Lost in her feet

Worship

"Umph, I don't really want to work on this essay!" shouted Clody slapping the book in front of her and puffing lazily; "Des, why don't we do it together, and then I'll copy mine later, pleeeease? I'll be your slave forever" she said full of expectation, her lips moulding into a sly smile while her green eyes widened at me in a child-like gesture.

Here she was, again. I had known Clody since years, and she had always tried that game with everybody: 'give me a little help and I'll give you back a surprise...' she seemed to suggest.

It was her personality, even back in high school: she would try to captivate whoever she thought might help her doing homework, implicitly promising to the poor fellow some kind of luscious prize in reward.

'And who the hell would turn his back to such a reward?' I asked myself, going back to those days: during the last years, Clody had directed her interests mostly uniquely towards me; always for academic purposes - of course! - and nothing more, back then like now.

'Yes, like now' I repeated, a bit disappointed. We were both undegraduate students of the Chemistry course in the local Univesity; I was surprised that Clody had chosen Chemistry after having been so keen on History for about all high school, but on the other hand, I wasn't complaining at all: at least, I had the opportunity to stay with her again.

'Yes, stay with her' I mocked myself 'your'e a good donkey, do your duties, follow the carrot'. I guess I had fallen in love for Clody much time earlier; but, because of my shy nature, I had always failed revealing my real feelings and I had kept, over the course of the years, contenting myself acting more like a friend.

But, alas, it was too late to modify my attitude; I had tried, years earlier, to explain her what I was really feeling, but I had been too scared to finish: 'What will you do if she doesn't want to have anything to do with you anymore?' was the mantra I repeated myself to prevent my broken heart to shine through a mask of friendly correctness.

Plus, she had always been dating someone. At the time of this writing, she was dating a guy, named Andy, attending our same course, but enrolled further ahead in his studies. I had little symphaty for this man, who's only interests seemed to be football, smoking weed in the inner yard; if you add that he could get his hands over Clody's body whenever he wished...

'Why does she have to be so damn good-looking too?' I ranted deep inside myself as I devoured her image with my eyes.

At a first glance, you could exchange Clody for an ordinary girl, one of the many you barely notice while commuting or casually walking. But despite an apparently low profile, she possessed that "something" that, once revealed, did turn on every man: she wasn't beautiful but she was damn sexy!

On the short side, only 5' 3'' tall, Clody had a curvy body with ample, voluptuous curves; her long, raven black hair was smooth and glossy and contrasted with a pair of clear bright green eyes, two spotlights of a fiery, smouldering gaze. 

Her notoriously bitchy and flirtarious character was pefectly complimented by her casual, self-conscious attitude: everything of her - any move, any glance - although perfectly innocent, could wake up the senses of an attentive beholder.

But, as an irreducible foot-fetishist from birth, I would committ perjury if I didn't confess that my turn-on on her was primarly driven by her perfect feet and toes. 

At our first introduction, in high school, I immediately took notice of her smooth, proportionately small hands: they had perfectly pale skin, straight and slender finger without tendon or bone structure showing under the surface. 

As it was my customary, I began imagining that her feet could look as sexy as her hands; I have always had a think for meaty, curvy feet with straight small toes and her body configuration gave me goosebumps as I imagined how exciting could look her little tootsies.