and although she came across as fairly attractive at first glance, closer inspection revealed a somewhat flattened bridge of the nose and generally asymmetrical appearance to her face that marred the ultimate effect.

“Larissa, this is Seth,” Holly said with audible apprehension in her voice, although vapid-boy again seemed oblivious.

“So this is Seth,” Larissa said, lingering on the word “this” and nodding in my direction.

“So, Seth,” she continued, “have you been enjoying our little get together?”

“Well I must certainly compliment you on your choice of beer,” I responded raising my plastic cup, finding the only positive thing I could say.

“Well good,” she said, looking at Holly.

The two exchanged some kind of knowing glance, then Larissa abruptly blurted out, “Have you seen the house? I bet not. Let me show you the house. Here, this way.”

She grabbed my elbow and pulled me toward her. As we departed the little group Larissa leaned back toward Holly and I heard her whisper to her, “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

Larissa practically dragged me around the ground floor, barely pausing long enough to describe one room before shunting me off to the next.

“This is the dining room,” she said, pointing to a room packed with people, “and this is the rec room,” she indicated at another equally congested space. “You’ve got a beer in your hand so you’ve been in the kitchen. And you’ve obviously seen the main living room. Time to go upstairs.”

She got ahold of my wrist and led me like a dog on a leash through the crowd to a staircase. At the top was a long hallway with numerous doors on either side.

“These are the bedrooms. Two girls to a room. Bathrooms in the middle left and at the end. My room’s here,” she said, heading quickly to a door part way down the hall. She stood at the door and looked back at me, waiting for me to heel. Like an obedient puppy I followed her into her room.

Against one wall I saw two twin beds separated by a night stand. A combination desk and bookcase unit stood against the wall on the outside of either bed. Dressers and a mirror occupied the fourth wall.

Larissa pulled out a chair from the desk, sat down and opened the lowest, large drawer on the desk unit.

“You still nursing that beer or would you like some real stuff?” she asked, pulling first one, then a second bottle from the drawer along with two glasses.

“Uh, what sort of real stuff?” I asked.

“I’ve got Chivas and tequila. The good stuff, with the worm in the bottom.”

“Worm?” I asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, the agave worm. Here, try some.”

Larissa poured a few fingers of the drink into a glass, minus the worm, thankfully, and handed it to me. I set down my nearly empty plastic beer cup, accepted the glass and sat on the edge of the bed. I was pretty sure that Budweiser didn’t manufacture any beverages with worms in them, so I was quite suspicious as I sniffed the amber liquid and hesitantly put the glass to my lips. To my surprise the tequila was quite smooth and immediately imparted a warm glow to my innards as I swallowed.

“Hey, this is really good!” I exclaimed genuinely.

“Damn right!” Larissa said, and punctuated her statement by throwing back the contents of her glass and slamming it down. She immediately started fishing around in the drawer again, this time producing a plastic bag, lighter, and a small bong. She deftly packed the bowl with a pinch from the plastic bag and handed me the bong and lighter, then poured herself another few fingers of tequila.

I lit up, took a deep draw from the bong and had a coughing fit.

“Man, this is wicked shit!” I exclaimed handing her back the bong once I had regained my composure. I downed the rest of my tequila to dull the burning in my throat.

“Nah, you get used to it,” Larissa casually remarked. “‘Sides, it’s worth it,” she asserted as she filled and lit a bowl for herself, without noticeable ill effect.

Passing me the bong once again she asked, “So Seth, what are you into?”

“Into? Well, I’m a business major, with a focus on entre-“

“No, no, not school shit,” she interrupted. “I mean, what do you like, what are you into?”

“Oh, well, I dunno. Sports, I guess. Hangin’ out with friends. You know, just having fun, I guess.” I took a more cautious hit on the bong with better results.

Larissa looked at me for a few seconds, took a sip from her glass and said, “Hmm, that’s funny. ‘Cause I hear you’re into feet.”

I broke into another coughing fit. Larissa refilled my glass with tequila and handed it to me, regarding me with raised eyebrows.

“Where’d you hear that?” I asked when I recovered.

“Oh, I think you know damn good and well where I heard that,” she responded. “You know, it’s amazing the things some people will tell you once they get a little too much worm in them.

“But you know, I’m not one to point fingers or anything. I’m just curious. I’ve never thought much about feet before. Maybe they’ve got some…, possibilities. What do you think?”


“Yeah, do you think feet offer possibilities for, you know, experiencing something new, something unusual?”

It finally began to dawn on me what was going here. Holly, in a drunken moment, had confessed her little peccadillo with me at my party the previous semester. Larissa, who clearly didn’t suffer from shyness or self doubt, had convinced Holly to invite me to the social so that Larissa could satisfy her own curiosity about this potential turn-on. Now that I knew the game, I could play along.

“Oh, feet offer all kinds of possibilities,” I assured her. “Wondrous things they are, feet. All full of wonderful nerve endings that get thoughtlessly crammed into tight shoes and stiff boots.” At this I gestured my glass towards Larissa’s feet, which were crammed, no doubt, into those ridiculous shit kickers she was wearing.

“It’s a crying shame, the way they’re abused,” I concluded with ardor. “So much potential, wasted.”

“Well, that’s clearly a state of affairs that can’t be tolerated,” she said, rising from her chair. She stomped over to the door, removed a “Do not disturb” hanger from the inside knob, placed it on the outside knob, and closed and locked the door. She flipped the light switch by the door, returned to the bed and sat down next to me.

“Care to show me your cure for my much abused feet, doctor?” she asked while pulling off her boots.

“OK, but the patient has to follow doctor’s orders very carefully,” I cautioned.

She nodded in assent.

“Alright, lean back against those pillows and stretch out your legs.”

Larissa did as I directed and I positioned myself by her feet and started massaging.

Larissa’s feet were not as nice as Holly’s. In the dim light provided by a night light and the ambient light of the street coming through the window I could see that Larissa’s toes were kind of cramped up, truly like they were constantly crammed into a space too small for them. I could feel that she had calluses on her heel and on the side bones on the front of her feet too. But I worked and massaged to loosen up her tight muscles and tendons, stretched her toes, kneaded deep into the soles of her feet. I could sense Larissa loosening up behind me.

After I had done both feet she leaned forward and hugged me.

“Mmm. That was very nice doctor. What’s next?”

“Next? Hmm. Well, that depends on the patient’s needs,” I answered.

“Well, let me tell you, this patient has great needs.”

With that she started tugging at my shirt, which I helped her pull off, then I pulled off her tri-delt T, as well. She undid her bra strap and tossed her bra aside. Larissa didn’t have large breasts and they were on the saggy side. But they turned up a little at the tip and she had very prominent nipples. I was immediately turned on at the sight of them. I leaned over and licked and suckled at one breast and nipple.

“Mmm,” she moaned, stroking the back of my neck.

“Here, let’s remove those annoying jeans,” she said, suddenly standing and pulling me up.

She undid my buttons and pulled down my jeans and drawers. As I stepped out of them she enveloped my dick with her mouth and sucked me for a few seconds before releasing me with a loud pop.

“Mmm. That guy’s got work to do,” she commented.

Larissa stood up and I took my turn pulling down her shorts and panties. Her pussy was lightly fuzzed with sparse blond hair and I could easily see her large wavy labia protruding. I licked her and tasted her delicate juices. I had expected her to taste stronger, but in this one way her body didn’t correspond to her personality.

After a few seconds she pulled me up and pushed me back onto the bed. She turned to the desk and opened a drawer, withdrawing something that made a crinkly sound. As she clambered over me onto the bed I heard the sound of a condom packet being torn open. Larissa pushed me onto my back and sucked my dick briefly before rolling the condom onto it.

Once my dick was in its proper garb she wasted no time in straddling me, back towards me, and lowering herself onto my pole. As she wiggled down onto my cock, I admired her tight and very shapely ass. I kneaded her buns as she bounced up and down on me.

After a few minutes she looked back over her shoulder and said, “Can you do my feet while we’re doing this?”

She was on her knees facing my feet and the soles of her feet were within easy reach.

“Sure,” I said, and started rubbing the soles of her feet with my thumbs.

“Yeah, that’s nice,” she cooed, leaning forward on her hands and gyrating her hips. I could feel her pussy periodically clench around my dick.

Although her feet were within easy reach, I didn’t have very good leverage and my thumbs soon began to tire. So instead of just pressing against the soles of her feet with my thumbs, I grasped her whole foot, bracing against the top of her foot with my fingertips to give me better leverage for my thumbs on her soles. This seemed to work better as I wasn’t getting as tired and I began focusing on enjoying the ride. But then I heard Larissa gasp and suddenly stop her gyrations.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“Don’t move!” she instructed.

“What? Don’t move what?”

“Your hand. Don’t move your hand.”

I froze in position as Larissa reached back with one hand and placed it over my right hand as it grasped her foot.

She felt around on my hand, then said, “Press together your thumb and middle finger, right where they are.”

“OK,” I said, a bit bewildered, but I followed her instructions.

“Keep pressing,” she instructed as she gently grabbed my middle finger and slightly adjusted its position on the top of her foot.

“There! Don’t move, just keep pressing like that.”

She leaned forward again and began to slowly gyrate her hips again.

“Press harder!”

She picked up the pace.

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” she whispered. “Yeah, oh. Uhn.”

I heard a sharp intake of breath several times in a row and a gasp. She continued to slowly rotate her hips.

“Ooooooh,” she gasped. “Just. Keep. Pressing.” She was barely able to articulate her words.

After that she made sounds that were guttural combinations of gasps, moans, and unidentifiable monosyllabic words. She kept gyrating her hips at slow steady pace. Her anal sphincter spasmodically contracted.

Then I heard a low-pitched moan escape from her. Had I heard that sound at night alone in the woods I would have shit my pants. It was purely animalistic. The pace of her gyrations began to increase as her moaning rose in pitch. Finally her body shuddered several times and she collapsed forward onto my legs, my dick flopping out of her sopping wet pussy.

“Holy fuck!” she panted. “Holy, holy fuck.”

“You ok?”

“Yeah!” she replied after a while, as her breathing began to slow to normal levels.

“Uh, what just happened? I’m not sure what just happened.”

Larissa slowly raised herself on her hands, fell back against me, and rolled off to my side.

“You, my young foot soldier, just gave me like a 5-minute orgasm. Was it 5 minutes? How long did that last?”

“Uh, not sure, really.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. It was fucking forever. A fucking eternity.”

“Uh, I did that?”

“Yes, you did. You and your fucking wonderful footsie play. Fucking wonderful….”

Larissa’s voice began to trail off and soon she was asleep, nestled against my side.

That night with Larissa marked the crucial turning point in my life for the next several years. With Larissa I had discovered what I came to refer to simply as “the spot”. It wasn’t always in exactly the same place from girl to girl and for some girls I was never able to find it. For some it worked some times but not others. But those that experienced it always described the experience in ecstatic terms. Some said it was like being in free fall. Others said it felt like pulling a warm rope from their pussy endlessly. Larissa later described it as an endless slow somersault, like a tumbleweed blowing in the wind. But every one said that the only way they could experience it was having sex while someone pressed their “spot”. And I was the only one who seemed to know how to find it.

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