Then the other foot.Then the other foot. By the time I had finished kneading the balls of her feet twenty minutes later, Carol was so relaxed I wondered if she was going to fall right off the sofa. Her eyes were half-closed. I gave her shin a little pat and let my hand rest there. "How was that?" "God, you're good," she replied with a warm, lazy smile. "Can I put you on retainer?" She didn't seem inclined to remove her feet -- in fact, she was slowly wiggling her toes -- so I stretched my arm along the back of the sofa and gazed back at her. I was a little afraid to leave my hand on her shin; I wanted so badly to stroke her calf and thigh. Be a gentleman and maybe she'll invite you back. Perhaps Carol was tapped into my thoughts because she drew up her knees a few inches so she could prop the soles of her feet against my thigh. The movement made her already dangerously short skirt ride up even higher; another inch and I'd know what color panties she was wearing. I tried not to look at the curve of her smooth, tanned legs,... or, at least, not to stare. She tucked one arm behind her head and I invested a few seconds in studying her armpit, of all places. She seemed smooth and sleek everywhere. And she was giving me another of those thoughtful, measuring looks. "Mike,... why haven't you ever come over here before? Like this, I mean, just as a neighbor? We've lived next door to each other for years...." I raised my eyebrows; she certainly knew the answer to that one. But she had a puzzled expression that seemed genuine, so maybe she didn't. "Well, to be honest, I never had much use for SWA--, for Jerry. And I got the impression that he would *not* have liked other men visiting his wife when he wasn't around. |