Life Changes - Part 1 of 2
This is something I started for LoveFest but didn't finish. Someone had requested a foot festish story and this is my very lame attempt at that. It's unbeta'd. The BB is probably chillin' at the beach..... not worried about all my typos and what not. Anyway, this is all there is to this. If you read a line and think, Wow, that sounds sorta like dMP, you're right. Maggie let me steal it!
The Players! (above)
He got off the metro at the Eastern Market station, climbed the steep flight of steps up to the street without panting. He wanted to know how many steps there were, but never made it past sixty-seven or so in his count because by then he could see outside and the sky and the lure of the neighborhood distracted him.
He didn’t even know anyone here. Maybe that was part of the joy of coming here, getting away from reality in a place where there were no expectations. No meetings, no dead lines, no soon to be ex-wife with her attorneys trying to take every last cent he’d ever earned and honest to God, he didn’t even care anymore. Take it and go the fuck away. He could always make more money. But he was thirty-six years old and today that felt like a hundred. He couldn’t make more time.
He bought a paper out of a vending machine and walked when the light gave its permission. That was the way he’d always lived his life, doing what he was supposed to do, obeying the rules and checking the boxes, honors high school classes, debate team, football... ivy league college, the right clubs, the right fraternity..... fast track out of college, his dad’s connections landing him in the right offices at the right time. Now he was a highly sought after and highly paid lobbyist in a city where lobbyists ruled the world. His wife owned her own consulting firm, also in high demand. Why she wanted his money was beyond him. His lawyer said she wouldn’t get it, since the one thing he’d botched up was having kids and that’s where they always got you. But he’d only believe it when the papers were signed and he could still buy a beer. Optimism was low in Twistville.
He waited in line for a table outside at the corner cafe where he’d had brunch before. The food was ok, not great, but all he really wanted was to drink a mimosa or two and read his paper and forget about life. He liked the fresh selections the nearby market had to offer, was going to buy some food there later for his empty refrigerator, but for now, he just wanted solitude. With a noisy background. A crowded place on the outskirts of town where he could be anonymous suited him just fine.
By the time he got seated the crowd was easing off. That was fine too. He laid his phone and sunglasses down on the table and took his seat against the rail that separated the tables from the sidewalk, absorbed the meager warmth that came from the weak sun, waited to order his drink from the frazzled waitress before he flipped open his paper. He’d planned to read the headlines, then skip to the political section, but his mind wouldn’t focus, needed a day off just like his body, so he gave up and pushed that all aside in favor of the crossword. He pulled a pen from his shirt pocket and started reading clues.
His drink came, orange juice and champagne - the one taste he had in common with his wife, soon to be ex-wife. He ordered the western omelet, his usual, with home fries. No matter where he ate, that was his breakfast. In the dictionary next to the word boring, he was sure there was a picture of him. His wife obviously agreed. Soon-to-be ex.
He didn’t mind being divorced, actually, although that definitely gave him a giant X in the column where he wanted only to acquire checks. But, in reality, no one really cared about his personal life. Business was business. His secretary had shared the after hours cocktails and dinner workload with his wife for years anyway, and, more and more, men were coming to those events alone or bringing guy friends who wanted to network. He’d actually believed the whole friends thing until, one night at a smoozefest, he’d overheard a conversation taking place behind a tall potted plant.
“How much longer do we have to stay?”
“I don’t know, an hour maybe. Why? Are you bored?”
“It’s alright I guess. Just that I’d rather be home, sucking your dick.”
Jack had known it was going on. He wasn’t completely naive. Still, it had caught him by surprise, and the sound of that man’s voice saying, “I’d rather be home, sucking your dick,” had curled up in his brain like a virus, playing over and over again with no way to X it out.
His interest in trying to revive his marriage had declined steadily after that, to the point where it was over and done with, all but the paperwork. He didn’t blame the divorce on that particular incident, but he did credit it with his total apathy regarding the split and everything about his future. He’d degraded from a guy with an busy - albeit bland - life, to nothing more than a human specimen, and his whole future that morning was wrapped around an hour with a crossword puzzle and a boring omelet, then a trip through the market to buy food that he might eat, but just as easily might toss next weekend when he brought in a new batch. Apathy was proving beneficial to his waistline, at least.
He’d just taken the first bite of his omelet.... it was warm but not hot, and the peppers weren’t cooked enough - he’d be tasting them later - when he felt a firm body slide by, briefly brushing against his arm, before the person moved into view and sat at a table just a few feet away. Jack looked up, then right back down, because the person was a man, a young man with curly blonde hair and brown eyes, and for some reason Jack didn’t know how to look at him, so he didn’t.
That lasted for long minutes, while he struggled with easy clues to the puzzle and nibbled at his omelet that hadn’t been good when it first came and lost flavor with every second that passed, like a dying thing with its soul seeping out of it. The potatoes were undercooked and the toast was just that, toast, and even bland boy Jack was bored with that.
He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye, had to look, because he was still alive and vaguely curious about things, so he focused one eye to his right and saw his table-neighbor’s bare foot bouncing, a nervous distraction that he didn’t want to deal with here, where he was away from reality and things were supposed to be calm.
The bouncing continued, and his omelet cooled and the squares of his puzzle blurred because he couldn’t stay focused with that going on, just right there, which meant he should leave but when the waitress came by to take his uneaten food away he ordered another mimosa instead, fuck it.
“Did it suck that bad?”
Jack looked up from the puzzle that had lost all appeal, into spicy brown eyes and a wide, quirky smile. The young man was wearing a white wife-beater beneath a long-sleeved orange linen shirt, the sleeves of which were cuffed, exposing his forearms. He was slim but fit, and the look in his eyes coaxed Jack’s mind to wander to a place he’d just recently started going, wondering what it might be like to touch skin with coarse body hair, to feel muscles instead of soft, to hear bass instead of treble when the moaning started. His nerves skidded sideways and his stomach clenched. The young man cocked an eyebrow at the spot on the table where his food had been.
“Bad day in the kitchen, huh?” He rephrased his question.
“Mmm... just slow, maybe. Wasn’t hot when it came out,” he answered, vague, his way of saying Don’t talk to me. He forced his eyes back on the puzzle, but the foot was still swinging and it called to him.
“Food’s always hit or miss here anyways,” the young man answered, not put off at all by his old guy I’m too busy to talk to you attitude.
“You eat here often?” Jack asked, wincing with the decades old mentality of that remark, but he was feeling especially stupid this morning, hadn’t slept worth a damn the night before in his borrowed bed, so he had a right to be dumb.
“Yeah. Sometimes it’s even good. I live close by,” the guy said with a lift of his eyebrow.
That was a message and Jack got it loud and clear. He wouldn’t have picked up on it six months ago, before the Christmas party when he’d been forced to acknowledge how the other half lived, had been forced to admit that there were guys getting their cocks sucked on a regular basis. By other guys.
The waitress came by then, set his new mimosa down and then asked for his order, and Jack wasn’t sure if he was annoyed that the moment was lost or thankful. He’d never done anything like that before, had barely even let himself imagine it, but somehow this man - just a few years past boy - made it seem easy, and he could imagine himself touching him, being touched by him.
Jack went back to his puzzle, safety in small squares and numbers and words, tried to ignore him but the bouncing foot was a constant distraction that he couldn’t block out. If he moved to the other seat, he wouldn’t see it, but for some reason he didn’t want to do that, didn’t want to be the one to conform, to give in.
So he kept his seat and stood his ground, and within a couple of minutes, he realized that he wasn’t even looking at the puzzle anymore but was staring at the young man’s foot instead. It was still at last, so he could get a good, focused look.
He was wearing sandals, something Jack rarely did. He had some flip-flops that he wore when he was washing his car or taking out the trash on Tuesday mornings, but generally he felt more comfortable with his feet covered up, and since he was almost always working anyway, dress shoes were his only option. Today he was wearing his casual loafers...... really letting his hair down........
The sandals were black leather, just a couple of strips - one to divide his toes, the other to hold them on his feet, and one of them had failed at that so the foot that he was examining was bare. He had big feet, probably a size twelve, Jack guessed, much bigger than his ten and a half. His toes were long, with short nails trimmed straight across, just rounded a bit at the edges. His big toe was very big, with wiry brown hair clustered there at the knuckle.
Jack’s wife had beautiful feet, was always getting pedicures, always wearing sandals even when it was cold, but they had never made him feel like these feet did. The brightly colored toe nails, the silky smooth skin, the delicate arch........ none of those things had ever called to his hand to touch like those long, slender toes that looked strong enough to grab and hold, if they wanted to.
As he watched, the toes flexed, spread for a few seconds, curled, then eased back out straight. Jack blinked at the spectacle, almost obscene, that was somehow stirring him like nothing else had done in a long time. He grabbed his glass by the narrow stem and took a drink, hoping he wouldn’t choke and embarrass himself completely.
He forced his eyes back on his paper and those toes out of his mind, actually filled out the first corner of the puzzle and was feeling semi-normal again by the time the waitress brought the young man’s order. She dropped it off and quickly rushed away. After a few seconds, Jack picked up movement again, saw him sliding his feet into the sandals. He got up and walked away. Jack watched long enough to see that his jeans were tight and so was his ass. He dropped his eyes back to the puzzle.
He was back seconds later, before Jack could figure out twenty-three down even though he had several letters and it was an often-used clue. As before, as soon as he got settled, his foot started bouncing again and Jack was unable to keep his eyes on the page any longer. This time, the shoe was still on his foot, barely hooked around that huge big toe, hanging on desperately, as if it didn’t want to be parted from such sweet flesh. Jack rolled his eyes at the silliness of the thought, but his mind had gone off on a tangent, apparently taking his dick with it, because both had zeroed in on that foot and weren’t letting go.
It was long and pale, just the barest kiss of gold tinged the skin, maybe just from the hair that grew there and not the sun. His arch was shallow but elegant still and Jack’s tongue itched to run the curve of it, something he’d never done before, never even realized he wanted till now, but yes, he did. He wanted to run his mouth all over that foot, to kiss it and suck those long toes, to feel them in his mouth, to nibble the tips, feel that spongy flesh between his teeth, hear the noises he would make while he did that too him. Just thinking about it made his cock hard and he no longer had the willpower to force his eyes away.
“You got a foot fetish or something?”
Jack jerked his head up, blood rushing fast to his cheeks, giving him away. “What?”
“I said, ‘You got a foot fetish or something?’ You’ve been staring at my feet since I sat down.” He said with a pleasant smile, like it was no big deal, like he was asking the time or to borrow his salt.
“Ummm...” His upfrontness threw Jack off, because this was Washington D.C. No one ever just said what they meant in this town.
“It’s ok if you do. I’m not offended by it or anything.” He smiled, friendly.
“What’s your name?” The words were out before he could stop them, not what he wanted to say because he didn’t want to continue this, needed to do his shopping then hurry home to his sub-let apartment with the lumpy mattress and the bad water pressure and the temperamental elevator.
He smiled again, wider. “Ennis. What’s yours?”
“Jack.”
“Are you gay?”
“No. I’m getting divorced.” Like that explained everything.
“Oh. That’s too bad.”
“What is?”
“All of it.”
“Oh.” He should leave, get his check and pay and go but his ass was stuck to the seat and he had a boner anyway, so it would mean that much more embarrassment if he stood up so he stayed where he was. “Are you?”
“What?”
“Gay?”
Ennis grinned and Jack could see the food in his mouth before he swallowed and answered. “Why’re you asking? In the mood to experiment?” he asked with a waggle of his eyebrows. He’d gotten a Bloody Mary with his breakfast, took a sip and mouthed an olive while he waited for Jack to answer.
The olive just about did Jack in. He couldn’t think of anything to say, just watched it, on its green plastic spike, slipping in and out between those lips, narrow top, full bottom, kissing and sucking that olive before finally he ate it and Jack’s brain started working again.
“I was just making conversation.” He had to go, boner or not, because if he didn’t leave right then, he might end up finding out things about himself he didn’t want to know. Being thirty-six, almost thirty-seven, infertile, one step away from divorced and living in a bad apartment because he hadn’t cared enough to find anything good.... all that was bad enough, all he could deal with at the moment and still look at himself in the mirror. If Ennis stayed in his life any longer, even if it was just minutes, he could imagine having to add to that list in the morning: foot fetishist, lecher, fag, crazy man. He’d been planning to wait until after the divorce to date again, but maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe he needed to get laid. With a woman.
“How old are you?” Where had that come from? He pocketed his phone and slid his sunglasses on his nose even though the clouds were coming in low and heavy now and it would probably rain within the hour.
“Twenty-five.”
Eleven years younger. Great. Jack stood up, clipping his pen in his shirt pocket, his boring button down shirt that yes, he wore even on Sundays when he was out being his off-duty self and not his work self. Maybe they were the same. Maybe he had no fun side left.
“Baby,” he muttered, and pushed his chair back, took one last look at the puzzle that had totally failed him. Maybe he’d take it, try again later. In bed. Since he wouldn’t be doing anything else.
“I don’t usually answer to Baby until after we’re lovers. It’s just a thing with me.”
He jerked his hand and tipped over the glass of flat mimosa. It emptied onto the puzzle, ending all hope of entertainment there.
“Sorry. That’s not gonna happen.”
Ennis shrugged, like he didn’t care, but he said, “Too bad,” like he did, and Jack was too confused to do anything but sit on his lap or walk away. He took the safe route, as usual.
Click here for part 2... http://sienata.livejournal.com/72590.html