Francisco gazed out the open window from his old, twin-sized bed, watching as the last few beams of sunlight shimmered down out of view behind the purpled peaks of the coastal mountains. It was a sleepy end to a tiring day of work in his uncle’s flower shop.
He had been up since dawn, and so the setting of the sun further solidified the pleasant suggestion of turning in for the evening. He stood up and pulled back the brown and white striped sheets of his old, rusty bed and slid right in, feeling his bones and muscles loosen up on the aging mattress. It was not long before his eyes closed and he fell fast asleep.
Earlier in the day he had gone with his aunt and uncle and grandmother to his late grandfather’s grave in the city cemetery, decorating it with ribbons and flowers and dolls for the Day of the Dead. A few other Mexican families were doing likewise, leaving their little children to meander around the headstones in a game of tag. A couple of boys were tossing a baseball back and forth, increasing their throwing speed each time in order to keep the other from catching it. The first boy wound his arm up and threw the ball clear over the second boy’s head, watching as it bounced off an elaborate headstone topped with an angel, then rolling along the ground to another grave marker just behind Francisco. He turned around, bent down and picked up the ball, tossing it back to the now bashful boys, who turned and darted back to their lingering parents. Puzzled, he turned back to the grave where the ball had landed, admiring its unique sandstone marker and the rose-rimmed heart etched into it at the top. Then he read the name on the marker: Katherine Marie Moore. He rubbed his eyes in disbelief and scrolled over the name again, making sure that it was actually her grave he was staring at. It was: Katie Moore, from high school. He couldn’t believe it.
He instantly found himself sitting next to Katie at a long, black wooden desk in biology class, the teacher lecturing from the chalkboard in his monotonous, monotone voice about the respiratory system. He looked over at Katie, who was drawing a heart on her wrist after being consumed with boredom She was so pretty, with her deep, green eyes and perfect lips and nose. He glanced down at her sandaled feet beneath the desk, flopping around restlessly in bright green flip flops. She released the thong from between her toes and slid off her right sandal and brought her shapely, size-eight foot up into her lap, where she began to massage it with her free hand. Francisco’s pants bulged as he patently observed her fingers run up and down her well-shaped soles and ruffle her toes, and then wrap around what must have been her aching arches. She worked nights at a locally-owned coffee shop, so generally her feet were sore the next day in class.
“Francisco!” the teacher snapped, gazing angrily at him from the chalkboard, wooden yardstick in hand. Francisco pulled his eyes away from Katie’s mesmerizing foot, but not before she caught him staring at it. She smiled a sweet, saucy smile and turned back to her notebook, and Francisco never forgot it.
He relapsed from his memory back to the cemetery, where his aunt and uncle were walking back to the car, leaving him with his grandmother standing at the grave. “You know, Frankie,” the old woman started, staring up at him from her walker, “tonight is the night when the spirits come back to visit us.” Francisco rolled his eyes and looked back towards his aunt and uncles, cursing them silently for leaving him alone with the aging lady. “Maybe Pedro will come to visit us tonight, like he did last year,” he continued in her bright and hopeful tone, her eyes glazing over as she peered across the cemetery to the horizon.
“You don’t actually believe that, do you?” Francisco asked, already knowing the answer.
“Of course I do, Frankie,” she replied. “Haven’t you seen him? He sits on the porch, waiting for me. And I talk with him until the sun comes up.”
Francisco thought his grandmother was crazy, but he just grinned and started walking back to the car. “Come on, abuela. Let’s go home and wait for him, then.”
Four hours had passed since Francisco fell asleep to the setting sun and warm, night air, when he was suddenly awakened to the sound of trampling dry blades of grass just outside his window. He left it opened at night so as to enjoy the cool air and to keep the room from getting stuffy. He sat straight up and turned toward the window, listening intently for more noises. He heard nothing. He slid out of bed and tip-toed to the window, carefully peeked his head outside, expecting to see the neighbor’s dog sniffing around in the grass to find a buried bone. But there was nothing, no one. The air was strangely still, as if the wind had completely abandoned the town and traveled elsewhere. It was a very eerie stillness.
He pulled his head back into the room and turned back to his now wrinkled bedding, figuring that he must have dreamt the sound that sounded very real. And there she was, a beautiful, teenage girl sitting on the edge of his bed, staring him down with a sweet yet saucy smile. Her long, brown, hair draped over her soft shoulders and her back, straight with just a touch of natural curl. Her white blouse fit snuggly over her tight figure and flat belly, matching nicely against her frilly, jet black skirt, which was embroidered with a lifelike red rose along her left thigh. Her legs were soft and smooth, still retaining a bit of the summer’s tan. Her perfect feet were adorned with spotless black flip-flops, which she dangled a bit when she noticed Francisco’s eyes were fixated upon them. Her toenails were painted a sparkling crimson to match the rose on stitched on her skirt, which brought out the pinkish hue on her instep. It was Katie Moore.
Francisco’s heart pounded in and out of his chest, so much so that he thought it would burst through his shirt and fly across the room, perhaps landing at the feet of the beautiful intruder sitting before him. Not a bad resting place, he thought to himself. He inched his gaze up from her feet to her thighs, then her breasts, and finally her face, which seemed to radiate with an invisible yet touchable glow. She was still smiling, her eyes flickering with the excitement like that of surprising a close friend with a long-awaited gift. Francisco dug deep in his lungs for the breath to scream, but found none, so he simply held his mouth agape in silence as the horror of the girl’s unannounced and unexplained arrival washed over him again and again. His body grew stiff and rigid, his knees and elbows locked, and his face turned a deathly pale.
“What’s wrong, Francisco?” the girl asked at last, breaking the silence. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Francisco gulped and whispered, “Maybe I have.”
“Well,” the girl continued, “aren’t you happy to see me? It feels like I haven’t seen you in ages.” There was a pause. “How’ve you been?”
“Good,” Francisco squeaked out, his voice interrupted by a second gulp of fright sliding down his tense throat. His heart was still beating a mile a minute, but his face had regained some color and his limbs loosened up a little, enough for him to lean back against the wall and slide down to the dusty, wooden floor below.
“You remember me, don’t you?” Katie quizzed, her smile fading a little as she stared a more intently to Francisco’s brown eyes. “From biology?”
“Of course,” he replied, rubbing his eyes to make certain that he wasn’t dreaming or seeing things. His countenance gradually turned from one of utter fright to one of confusion. He gulped again. “How—how did you get here? You’re dead.”
The girl smirked and gazed up at the ceiling with her glowing green eyes. “You should listen to your grandmother more often,” she said, returning her capturing gaze to his lightly bearded face. Francisco remembered back to that afternoon at the cemetery, how his grandmother mentioned her anticipation for the spirit of her husband, his grandfather, to return that night and come visit her on their porch. He had brushed it off as nonsense then, the superstitious rambling of a lonely old lady who missed her recently departed husband of so many years and needed some way to cope with the loss. But now, as this fine girl sat on the edge of his bed, dangling her black flip-flops before his very eyes, he reconsidered his grandmother’s words. Maybe she was right, maybe the dead to come back to visit the living. But how? Why? So many questions filled his head, but no answers were in sight.
“Hey,” Katie interrupted his silent pondering. “Are you going to come over here or just there on the floor shivering?” Francisco looked back up at her, confusion still gripping his face. “I walked all the way over here from the cemetery to see you,” she scolded, “so the least you could do is come over here and give me a foot rub.” The smirk had vanished from her face in exchange for a scowl, but still a pretty scowl. She was attractive when she was angry, as well as when she was happy, or bored, or tired, or whenever. Francisco leaned his back forward from the wall and crawled over to the bed where Katie was sitting, her flip-flops still dangling sexily from her fine feet. He slowly reached out his shaking hand and touched the tip of big toe, making certain that this “apparition” was real, in a physical sense. Her toe was warm and soft to the touch, not cold or rough or chapped. Convinced, he separated her toes and removed the thong, sliding off her right sandal and laying it on the ground beside him. The flip-flop was light and thin and well worn. They were made from the same foamy material as most flip-flops are, with horizontal ridges on the sole and tiny nooks and crannies on the insole. A slight odor of sweat from her freed foot wafted up to his nostrils. He took her precious foot his rough hands and caressed it, feeling each part of her foot at once and yet feeling no part. He moved his thumbs about the ball of her foot and massaged it, rubbing gently at first, then harder and harder until she groaned with pleasure. Her skin was so soft for wearing sandals so often, as if she rubbed oil or lotion on them each night to repair whatever dryness or roughness had overtaken them during the day. He slid his thumbs up to her toes next, spreading them and feeling the dampness between them with his index and middle fingers. Her toes were just right length for her foot, not too long or too short, but just long enough to be completely sexy. The crimson polish on her toenails was exquisitely shinny and sparkling, making her toes look even more appetizing then he remembered them being in class. Still resting on his knees, he bowed his nose down closer to them and sniffed, letting all the fullness of her foot enter into his senses and wrack his brain. Never did imagine that a woman’s foot could smell so strongly and yet so good, so pleasing, so intoxicating.
Francisco slid his right hand down to her heel and cupped the left hand around her arch, bringing her absolutely stunning foot to his chin and pressed her moist toes against his lips, letting their fever cast him under their powerful spell. He parted his lips and took in her big toe, rolling it along his tongue like a ship on the waves of the sea. The hull and bow of her toe splashed flavor all over his cheeks and teeth and down his throat, washing the walls of his heart and his groin. Her toenail graced the roof of his mouth without scraping but with smoothness, depositing their taste for him to consume later. He sucked and sucked her toe until all the flavor from it was gone, not wanting ever to let go of it. She wriggled it around, against his cheeks and gums and up and down his tongue, so that it felt as if her whole foot was thrashing around in his mouth. Satisfied, he slid her toe out and took in the next one, and the next, and the next, consumed with the unending ride of her hot, tired toes on her hot, tired feet.
“You’re not bad with my toes in your mouth,” Katie chuckled, swishing her pinky toe around in Francisco’s mouth. She removed it and he began to lick in between her slight built toes, tasting the slightly sweaty wetness which she worked up on way to his house. The cemetery was two miles away, and, assuming that she walked all the way in flip-flops, she would have some pretty tired and sweaty feet.
He slid his tongue out from between her toes and down until he reached the ball of her foot, tasting the combination of her skin and her shoes. It was a great taste, just as good as her toes. He closed his mouth and pressed his lips up against her skin, passionately kissing the sole of her foot. The blood boiled in his veins and his heart pumped vigorously as he felt her foot heat up more with pleasure and affection. She smirked as he worshipped her feet with his humble lips, his sense of desperation for her feet the same as that of an ancient sailor trapped in a storm on the ocean begging the gods to let him live one more day, to save him one more time. The passion flowing from his lips prompted her to press her foot down more forcefully upon his face, arousing him to an even more passionate kissing. It was like he had found his long lost love once again, and, starving, they immersed themselves so deeply within each other that not even the strongest man on earth could rip them apart again. The texture of her sole melted into his lips, running all over his face and down his chest, soaking him from head to toe in her scent and flavor and texture.
“Baby,” she cooed to him, rubbing his short, wavy hair. “My arches ache so badly. Would you rub them for me?” In an instant Francisco rushed his mouth over to her arch and latched on, kissing it just like he kissed the ball of her foot. The skin there was even more tender and hot and sweaty than her sole or toes. He liked the salty flavor that traversed his tongue, sucking it down in large gulps. Katie moaned with pleasure, closing her eyes and leaning her back against the wall by Francisco’s bed. She flashed back to her days in high school when her feet were thrashed after working her shift at the coffee shop, standing up all the time and making frequent trips to the back for water and cups and lids. Her socks would be so damp when she arrived home that she had to peel them off from the heel on down, tossing them in the clothes hamper inside out and reeking with the scent of her reddened feet. And her Keds never smelled the same again, rivaling the stench of her raunchy cross-trainers she wore in gym class. And for some reason, guys like Francisco were head over heels in love with her feet, and she was fascinated with that. She would sit up late at night in her room, smelling her shoes and socks and sniffing her toes before she put a new coat of polish on them, trying to figure out what was so hot and tempting about them. They were certainly potent enough, though they were fair and attractive. She rarely had blisters or bug bites or any other blemishes plague her fine feet, and she never had any trouble finding shoes. Whatever it was, she didn’t know. Francisco knew, and he still hadn’t stopped worshipping her feet.
He laid her right foot on the floor and bowed his head all the way down to kiss her instep. It’s sweet taste and texture resonated throughout his entire body, making him feel light-headed and dizzy. He rolled over on to his back and rested for a moment, staring up into the kind but chiding gaze of his intruder-temptress. She smiled back at him, brushing his eyes and nose with her big toe and rubbing his forehead with the others. He loved the way her toes massaged his eyes and fit in his mouth, and he cherished the worn scent of her soles in his nose. And resting his head under her shapely, leathery heels was the psychological pinnacle of the whole experience, as he felt the weight of her foot crushing his face and the force of her bright energy crushing his own pale laziness. She laughed as he laid down on his back under her heels and held his mouth wide open, letting her rest her tired feet in the cup that was his open jaws, and to let the aromatic flavor of her foot trickle down his throat and into his waiting stomach. “That’s a good place for you,” she snickered, grinding her heel against his teeth while massaging his temple and forehead with the toe of her other foot. He was in absolute paradise.
A rooster crowed in the distance, welcoming the dawn of the new day. Francisco sat straight up and watched as the sun’s first rays struck out across the field of dried grass in front of his bedroom window and awoke the birds in the willow tree beside the house. He turned to comment about the beauty of the dawn to Katie, but she had vanished, along with her lovely size-eight feet and black flip-flops. He twisted his head to look all around the room but didn’t spot her. He rushed to the window, thinking that maybe she had jumped out when he wasn’t looking, but she wasn’t there either. She had left just like she had came: without a trace.
Francisco wandered back to his bed and sat down on the edge, holding his aching head in his hands. Maybe it was all a dream. Maybe Katie Moore had never really been in his room at all, and he had spent the whole night crawling around on the floor dreaming that he was worshipping her lovely bare feet. He felt so empty, and tired.
Suddenly there was gentle tapping on the door, and Francisco’s grandmother poked her head inside the room. Francisco’s smile in expectation of Katie turned to a frown as he realized that she was gone. “Abuela, buenos dias,” he mumbled.
“Buenos dias!” the old lady exclaimed, smiling from ear to ear. “Pedro came to visit me last night, just like I told you.”
“What are you talking about, abuela?” Francisco asked, a spark of excitement lighting in his eyes.
“He was there on the porch, waiting for me,” the grandmother explained. “He said he saw a young girl crawl through your window.” A gossiping grin graced her aged lips in place of the jubilant smile. “Did you know her from somewhere?”
“Yes, abuela,” he answered. “I did know her. She was very sweet.” Francisco grinned from ear to ear, realizing that his dream had not been a dream, but a dream come true.
From then on, he always listened to what his grandmother had to say.
This story is taken from:
Special thanks to: zanoah