by Ella Ford
“Are you going to stare at it or are you going to eat it?” the imaginary avatar of my pain and loss purred in my mind.
I stood then, lifting myself off the bed, moving back towards the door. The girl looked at me, surprised, disappointed.
“I’m sorry, I’m…” I started, but I didn’t finish. I turned and never looked back, hurrying back to my mom’s house and locking myself in my room for a week.
I got a job, working in a comic store, about as far from the distraction of the female form as you can possibly hope for. The constant advances by the store’s nerdy, overwhelmingly male clientele became a comfort to me, an annoyance I could easily ignore.
I got an apartment; a tiny, one bedroom hovel in a part of town that could be described, charitably, as “tired”. It didn’t bother me, it was mine, my fortress of solitude.
I started to date again, using the increasingly ubiquitous internet to find girls around me who were equally lost, equally scarred, equally broken. Girls who wanted company more than sex, but were willing to give sex to get it. My longest streak became three dates, then five, but every fleeting connection petered out when the uncomfortable realization dawned on me that the girl I was dating was not Lana and never would be. In all my sexual misadventures, I never met a single girl who craved the taste of feet or the soft touch of pantyhose quite as much as her.
I began to wonder if we were unique, Lana and I? Were we two souls with only one possible match? The thought terrified me.
I started to play World Of Warcraft, alerted to its existence by Eric, a regular at the store and uber-level nerd. I bought a cheap laptop from a pawn store downtown and haltingly entered the peculiarly colorful world of orcs and dragons and elves, spending long nights shouting at people in Denmark who weren’t being quick enough on the heals, or wandering the resplendent boulevards of Stormwind, marvelling at this world within a world.
I replaced human contact with the shallow interactions of my fantasy world, finally finding an experience that didn’t cripple me with the memory of Lana. This was my thing, and my thing alone. Entirely non-sexual, entirely free of the tangled world of fetish that had become our lives.
Months began to pass. My life became a comfortable routine of shifts at the comic store, then shifts in Warcraft. Months became years and the time between thoughts of Lana extended - from hours to days, from days to weeks.
Then, one snowy day in late December, eighteen months after Lana and I had abruptly terminated our glorious relationship, I looked up from the spot I was camping in Eastern Plaguelands and a peculiar notion struck me. I hadn’t thought of Lana in over a month. And when I did, I no longer ached.
Chapter 4
Wii Sports in sweaty, crotchless tan
The message came out of the blue, on a late fall day in 2008. It was three years since that fateful night with Lana and Cindy, three long years of rebuilding a semblance of an existence for myself.
“Hi,” said the simple text. One tiny word that opened a locked chest of endless thoughts.
My phone didn’t recognize the number, but I knew who it was without clarification. A feeling deep within myself, a familiar resonance. My mind even read the text in her voice.
I didn’t reply at first, I couldn’t. I became paralyzed, staring at my cell phone as if it was a coiled viper. My mind began to loop around endless possibilities, endless scenarios, reading meaning into the simple greeting that couldn’t possibly have been determined. I typed out countless replies; from the dismissive to the gushing, simple responses to complex outpourings of my deepest feelings. In my head, the message swung from being the prelude to a wedding invite all the way back to being a request for reconciliation.
With a sinking realization, I felt the years of hastily erected mental dams washing away in the returning deluge of Lana Clark-Masters.
I picked up the phone to reply, but before I could type anything meaningful, the handset buzzed again.
“Talk?”
I flinched back, as if stung by a wasp.
I moved to type again, but a third message arrived before I had even started. Not text this time, an image. A close cropped view of a foot, one that I recognized without even thinking, one that I would have been able to pick out of a lineup of a thousand female feet without any possibility of being wrong. Lana’s foot, pale and perfect, soft skin beneath nearly invisible nylon, only the dark seam running along the descending line of her toes hinted at the soft pantyhose. Her nails were painted bright red, precious treasures, utterly pristine. The image was taken on a shag carpet, her foot partially sunk beneath the lush forest of thick strands. I felt a familiar warmth rise within me, a knot of aching heat between my legs. It was a feeling I hadn’t felt in a long time.
I typed the message quickly, not needing to think about it any longer.
“Yes.” No more than that, no more explanation, no more begging or pleading.
Beyond those few words, the only other message I received from Lana contained an address and a time. The following Thursday at eight, at an apartment block on the west side of town.
The instruction sent me into a frenzy of panicked preparation. For the first time in months, years even, I glanced around at my life and didn’t like what I saw. My dark hair was shaggy and unkempt, shoulder length and straggly, held back in a ponytail more often than not. My complexion was shot to hell, the unwitting victim of far too many pizzas and late night gaming sessions on Warcraft. My apartment, if you could even call it that, was a bomb site, clothes everywhere, old Coke bottles and empty boxes, a hot mess of a disordered life. I was dressed like a bum, ripped jeans and an enormous shirt, shabby sneakers and old-lady panties.
What happened to me? I thought with a sigh, remembering the cute skater girl that was proud to be seen with her upper class lover. What would Lana think of me? came the inevitable follow up question. An image rose in my mind. Lana’s face, furrowed brow, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. The little look of disappointment that she deployed with such devastating effect.
In an eyeblink, my years of malaise cleared. I became a whirlwind of activity, starting with my apartment, shifting and sorting and, finally, discarding most of the detritus of my ruined life. I moved onto myself, plunging myself into an unfamiliar world of personal grooming. Fixing my hair, tending to the ruined landscape of my face, making the most of my neglected nails. When I went for a waxing, I apologized in advance to the plucky Vietnamese girl trusted with the task of locating my skin beneath my rampant bush. The poor thing took one look at my ragged thatch and furry legs and shouted back through the salon to her colleague, “we gonna need more wax!”
For the first time in many years, I bought pantyhose. I can’t begin to tell you how happy that made me.
When the week of damage limitation ended, I found myself standing in the lobby of Lana’s fancy apartment building, waiting for the elevator and gazing at my reflection in the mirror on the wall. I barely recognized the pretty girl that stood before me, the pretty girl with a cute bob haircut, clutching her purse before her like an unfamiliar shield. Her sleeveless red dress looked unfamiliar, classic lines and flowing material, not the kind of thing I’d normally wear. Her dark jacket was preppy and sharp, making her look older than her years, but still feminine and attractive. And her legs, oh her legs. This unfamiliar and nervous looking girl in the mirror, swaying uncertainly on high heeled ankle boots, slender legs in black nylon, light dancing off her gentle curves.
With a sigh, I realized that it wasn’t the girl in the mirror that felt unfamiliar. It was the feeling that she conjured inside me: completeness.
The elevator arrived with a ping and I took a deep breath then stepped inside, riding the cramped metal box to the fifth floor and my unknown and uncertain future. I felt dizzy, disoriented, heart racing quickly as I floated along the corridor to the address in the message. I stopped at her door, took another breath and lifted my hand to knock. But before I could move, the door swung inwards and a warmth breeze billowed
out. The perfumed air assaulted my nostrils before my eyes had adjusted to the dim light, filling my mind with feelings long since atrophied, familiar sensations, countless associations: Lana. Oh Lana!
She stood before me, head cocked to the side in that endlessly familiar way, lit from behind by the subtle light of her apartment. She wore a white gown, flowing and shimmering, falling to her knees in an uneven cascade of folds. Her hair was held up and back, a barely contained explosion of spun gold, held off her pale neck in a regal arrangement, designed to entice.
I felt myself exhale slightly, taken aback by the mere presence of her, the sheer radiant wonder of her. I’d forgotten, oh lord forgive me, I’d forgotten.
She took a step aside, smiling. My eyes fell down with autonomic reflex to her legs. She wore no shoes, standing with stockinged feet in tan pantyhose. As I looked down, she curled her perfectly painted toes back, rippling along their length, making the thick seam dance.
“Hi,” she said breathlessly.
My mind was buzzing, alive with a thousand sensations, flooded with the regret of lost years. “Buh,” was my reply. Not my finest hour, but all that I could manage at such short notice.
Lana smiled and blinked. “Oh, Abby, I’ve missed you so much,” she sighed and we came together then, hugging warmly, arms and bodies interlocking like Tetris pieces, the relief of each other given life in our embrace. I breathed her in. The smell of her hair, the smell of her perfume, the warmth of her skin against mine, her hot breath on my neck, the whole magnificent experience of being close to my lost love.
We came apart with reluctant regret. “Shall we go in?” she said and I nodded mutely.
She led me by the hand through her spacious apartment into the wide living area and had me sit on the long cream sofa that occupied the central portion of the huge lounge. Her hand trailed away from mine reluctantly and she wandered over to the kitchen area, fussy with a wine bottle, flashing me the occasional knowing smirk.
“I picked up a nice pinot noir,” she said, “I hope you like it.”
I nodded, and glanced around at her apartment. It was a world apart from my own, not just a different league, but a different sport entirely. The wide space was dimly lit with flickering candles on an array of tasteful surfaces, modernist furnishings with the occasional vintage artefact. Huge picture windows overlooked the city below, giving breathtaking views of the park across the street and the jagged skyline of the central business district. It could have been the apartment of any lawyer or successful business woman, but here and there were scattered pieces that were quintessentially Lana: an art print of The Legend Of Zelda: Twilight Princess, a small collection of game boxes beside the enormous, flat screen TV (a rare sight in those days).
“I like your place,” I said, finally able to speak.
“Thank you,” she replied, handing me my wine. “Can I take your jacket?”
I slipped out of my loose jacket, shrugging it off my shoulders in a scarcely ladylike fashion. Lana looked on, captivated apparently. I handed it to her and our hands brushed together as she took it, an electric spark jumping between us. We both exhaled simultaneously.
“Would you like to… take your shoes off?” she said, leadingly.
I glanced down at my boots. I’d completely forgotten I was wearing them.
“Y-yes,” I said, suddenly nervous though not knowing why.
“Can I… can I help you with them?” she said, nibbling at her lower lip. The tension in the room was like a static charge, giving energy to every action.
I nodded, unable to speak.
Lana set my jacket down on the couch beside me and lowered herself down to kneel before me, echoing that long ago night in my mom’s basement. I lifted my leg to her, breathing quickly, heart hammering in my chest. She took it, gripping my calf with trembling fingers, then she slowly slid the zipper on my ankle down and eased off the cute little boot. She sighed as my foot was revealed and I stretched my toes out towards her, five tiny prisoners caught in a nylon web, reaching out for what they craved the most.
Lana smiled and repeated the sensual ritual on my other foot, slipping my boot off, setting it down beside the other one neatly, typical fastidious Lana.
Her expression became distant as she held my foot up before her.
“I missed this so much,” she said, gazing at my dark nylon covered toes. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too, honey,” I replied, never meaning anything so truthfully in all my life.
She stroked her hand across my foot, idly straightening the seam of my hose.
“I just…” Her face became sad, the familiar lines of a frown appearing on her forehead. “I just had to get away. Seeing you with… with that girl. Seeing you kiss her, it was…”
I nodded, feeling waves of guilt and remorse washed over me, fighting with the ripples of warm pleasure from Lana’s hand on my foot. “I know, and I’m so sorry. I… got carried away, I…”
My voice trailed off, I shrugged. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that there were no words that could put right the sins of the past, no way of erasing the hurt of betrayal. Lana looked at me and her expression softened, she lifted my foot one final time and closed her eyes, breathing in slowly. Then she set it down and gathered my shoes and my jacket.
“I have something for you,” she smiled, standing. “I’ll be right back.”
She padded off through the living area, disappearing through another door. Her stocking feet made gentle tapping sounds as she walked, her tiny steps marking a quick, excited cadence.
I sat alone and sighed, still unsure why I was here, still not knowing whether this tense meeting was an ending or a beginning. I took a sip of my wine, allowing the rich, full bodied taste of the dark liquid to overwhelm my senses. My feet still tingled from her touch, a damp heat burned between my legs.
She returned after several minutes and stood in the center of the room. I turned to watch her, wondering what she was doing. She gazed at me, bathed in the flickering light of many candles. She was holding something, something long and white. I couldn’t quite make out what it was. Then she smiled a sultry, inviting smirk and reached behind her head. I watched, mesmerized by the fluidity of her motion , the grace of her dance. With one deft flick of her wrist, she untied the thin band that held her gown in place around her neck. The whole dress gave way with a soft, silky sigh, sliding down her body like a liquid, collecting at her feet in an elegant mess.
She stepped forward, then reached into her hair and released her ponytail. She shook her head and her honey curls tumbled around her shoulders like a waterfall.
I sighed, unable to look away. She wore no bra or panties, the familiar sight of her full breasts and the neat, trimmed bush between her legs were plainly visible in the dim light. Her tan pantyhose were crotchless, one shade darker than her pale skin, a wide opening highlighting her sex like a spotlight.
“Do you remember?” she purred, lifting her arm to cover her breasts with mock modesty.
I sighed and nodded. “I remember.”
“Do you think we can…” she began, chewing at her lower lip. “Do you think we can try again?”
I nodded. I’d never been more certain of anything in my life.
She smiled and stepped towards me, her short, girly steps now long, purposeful strides, the motion of a predator.
“Stand up,” she said, gesturing towards me with the curious white object in her hand. “I want to see you.”
I obeyed without question, lifting myself to my feet, feeling small before the statuesque beauty before me. She reached forward and turned me around, moving my body like a doll. I was powerless to resist her. Her hands moved to my neck, fingers tracing faint lines down to my back. She unzipped my dress, then swept it off my shoulders, allowing it to fall down my legs. I felt her unclasp my bra, felt it sliding down my arms, and then it was gone. I felt strange, dizzy, out of control, drunk on something more than the wine I’d sipped.
Her h
ands touched my back, gentle caresses, hot points of contact that made me shudder and sigh. She turned me around and we faced each other, naked bodies together as they had been a thousand times before, but this felt like the first time. She brushed my nipple with the back of her fingers, provoking me to diamond hardness. I sighed again, gazing into her eyes, losing myself in those pools of green and blue.
“I want to play a game,” she whispered, drawing close to me, touching her breasts against mine, soft words entering my ears on her warm breath.
I nodded and she traced the strange white object she was holding up from my pussy to my chest, sending slight ripples of tingling heat through my body.
“Hold this,” she said, then handed me the object.
I gazed at it, my fuzzy perceptions barely able to understand what I was looking at. It was long, perhaps six inches, a pristine white color with buttons and rippling contours along its glossy length.
“What is it?” I breathed. “A dildo?” I imagined her pushing it into me, feeling the strange detail of its surface sliding into my pussy… my ass. The fireball between my legs raged.
All of a sudden, Lana laughed. “Oh my, you are out of touch,” she said and pulled back, still holding me by my elbows. “What have you been doing with yourself for the last few years?”
I shrugged, feeling suddenly very silly. “Warcraft,” I muttered.
“I see,” she grinned. “You’ll like this, I promise,” then she stepped away from me and skipped across to the TV, picking up another of the strange, white objects and provoking one of the consoles into life with a deft flick of her wrist.
The TV lit up and a jaunty tune bounced out from the speakers. I sat back on the couch, mesmerized as Lana swept her wrist around, pointing the white object at the screen and making a little white finger move around. For the briefest of seconds, I forgot about the fact that we were both naked and that my pussy was aching with an unfulfilled heat.
