Sandalized Feet: A Second Glance

The salty air hung heavy with the scent of sunscreen and desperation as we finally pulled into the parking lot of the Beachside Breeze Motel. Chrissy, ever the showman, immediately hopped out of the car, kicking off her sandals and letting her feet land on the dashboard with a satisfying thump. "Do you like my toes?" she asked, turning to me with an expectant glint in her eyes.

“I do,” I replied, genuinely captivated by the delicate pink hue of her toenails, a shade I’d meticulously chosen earlier that day, inspired by a vintage postcard of a tropical sunset. "They look really good."

“I think they look cute. I love the pink. But I better put them down so I don’t distract you while you’re driving,” she quickly said, scooping them up and placing them gently on the worn vinyl. The gesture felt both playful and intimate, a silent acknowledgment of the simmering desire between us.

As we continued our drive, a comfortable silence settled over the car, punctuated only by the rhythmic thump of the tires on the asphalt. The radio played a generic pop song, but it didn't matter. My attention was entirely focused on Chrissy, on the curve of her neck as she leaned out the window, on the way her hair caught the sunlight.

“What brought about the interest in my feet?” I finally asked, breaking the silence. It felt awkward, vulnerable, yet undeniably necessary.

“I was always a nature girl at heart, and was a tomboy growing up,” she replied, her voice soft and thoughtful. “Less is more, as far as make-up and nail polish is concerned. But I noticed that when I got my toes done for my sister’s wedding, it was a little turn on for you, and… change can be fun… and a little spicy.” A playful smile danced on her lips, a silent invitation to explore the depths of my own desires.

“Thanks,” I said, my cheeks flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal. The compliment, so honest and unreserved, sent a shiver down my spine. “Do you want to pull over at the next cheap motel for a quickie?” The question hung in the air, a blatant expression of my escalating lust.

“Let’s just keep going. I mean, my parents will be expecting us,” she replied quickly, pulling her feet back onto the floor. The shift in her demeanor was jarring, a reminder of the life we were trying to navigate, the obligations we couldn’t ignore.

As we continued our journey, small talk filled the void, a desperate attempt to maintain a semblance of normalcy. “How did you go about picking those polish colors for me?” I asked, hoping to glean some insight into her preferences, to further fuel the fire within me.

“Well… I tried to imagine what would look good,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “It was always a fantasy of mine to make love to you with your toes painted bright fire engine red. And the pink is girly…” Her words painted a vivid picture in my mind, a tantalizing glimpse into her fantasies.

Her smile widened, a silent acknowledgment of my unspoken thoughts. “That’s something new I learned about you.” She placed her feet back on the dashboard, the pink polish catching the light as she shifted her weight.

“I saw this pink and thought it would be fun for the beach vacation and… and I liked the name,” I added, unable to resist the urge to express my own desires. "It's called Fiesta." The name itself felt charged with anticipation, a promise of pleasure yet to come.

After a moment of silence, she said, “Maybe you can fulfill one of my fantasies too this summer.” Her words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. “What would that be?” I asked, my heart pounding in my chest.

“It would be quite a change, and we’ll talk about it later. You better keep your focus as we drive these barricades.” Her tone was both playful and demanding, a subtle reminder of her control.

We continued our conversation, navigating the awkwardness and the tension with careful precision. As we pulled into the driveway of Chrissy’s parents’ house, the reality of the situation crashed down upon us. Her sister, Sarah, immediately spotted her painted toes, her eyes widening in surprise.

A few minutes later, her father, a recently retired Marine with a newly short haircut, emerged from the house. Chrissy immediately noticed his transformation, a visible sign of his desire for a new beginning. “Whoa, Dad, my gosh you got your haircut! Really got it cut!” she exclaimed, seemingly surprised by the drastic change.

Her mother, ever the observant matriarch, piped up, “After he retired, I asked him if he’d cut it short for me like he had when we got married.”

“So I did!” her father replied. “It’s grown out a little since I first did it.”

“I was a good start and next time you can skin it all the way down in the sides, like when you were in the service,” her mother replied, directing her comments towards me with a knowing glance.

“It looks great,” Chrissy said with some enthusiasm, tousling my hair in a playful gesture. Her mother then turned her attention to me, her eyes gleaming with a subtle challenge. “Maybe you can go with him before you go to get yours cut too.”

Feeling all eyes were on me, I broke the awkward silence, saying, “Yeah, well, it looks good. I better get unpacked.”

“I’ll help ya,” her dad replied, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Not everything needs to come in since we are leaving for the beach tomorrow,” Chrissy reminded me, her gaze lingering on my groin.

After we brought our bags inside, Chrissy and her mom were looking at her mom and dad’s old photos. Chrissy giggled at seeing her dad during his time in the Marines.

“See, didn’t he look so handsome with that short haircut?” her mom asked.

“Yeah, he looks really good. It was quite a change from his previous hippy-ish haircut,” Chrissy said, smiling at me and tousling my hair.

“Well, it was the style in the late 60s,” her mom replied. “I mean look at my hair—it’s down almost to my waist. I never really liked long hair on men, but it was the style then, along with facial hair. I was happy when the Marines made him cut it off.”

“So was it like your honeymoon again after he got it cut short this time?” Chrissy asked her mom.

Her dad interjected, “She wore me out.”

Everyone shared a chuckle.

“Growing up on the farm, I always liked seeing boys in buzzcuts. He’s almost due for a cut again, and maybe next time, he will do regulation short,” her mom said, looking at her father with a twinkle in her eye.

“Well, I think I am going to take a shower and get ready for bed since we have the second leg of our trip tomorrow,” I replied, eager to escape the uncomfortable scrutiny of the situation.

“Good night,” everyone said.

After I took a shower, I felt strangely vulnerable, exposed. The scent of the clean soap mingled with the lingering scent of Chrissy’s perfume, creating a heady combination that both excited and unsettled me. As I lay in bed, drifting off to sleep, I thought about the upcoming beach trip, about the shared fantasies we’d hinted at, about the inevitable encounter that awaited us.

The next morning, Chrissy sprang out of bed with an unusual energy, a frenetic excitement that bordered on manic. She insisted on taking a shower first, eager to shake off the remnants of the previous night. As I waited, I couldn't help but notice her restless movements, the way she paced the room, the way she kept glancing towards the mirror.

When she emerged, wearing a white bikini, she seemed even more vibrant, more alive than before. She flashed a confident smile and grabbed her robe, tossing it onto the bed. As she approached, she deliberately placed her feet on the edge of the bed, her pink toenails gleaming in the morning light.

“Look at my toes!” she exclaimed, wiggling her feet with a playful smirk. The sight sent a jolt of electricity through me, confirming my suspicions. This was going to be a long, passionate day. She then said, “Tonight, we’ll fool around.” As I was dozing off she mentioned something about father’s haircut and making her mom happy, but I was sleepy and didn’t catch everything.

We had breakfast and got ready to meet Chrissy’s friends from college. A few hours later, we arrived at the beach house and her friend Veronica promptly greeted us. She ran out and gave Chrissy a big hug and showed us the room where we would be staying. The room had a seaside balcony overlooking the bay, a kitchenette, and a king sized bed with brass-spindled bed posts.

“I will let you two get settled and see you on the beach in a little bit,” Veronica said.

“This place is beautiful,” said Chrissy. “And I can’t wait to try out this huge bed.”

I went back to the car to get the rest of our things while Chrissy went into the bathroom to get changed.

“What do you think?” she asked as I came back in.

I dropped the bag I was holding, realizing I may have broken a glass jar. She was wearing a knee-length silk robe. She climbed on the bed and kissed me deeply.

“Ready to fool around?” she asked seductively.

She kissed me, pulled away, and took off her robe to reveal her white bikini. Then she grabbed the silk tie from her robe and tied it around my wrist.

“What are doing?” I asked.

“Tying you up,” she said emphatically, yet seductively. “I bet you can’t get out.”

“What’s the bet?” I inquired.

“I will let you know when I am done,” Chrissy said as she got up and went to her suitcase. “I need another tie to make sure you can’t get out.” She grabbed my other wrist and tied it to the headboard spindle. “Now we can have some fun.”

Chrissy turned her back to me and took off her bikini bottoms. When she turned back around, she reached up to make sure my ties hadn’t loosened.

“You shaved it all off!” I said, surprised. As she reached up, her exposed privates were inches from face. I stuck out my tongue and gave them a good lick.

Chrissy’s shivered. “That feels good,” she whispered, remaining in that position as she checked her hold on me. “I shaved it all off for my bikini before we left. That’s why we couldn’t fool around yesterday. They say you have to wait a day before having sex.”

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