Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Title: Girlfeet Chronicles
Author: Shushali
Summary: When a girl in her mid-teens hears about a friend who
manipulated her boyfriend by using a previously unknown foot fetish, she
soon finds herself with an opportunity to do the same.

   (~8300 words) Keywords: gM, coer, nosex, feet, teen

   Girlfeet Chronicles



   "Oh my God, you're kidding right?" I asked as I stared at Debra with
wide eyes.

   "I'm totally not kidding, Megan" Debra said with composure as she
continued to text on her phone.

   "Tell me everything that happened," I said with insistence as my
curiosity surged.

   Debra slipped her phone into her pocket and looked up at me.  "Do you
remember when I was at Eric's place, and we were supposed to go out, but
his jerkoff older brother took the car. . .?"

   "Yeah." I said as I rolled my eyes.  She had texted me that night and
was upset since she was dressed to go out, and now she was going to have to
hang at her boyfriend's place.

   "Anyway, we're in his basement, and I put my feet up on the couch as he
yelled at his brother on the phone."

   "Wait, what were you wearing?" I asked, trying to remember what she had
on that night.

   "Remember that grey skirt that I borrowed and never gave back?" Debra
asked as she flashed me a mischievous grin.

   "Hey!" I protested when I remembered that she still had my skirt.

   After a small giggle, Debra said, "I was wearing that with an oversize
top.  Oh, and those cute black tights with the skulls on them."

   "So then what happened?" I asked, eager to hear more of the story.

   "Anyway, his brother isn't coming back with the car, and so Eric yelled
at him."

   "Boys," I said as I shook my head.

   "Yeah really," Debra said with a nod.  "So I'm sitting there, and I'm
pissed.  He comes over and starts saying he'll make it up to me.  I told
him that there are plenty of sixteen-year-olds with cars."

   "Oooo!" My eyes widened briefly as I considered how he would have
reacted to that.

   "Well he starts getting anxious, since he knows I'm one of the hottest
girls in grade ten."

   "Yeah really," I said with a nod.

   "Well he came to the couch to sit down, but since I was pissed I didn't
move my feet off the cushions.  So he lifts them up and sits down with my
feet in his lap.  I'm sitting there, still pissed, and he's saying how
sorry he is and it won't happen again.  Then, do you know what he does?"
Debra asks in an incredulous tone.

   "What?"

   "He leans over to kiss me."

   "Are you shitting me?" I asked in an equally incredulous manner.

   "I'm totally serious.  As if I'm going to make out after he ruined my
Saturday night.  So I pushed him back with my foot.  He tried a couple more
times and I did the same thing."

   "Then what?" I asked eagerly.

   "He starts apologizing again as he rubs my feet.  I sat there for a
minute as he was doing it, and then he tries to lean in again.  I tell him
no, and that he's lucky I didn't leave."

   "What did he say?"

   "He just kinda looked sad and started apologizing again.  I was tired of
hearing his excuses, so I put my foot over his mouth and said I didn't want
to hear anymore."

   Ewww," I said as my face contorted in disgust.  She must have been
really mad at him to do that.

   "I know, right?  But this is where is gets weird," Debra said as he
voice took on a more serious tone.

   "What did he do?" I asked as I leaned in closer to her.

   "Nothing."

   "I don't get it. . ." I asked with confusion wrinkling my eyebrows.

   "He just sat there with my foot in his face."

   "He was smelling your foot?" I asked in an astonished tone.

   "Yeah," Debra said with a nod.  "So I'm sitting there trying to think of
what to do.  I expected he would be grossed out, but he wasn't."

   "So what did you do?"

   "I took my foot off his face and dropped it back on his lap.  I didn't
know what else to do.  But you'll never guess what happened."

   "What?"

   "He sat quiet for a bit, and then asked if he could smell my foot
again."

   "No way!" I protested.

   "I'm dead serious.  He asked to smell my foot."

   "What for?"

   "How should I know?" she asked rhetorically with a shrug.

   "Did you let him?"

   "Of course not!  That's creepy."

   "What then?" I asked.

   "He asked again, and even said please."

   "I don't get it. . .  why?" I asked as I tried to wrap my head around
why anyone would want to do that.

   "Don't ask me, I have no idea."

   "Wow, that's so weird."

   "Anyway. . .  The first thing that came to me was if he wants it, maybe
he'll do something for it.  So I told him that if he really wanted to smell
my feet, he should get on the phone and tell his asshole brother to bring
back the car."

   "He didn't. . ." I said in disbelief.

   "I couldn't believe it.  He gets up--makes a call-- and then starts
telling his brother about something he never told his parents about.  In
two minutes the call is done and he's sitting down with my feet in his lap
again.  He said that his brother would be home in less than a half hour."

   "No fucking way; are you kidding me?" I asked with wide eyes as I sat on
the edge of my seat.

   "I swear to God, Megan.  He says his brother is bringing back the car,
and we'll still have time to make the movie.  Instead of going for pizza
before, we'll go after."

   "So what did you do?"

   "What do you think I did?  I said he could smell them all he wanted to
until his brother got home."

   "Is this what you meant yesterday when you said you had a secret
weapon?" I asked as I tried to wrap my mind around what happened.

   "Totally.  At first I thought it was gross, but then I thought about
what happened.  He wanted to make out, but I ended up getting him to smell
my feet instead.  So now I use that instead of making out." Debra said with
a sly grin.

   "Wait. . .  what?  Are you serious?"

   "Why not?  You know we can get boys to do anything for sex, right?"

   "Duh."

   "Well Eric does stuff if I let him smell my feet."

   "So that's why you always have your feet in his lap between classes," I
said as it finally started to make sense.  "But isn't it creepy?"

   Debra let out a laugh.  "Creepy?  Instead of letting a boy get into my
pants, I let him get into my shoes.  He can't knock up my feet, Megan."

   I broke into giggles at the silliness of Debra's remark.  "OK, you win,
I guess it's not creepy when you put it that way." Then it hit me. . . 
"Wait a sec!  Is that why Sherry had her feet on Ryan's lap?"

   "Yep," Debra said with a smile.

   "Did she figure it out?"

   "No way.  She asked me about Eric, and so I told her.  Then she said she
was going to see if she could get Ryan into it.  At first he didn't want
to, but she promised him a handjob if he smelled her feet for a half hour."

   "Did he do it?"

   "What do you think?" Debra asked with an unsurprised expression on her
face.  "He had been after her to do that for months."

   I was in shock.  Ryan was a jock, and on the football team.  He was the
last guy I would expect to smell a girl's feet.  But he was totally in love
with Sherry, so in a way I'm not surprised.

   "Yeah, but Sherry is smart.  The next time he wanted a handjob, she told
him he would have to smell her feet two times for a half hour each time. 
Then it became three, and then four.  Now she's up to something like ten,
and she adds one each time.  Soon he won't get handjobs at all, but he'll
want to smell her feet because he thinks he will at some point.  I don't
even think she's counting anymore."

   "Wow, Sherry is so lucky.  I can't even get a date without guys wanting
me to put out."

   "What about you?" Debra asked.

   "You know I don't have a boyfriend," I said with a frown creeping onto
my face.

   "No, I mean would you do it?"

   "I dunno. . .  maybe.  It still seems creepy.  What is it with boys and
feet anyway?"

   "On the net they say it's a fetish, but I still don't get why guys like
it.  All I know is that he wants it, and he does whatever I want if I let
him do it."

   * * *

   Over the next few weeks I found myself wondering what doing this would
be like for the other girls.  While it was weird, if Sherry was into it,
then it couldn't be that weird.  She was the most popular girl in my grade.
But I didn't have a boyfriend, so it wasn't something that I could try,
even if I wanted to.

   I live at home with my parents, who--unlike for most kids--never got
divorced.  My mom works as a nurse, so she has weird hours.  My dad drives
a city bus, and since he starts at 5am, he's home before I get home from
school.  I usually don't get home until about 4pm, since I take the school
bus and walk the rest of the way.

   Usually Dad leaves me alone, which is cool.  He's nice and all, but. . .
yuno. . .  he's my Dad.  When I got home from school on Friday, he was
sitting in his usual spot on the couch.  I dropped my backpack in the front
hall and kicked off my shoes.  "Can I get you anything from the Kitchen,
Dad?" I asked as I walked though the living room.

   "Yeah a beer would be nice," he said.

   I grabbed a can of beer and a can of Coke, and made my way to the living
room.  After I handed it to him, I plopped down on the couch and put my
feet up on the coffee table.

   "Hey, feet off the table," he said.

   "But why?" I whined.  Since I just got comfortable, it seemed like he
was doing this on purpose.

   "Because if your mother was here, you wouldn't dare."

   It was true, I never would have done that if mom was home.  She hated
people putting their feet up on the table, since she knew what kind of crud
was on people's feet, and she didn't want that on her table.  "Yeah, but
Mom's not here," I said.

   "Don't make me ask you again," my Dad said as he took a sip from his
beer.

   I'm not sure what possessed me to consider it, but I found myself with a
steak of courage.  Without taking my eyes off the television, I swung my
legs off the table and onto his lap, crossing them at the ankles.  Yeah I
know he's my Dad, but it's not like I was going to have sex with him or
anything.  The thought alone sent a shudder up my spine.  I figured I would
see just how true this 'feet thing' was.

   "What's this?" Dad asked, wondering why I was treating him like a
footstool.

   "You said to take my feet off the table, so I did," I said with a
mischievous grin.  It's not like my feet were gross or anything.  I was
still in my school uniform--and no it wasn't a kilt.  It was grey slacks,
and I was wearing the stupid navy socks that all the girls had to wear. 
There was an awkward silence as my Dad glanced down nervously at my feet.
My heart was racing since he hadn't pushed me away.

   "Well this isn't what I had in mind," he said with uncertainty.

   "But I thought I was your little girl," I said in the sweetest and
sappiest voice that I could muster as I flashed him an exaggerated pout. 
My voice sounded so syrupy sweet that I thought I might heave.

   "Of course you are," my Dad said, clearly sucked in by ruse.

   "Prove it, rub my feet," I said in a presumptuous manner as I uncrossed
my ankles and wriggled my toes like I was still in kindergarten.

   My Dad let out a chuckle, then said, "I haven't done this since you were
nine and still taking ballet."

   "My feet get sore walking home from school too yuno," I said with raised
eyebrows as I stood my ground.

   "You have to walk a whole ten minutes from the bus stop, I'm sure you'll
survive," my Dad said as he took a look at my feet.  "Are they sore, or are
you just saying that?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

   "They really are a bit sore," I said, honestly.  While it wasn't a big
deal, a foot rub would certainly make my feet feel better, so I was telling
the truth.

   My Dad let out a sigh, then took a hold of my right foot and kneaded the
sole.

   "Mmmm," I purred as my Dad went to work rubbing my feet.  "That's nice,"
I said as I turned my attention to my phone and a few texts that had come
in while we were talking.  I liked the idea that he was doing it and I
wasn't paying attention to him.  I'm not sure why, but it just made me feel
like a queen somehow.

   I glanced up and saw that my Dad had resumed watching television, which
was great since it meant he would probably keep doing this for a while.  In
a way, it did remind me of when he used to do this for me after ballet.

   At that moment, I had a flashback and started to remember ballet in more
detail.  He used to rub my feet every time after practice.  It was his
suggestion at first too, since I never would have thought to ask him to do
it at that age.  He seemed so interested in massaging my feet when I was
still wearing my tights, but I just thought he was doing it because my feet
would be sore after practice.

   It's funny how you can remember things differently when you look back at
them when you're older.  Like how he would give my foot a quick sniff and
then tease me saying I had 'smelly feet'.  Back then I remember bringing
one of my feet to my face and sniffing, but it didn't smell bad to me.

   The more I thought about it now, the more I started to think that my Dad
might be one of these foot fetish guys.  While it was a bit creepy to think
about it, I never felt this way when I was in ballet.  Mind you I was only
nine.  It's not like he molested me or anything.  He wouldn't even give me
a bath anymore when I started kindergarten.

   As I was pondering all this, I pulled my one foot from his hands and
replaced it with the other one.  Without a word, he began rubbing it.  I
don't know why, but I had a strong desire to find out if I was right about
him and ballet.

   "Dad?" I asked in a distracted way.

   "Yeah?"

   "Do my feet smell?" I asked as I kept my eyes focused on my cell phone.
The last thing I needed was for him to see my face, since I was certain the
look on my face would give me away.

   "What?" he asked, seemingly unsure if he heard right.

   "My feet, do they smell?" I asked again as I watched him from the corner
of my eye.

   "How should I know?" he asked with an uncertain voice.

   "You're right there," I said as I haphazardly lifted up a foot towards
his face.  "Tell me." With my heart pounding, I waited to see what he would
do.  It almost felt like a shock when I felt his strong hands grip the foot
near his face.  When he pulled it to his nose, I could feel the cool air
that passed through my toes as he inhaled.

   "No, they don't smell," he said as he reluctantly lowered my foot.

   "Check the other one," I said as I moved the other one up to his face.
Inside I was freaking out at the thought my own Dad might have a foot
fetish.  When I felt him sniff my other foot, it was a huge rush.  This
time he did it even longer, although it was still only a few seconds.

   "No, you're fine," he said as he lowered my foot and resumed rubbing it.

   "So do they smell nice?"

   "I guess. . .  Should I smell them again to be sure?" he asked in an
uncertain voice as he stared at the feet in his lap.

   "Sure, if you want. . ." I said as I tried to make it appear as if I
wasn't really paying attention.  In reality, I was barely able to text on
my phone as he picked up my right foot again.  It took every last bit of
strength I had to pretend that I was just sitting around texting.  Once
again I felt cool air slip past my toes as he began to smell my foot.  Even
though I hated socks, I was glad I wore them.  I don't think I would have
done this if I was in bare feet.

   An awkward silence blanketed the room as I lay on the couch with my Dad
smelling my foot.  After a few long sniffs, he switched feet and did the
other one.  In fact, I was kinda getting annoyed at the fact that of all
the people interested in my feet, it had to be my Dad.  Why couldn't I have
a boyfriend that would do it?  It sounded awesome to be able to get a boy
to do that instead of sex.

   Was I creeped out by my Dad doing this?  Of course I was!  But at the
same time I was thinking about ways I could use this somehow.  I wouldn't
start asking for money; that seemed too obvious.  And I wasn't going to
threaten to tell mom since she'd probably see right though it.  To my
surprise, the answer to my question came in a text from one of my friends.
She was talking about going to a party at Sherry's tonight, and saying it
was too bad I couldn't come.

   Why wasn't I going?  Because I asked and my Mom said no.  Since my Dad
was there when I asked, it's not like I could have tried to ask him and
pull a fast one on my Mom.  She said I was too young to be going to parties
like this, and that I had to wait until I was sixteen.  It may have only
been six months away, but it may as well have been six years away. 
However, I think she really said no because she doesn't like Sherry's Mom.
The one time they met, Sherry's mom asked my mom when she was "expecting".
Since my mom isn't expecting, she was totally pissed.

   Yet Mom wasn't here.  She was working a twelve hour shift and wouldn't
be back until 2AM.  As my Dad took another whiff of my feet, I began to
think. . .  What kind of 'foot thing' would make him want to give in? 
After running a few ideas through my head, I settled on one and gave it a
shot.  The worst that could happen is he would say no, and since I wasn't
allowed anyway, I had nothing to lose.

   "Hey Dad?" I said as I kept my eyes on my phone.

   "Yeah?" he asked as he pulled my foot away from my face.  It almost
seemed like he was worried that I was going to react in a bad way.

   "Yuno that Sherry is having a party tonight, right?"

   "Yeah, and you know what your mother said."

   "I know, but all my friends are going to be there.  It would mean a lot
if you let me go." There it was.  I dropped the bomb.

   "You know I can't do that.  What do you think your mother would say?"

   "We wouldn't have to tell her.  She won't be home until late, and I'll
be home before then."

   "Com'on Megan, I can't do that and you know it."

   With my heart in my throat, I took a deep breath.  As my heart pounded,
I looked up at him and saw he had his eyes on the television.  I closed my
eyes for a few moments to give myself courage, and then opened them as I
lifted up my right foot.  In a slow and deliberate manner, I brought my
foot towards his face.  "Yuno Dad, it would really make me happy if I could
go.  You want to make me happy, right?"

   "Of course, but--" was all he managed to say before I carefully pushed
my toes over his nose.  He turned his head slightly.  Not enough to
dislodge my foot, but enough to look at me.

   "You like how my feet smell, right?" I asked as I kept gentle pressure
on his face.  He was breathing more rapidly now.  Not because he wanted to
smell my feet, but because it seemed like he was in a bit of panic.  It was
almost like I discovered a secret, and he didn't know what to do.

   My Dad slowly nodded in response, although I don't think he knew what to
say even if he could speak.

   "If I went to the party, I'd have my shoes on all night.  When I get
home, you can rub them for me.  And you can smell them too--if you want," I
said in the sweet and sappy voice that I had used earlier.  Even though I
knew he wanted to smell them, I didn't want to make it seem like I had
figured out how he felt.  At least not yet.

   "But your Mom--" my Dad tried to say from under my foot.

   "Shhh. . ." I said as I changed the angle of my foot so it better
covered his mouth.  "Mom doesn't have to know.  It will be a daddy-daughter
secret."

   With widening eyes, my Dad looked at me as if he was scared of the power
I had over him in that moment.  It was a dream and a nightmare all rolled
into one.

   Although I wanted to stay out until 1AM, I knew that it would be pushing
him too far.  The last thing I needed was to get greedy and have him say
no. It was better to play it safe.  "I could leave at seven, and I promise
to be home by midnight--not a minute later.  Mom won't be home until two,
so she'll never know."

   Since my Dad hasn't attempted to protest, I began to get excited.  Was
this actually working?  Would my Dad to agree to let me go to a party by
promising him that he could smell my feet when I got home?  It felt like
this was some really weird dream, but every second that went by only made
me that much more confident in my power over him.

   "Think about it Dad. . .  When I get home, you can have my feet all to
yourself for a half-hour.  Wait. . .  make it an hour--you're my Daddy, you
deserve it.  That still gives us an hour before Mom leaves work." To drive
my point home, I swapped my feet, and replaced the foot that was covering
his nose.  I wasn't sure if it would make a difference, but I figured that
I had nothing to lose by being assertive.

   It almost seemed like my Dad was trying to shake his head, but it was as
if there was a battle going on in his mind.  He tried to resist at the
beginning, but it was becoming harder and harder.

   With a soft tone, I said, "Just think about it for a while.  We don't
have to have dinner yet, so why don't you smell my feet for a bit?  You can
rub them too." I pushed my unoccupied foot against his hands.  "Just relax,
okay?"

   With that said, I turned my attention back to my phone, although I
covertly looked up at him through my hair.  I kept trying to wrap my head
around why my feet that had this power over him.  What was it about the
smell that did this?  I've smelled my own feet, and they smell like. . . 
feet.  Anyway, whatever it was, I was thrilled it seemed to be working.

   My Dad's eyes seemed lost.  It was almost like he was trying to figure
out if this was for real.  After what happened at ballet when I was nine,
it was likely something he wanted to do again, but never had the courage to
try.  If he did, I'm sure I would have been totally creeped out, and I may
have even told my Mom.  That didn't stop him from wanting it though--and it
was clear now that he did want it.  If he didn't, he was certainly not
doing anything to stop me.

   Let's be honest though, I know most girls would never do this.  It's
creepy and weird on its own, but it's even creepier to do it with your own
Dad.  However, I really didn't care about that anymore.  Any creepy
feelings I had vanished when I realized that doing this would get me to
Sherry's party.  Plus it's not like it's sexual or nothing--if he had
started 'touching' himself I would have been so out of there.

   I began to let my mind wander and consider what else I could do with
this newfound control.  My first thought was that I needed to be super nice
about it.  He was still my Dad, and I loved him.  Creepy or not, I was the
one who made the first move, so I couldn't be judging him for it.

   Although my mind was doing backflips trying to justify this to myself, I
focused on the prize--going to the party.

   The next thought I had was how to handle this in future.  If I was ever
going to do this again, I figured it would be best to do it after school
during the week--on days when my mom wasn't home.  I figured if I got my
Dad used to doing it all the time, then I wouldn't have to 'bribe' him. 
All I had to do was not let him smell my feet if I didn't get my way.

   I remembered what it was like for my Dad to quit smoking.  It was hard
for him to go without something he liked.  If I got him 'hooked' on my
feet, maybe the same thing would happen.  I smiled to myself as I sent
Sherry a text saying I might be able to go after all.

   ###

   At five I went and made dinner.  It was my chore when Mom wasn't home,
and while I wasn't thrilled with it, I didn't mind too much anymore.  At
least this way I would be able to cook what I wanted to eat for dinner.  My
Dad was pretty easy for what he would eat, which was cool.

   After dinner I went and had a shower, then got dressed for the party.  I
wanted to wear a dress, but then I remembered about my Dad smelling my feet
later.  Bare feet in shoes might smell skanky.  Instead I went to my Mom's
dresser and stole a pair of tights.  I didn't have any of my own, since I
didn't like to wear them.  It was one of the reasons I gave up ballet.  I
groaned at the thought of wearing white tights, but she had so many pairs
that she used for work that I knew she wouldn't miss one.

   When I looked at myself in the mirror, I seemed to look a lot more
confident than I usually did.  I had this cute smile on my face as I
glanced at my feet.  Never in a million years would I have expected my feet
to be something that would give me power over my Dad.  The best part was
that he just gave in.  No fights or arguments.

   At 7pm, I walked downstairs and into the living room.  This would be the
final test.  Dad never said anything about the party after he stopped
smelling my feet.  Was he going to tell me I couldn't go?  I would soon
find out.

   "I'm going Dad, okay?" I asked as I stood not far from the couch.

   With a nervous glance, my Dad looked over at me, and then briefly looked
down to my shoeless feet.

   "Do you like the tights?"

   He nodded.

   "Will you smell them for me when I get back?"

   He nodded again.

   There it was.  While he didn't say I could go, when I said "get back" it
was clear that I was going out.  There was no doubt that this was tacit
approval for me to go to the party.

   "You're the best Dad ever!" I gushed as I strode over to his side of the
sofa.  Leaning down, I gave him a peck on the cheek.  "Thanks Dad.  Love
you.  I promise to be back before midnight." With that I went to the front
door, slipped on my shoes, and walked out into the night.  Sherry's house
was only ten minutes away, and it was a safe neighbourhood.  I didn't worry
about going there at night.

   When I arrived at the party, Sherry was thrilled to see me.

   "I thought you said you couldn't come," Sherry said as she gave me a
hug.

   "I asked my Dad, and he. . .  changed his mind," I said as I tried to
find a way to explain it without saying what really happened.  There was no
way I would tell anyone what I was doing with my Dad.  Not only because
they would be totally creeped out, but also because someone might say
something.  If my Mom found out, I was dead.

   ###

   At quarter to midnight I excused myself and walked home.  I wanted to be
extra sure I would get home on time.  If there was one thing my Dad hated,
it was breaking a promise.  He always taught me to keep my word, because if
I don't then my word means nothing.  So if I said I would be home by
midnight, I would be home by midnight.  Feet or not, I knew that breaking
my word would ruin everything.

   I walked in the door at five minutes to twelve, and saw my Dad sitting
in his usual spot on the couch.  After stepping out of my shoes, I walked
over and sat down beside him with my hands in my lap as I dealt with a
brief surge of guilt that I had over manipulating him in this way.

   "How was it?" he asked quietly.

   When he asked me about the party, I was relieved.  "It was great!" I
said with enthusiasm, before getting a hold of myself and becoming more
humble.  "Thanks Dad," I added as I tried my best to verbally wipe away
some of the regret my Dad had etched on his face.

   "You're welcome.  Just don't tell your mother."

   "Of course not," I said assuredly.  Are you freaking kidding?  I said to
myself immediately afterwards.  Telling her would get me in way more
trouble than with him.  There is no way I would tell anyone.  I also made
Sherry and my friends pinky swear not to tell anyone that I was at the
party.  Just in case it got back to my mom.  Even though Sherry's mom was
there too, I wasn't worried about her talking with my mom.

   There was another awkward pause, as we both considered the elephant in
the room.  I knew what I promised him when I got home, but part of me was
worried that he didn't want to do it anymore.  Instead, I brought a foot up
onto my knee as I kneaded the sole to see if he would say anything.

   "Are your feet sore?"

   "Yeah, a bit," I said without turning my head.  A tiny smirk tickled the
corner of my lips.  My pulse was racing as I waited for him to make a move.
If anything, having him ask for it would be even better, since it meant
that he wanted it.  Sure I could have just stuffed my feet in his face, but
at least this way I get him to ask for it.

   "I could rub them for you. . .  If you want."

   "Okay," I said as I carefully swung myself up onto the couch.  It was a
bit tricky in my dress, but I managed to get myself in position to plop my
feet in his lap.  This time I slouched further down, so that I could bend
my knees a bit and lay my head on the armrest.  I was about to put my feet
in his lap, when I decided to try something else.

   "Dad?" I asked to get his attention.  When he turned to face me, I
placed my feet together and pressed them onto his face, with his nose in my
arches.

   When he saw my feet approach his face, he closed his eyes and made no
move to resist.  In a way it was cute how he just relaxed and let it
happen.

   I gasped silently when my feet connected with his face.  While I had
done this with him before the party, it was only with one foot, and only a
part over his nose.  This time it was both and I covered his whole face. 
My head dropped back onto the armrest as I closed my eyes for a moment and
soaked in what I was feeling.  Part of me was trying to be creeped out
about this, but my 'greedy side' was reminding it that I was just at
Sherry's party.  In the end, my 'greedy side' won out.

   It's not like it was sex.  Plus, I was the one that made him do it.  In
a way I developed a weird kinda respect for my Dad that night.  Even though
he probably wanted to do something like this with me for years, he never
did.  As much as he liked this, I was still his daughter and he loved me
enough not to do it.

   "Can you hold my feet up for me?" I asked as the effort to hold my feet
on his face made it hard to relax.

   His hands found their way to my heels, and his firm grip made it easy
for me to unwind.  Since my feet were still a bit moist, I could feel the
heat from his skin as it warmed the tights.  I needed to remember to hide
these after we were done, so my Mom didn't see them.  That's when I
wondered about Mom.  Did he do this with her?  I slipped one foot out of
his grasp and laid it on his lap.  "Can you rub my foot?" I asked.

   He dropped his hands and began to knead the foot in his lap.

   Since he was looking to his left, I put my right heel on his left
shoulder and stroked his cheek with the pad of my foot.  "Dad?  Do you ever
do this with Mom?"

   "No," he said quietly.  "I asked her a couple times, but she never liked
the idea."

   "Why?" I asked with interest.  She was married to him.  I didn't
understand why she wouldn't do something like this when it was so easy.

   "She never liked anyone touching her feet.  She's always been this way,"
he said as he turned his eyes to the foot in his lap.

   "But you really wanted to do this, didn't you?"

   My Dad just nodded.

   "Why?" I asked again.  While I was beginning to understand what drove
him to do it with me, I still didn't get what he got out of it.

   He paused for a moment, then said, "You can't tell anyone what I'm going
to tell you, promise?"

   "I promise," I said eagerly, always willing to hear a secret.

   "When I was a kid, your Aunt Clara had to babysit me after school.  She
was twelve and I was nine."

   I dropped my right foot into his lap so that he could talk.  It was
weird to think of my Aunt Clara as a young girl.  At my age, I never
thought about what life would have been like for him when he was a kid.

   "I was always pestering her; but I was a boy, it's what we do.  Anyway,
one afternoon we were watching TV and I wanted to change the channel to
something else.  Since she didn't want to, we struggled over the remote. 
She was using her feet to push me away from her, and at one point she was
putting them into my face.  We were both kind of laughing as we struggled;
it's not like it was a real fight or anything."

   "So what happened?" I asked as I considered how young he was when this
all happened.

   "Since I had to breathe, I was smelling her feet as I tried to grab the
remote.  But then I started to like the smell.  Don't ask me to explain it.
It went right to my head.  I stopped laughing and struggling."

   "What did she do then?"

   "When she realized that I wasn't trying to get the remote because her
feet were in my face, and that I wasn't laughing anymore, she stopped
laughing too.  We both got quiet for a moment, probably because we didn't
know what to do.  But I don't have to tell you that girls are smart."

   I smiled up at my Dad when he made that declaration.  Even though I was
his only child, he was always supportive of me, even if I was a girl.  I
know that Dads usually liked to have sons, but he never made me feel that
way.

   "She told me to lay on the floor, and I did without question.  Then she
placed her feet on my face.  I just laid there and smelled them as she
watched TV."

   "Wow, really?" I asked, surprised that Aunt Clara would think about
doing that.  I don't think I would have considered it.

   "Yeah.  The next day I wanted her to do it again, but I was too ashamed
to ask.  So I got into a struggle over the remote again.  She did the same
thing again, and when I stopped the struggle for the remote, she had me lay
on the floor and I smelled her feet."

   "What was she wearing?" I asked.

   "We went to St.  Theresa's Elementary just like you did.  The uniform is
the same now as it was then.  It was the winter, so she was wearing those
fabric tights."

   I shuddered, remembering the itchy cable knit tights I wore all through
elementary school.

   "Anyway, the next day, I decided to say nothing.  Instead, after we had
watched TV for a while, I just laid on the floor with my head not far from
her feet.  When she looked down at me, she told me to lay in front of her.
Then she planted her feet on my face and we stayed like that for almost
ninety minutes until just before Mom got home.  I think she liked it the
most since it made it easy to deal with me."

   "Did you do it every day?" I asked, amazed at how quickly this became a
'thing' for them.

   "Every school day, yeah.  We also did it sometimes at night when our
parents were out and she was babysitting.  It lasted until she started high
school.  At that point she didn't have to babysit me anymore, and so she
would often hang with her friends after school.  So it just kinda stopped
and we never spoke about it again."

   "So you did it for three years?" I asked with surprise.  No wonder he
was so interested in doing it with me.

   "Yeah."

   "What about after that?  Did you do it with anyone else?"

   "I asked a couple girlfriends to do it, but they thought it was too
weird.  So I never asked again until I married your Mom.  When I asked her,
she tried it once, but she said she didn't like it.  So we never did it
again."

   "Is that why you rubbed my feet after ballet?"

   My Dad turned his head away, and I could see he looked guilty.  I lifted
my right foot to his face and pulled it back towards me.

   "Was it?" I asked again with insistence.

   He nodded sheepishly.  "I'm sorry.  I never thought you would figure it
out.  I just sniffed your feet for a couple seconds each time.  Are you mad
at me?" he asked with a concerned expression on his face.

   I smiled back at him warmly.  "All I remember is a Dad that loved me and
took me to all my ballet classes, even when he was tired from working all
day.  You never complained once.  When you did that with my feet it always
made me laugh." I caressed the side of his face with my foot.

   "So you're not mad?"

   "Of course not," I said in the most assuring tone I could muster.

   "I'm glad.  You know I would never do anything to hurt you, right? 
You're my little girl and I'll always love you."

   I got a bit emotional when he said that, since he didn't usually say it
in this way.  Sure he always said he loved me when he hugged me goodnight
or whatever, but when he said it this time I understood the sacrifices he
had made to make me happy.  Unable to respond in words, I sat up and gave
him a tight hug.  "I love you too Dad."

   He took my hands in his and stared in my eyes.  "Look, you don't have to
do any of this.  I won't lie and say I didn't like it, because I did.  But
I don't want you to feel like you need to do this for me to love you."

   "Of course not," I said as I lay back down on the couch and returned my
feet to his face.  With phone in hand, I started texting my friends, who
were still talking about the party.  I could hear my Dad as he took long
slow breaths.  In a way, it seemed like he was very relaxed and at ease. 
To be honest, I hadn't considered that it could have this kind of effect on
him.

   Part of me was even considering that this might be good for him.  When
he got home in the afternoons he was often tense and a bit on edge. 
Driving a city bus wasn't easy on the nerves.  While he never took it out
on me, I could tell he was stressed when I got home from school.

   Glancing at my phone, I saw it was just past one.  "I should probably
get to bed before Mom comes home."

   "Yeah, you're right."

   I stood up, walked to the side of the couch, and kissed him on the
cheek. "Good night Dad, I love you."

   "I love you too, good night."

   ###

   My Mom never did find out that I went to Sherry's party, which was good.
My Dad and I never spoke about it again that weekend, but Mom was home
those days.  She worked four days, and had three days off, so she was home
on Monday too.

   When Tuesday came, I pondered what to do when I got home.  I know what I
had thought about, but that was before I talked with my Dad.  As much as it
came as a surprise, I found my conscience rearing its head.  While I
considered getting him 'hooked' on my feet so I could manipulate him, it
was becoming more difficult for me to want to exploit that.

   I walked into the living room after I got home, and I saw Dad laying on
the couch.  This was odd for a couple reasons.  First, it was odd since he
rarely did that.  The other reason it was odd was since the couch with the
best view of the television was a two-seater, and since my Dad was six foot
tall, he couldn't fit laying down.  So he had his head laying on the
armrest, his knees bent, and his feet up against the other armrest.

   "Is everything okay?" I asked as I walked over to him.

   "Yeah, I just had a really hard day.  Someone plowed into the back of my
bus and they had to be taken to hospital.  When I finally got a replacement
bus, it was one of the old ones with no air conditioning."

   "Wow, that sucks."

   "Tell me about it.  How was your day?"

   "Okay I guess.  Nothing special," I said as I considered where to sit.
Usually I would just sit beside him, but since he didn't move, I figured he
wanted to relax in peace.  Yet I also knew how smelling my feet made him
feel.  In a spontaneous act, I took a throw cushion from the sofa chair
beside me, and placed it on his pelvis.

   He looked up at me with a strange look on his face, as if he wasn't sure
what I was going to do.  It's not like we talked about this, since we never
had a chance.  One thing I was happy about--in the moment--was that I was
small.  While I usually hated it, I found myself happy that I was only four
foot ten and ninety-five pounds.  My doctor said I still had time to grow,
but that wasn't on my mind.

   With care, I climbed up onto my Dad's stomach, and settled my bum down
on the cushion.  No words were spoken as I raised my sock-clad feet up, and
then brought them to rest on his face.  I snuggled my feet so they were
tightly together, and then leaned back against his thighs.

   I heard my Dad as he let out a long exhale.

   While I was going to ask if this was okay, I figured it would be easier
to just do it.  I didn't want him to feel guilty about saying he wanted to
do it, so I just did it and waited to see if he would ask me to get down.
That never happened though.  "I know you've had a hard day; is this okay?"

   Although subtle, I felt him nod under my feet.

   "Cool. . .  We can stay this way as long as you want."

   "Thank you," my Dad said from under my feet.

   "Shhh. . .  You just relax; you've had a hard day."

   In a blind motion, my Dad reached out his right hand.  He felt his way
up the outside of my left leg, and found his way to my hand.  Once there he
took it, and gave it a squeeze.

   After squeezing back, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and began to
text as he relaxed his arms at his sides.  It was strange for me, since I
used to think this was really weird.  But now, not only was I not creeped
out by it, I wanted to do it.  For me it took no effort, and I could still
text and surf on my phone as I rested my feet on his face.  Most of the
time I would forget he was underneath me.

   ###

   Although my Dad could have asked to smell my feet at other times, he
never did.  Instead, we settled into a pattern.  When I got home, I would
look to see how he was sitting on the couch.  If he was sitting up, I would
sit on the couch and put my feet in his lap so he could rub them.

   If he was laying down, I would sit on top of him like I did before. 
Then I would give him my feet to smell.  We would stay that way until five,
and then I would go and prepare dinner.  After that we would do our own
thing.  As the weeks passed, I began to notice a change in him.  He seemed
more. . .  I don't want to say 'happy' since it's too generic--but it
seemed like he was a lot more content with life.

   It's almost like this was a missing link for him.  When I put my feet on
his face, he was able to escape from the world for a little while.  It may
have been something that he wanted, but as I soon found out, it was also
something that he needed.

   Once I understood that, it didn't seem so creepy anymore.