I’ve learned that telling a woman you like her feet is always a gamble.
Even though many people will freely admit that feet can be beautiful, it seems to be another proposition entirely when you confess to liking “foot stuff” in bed. To each their own, but I personally cannot see what’s so wrong about wanting to experience pleasure from head to toe — literally.
A while back, I read a story about a guy like me who runs a shoe store — and that got me thinking maybe I needed to change up my usual dating scene. I could never hold it together long enough to work around feet in a shoe store all day, but I decided I should try a gig where feet are just a given and thus maybe less of a big deal.
A gig where feet are often bare. A gig where your feet can be happy, sinking into sand (unless the sand is too hot). The foot factor, plus the hours and an excuse to be at the beach all day, is what ultimately made me complete lifeguard training.
It’s also true that male lifeguards generally have no shortage of beach admirers, and the physical demands of the job make your body nice and ripped by default. I’m six-foot-two, in my late twenties — definitely not bad-looking. I’m a Florida-raised beach bum through and through, and during the high season, there’s just no end to the parade of gorgeous babes frolicking around in tiny bikinis. Sometimes it’s a herculean effort not to get distracted and pitch a tent in your regulation lifeguard trunks when you need to focus on swimmers. That said, it was a clear day with no riptides and a minimal weekday crowd when I spotted this gorgeous babe strolling down the sand.
Jessica was a classic, curvy blonde wearing a powder-pink string bikini and white retro-style sunglasses. I watched as she laid out her towel and pulled out a book to read. With my binoculars, I checked the glassy blue water — all was calm, with only a couple of people in the shallows and one older guy exercise-swimming.
I swept my magnified gaze over the beach next, and then held steady on the new blonde sunbather. There was no annoying chick-lit novel in her hands. She was reading one of my favorite true-crime books. Also, her polished toes matched the pink in her swimsuit. The book and the toes were a double whammy for me.
An hour or so later, when my shift came to an end, I climbed down the ladder, grabbed two cans of sparkling water from the cooler, put them in my daypack, and headed toward my pink lady. She smiled as I got closer.
“Hi, I just got done with my shift. I’ve got a couple of sparkling waters in here,” I said, tapping my pack, “and wondered if I could interest you in one. Fresh out of the cooler.”
She smiled. “I saw you in the chair. And yeah, something cold sounds nice.”
“Tristan,” I said, offering my hand.
“Jessica,” she answered with another smile.
I sat on the sand next to her, popped open a chilled can, and passed it to her. As I opened my own sparkling water, this gorgeous woman, roughly my age, asked, “Are you a lifeguard full-time?”
“Yes and no. I’m also wrapping up school.”
“I’ve been taking premed courses. What about you?”
“I’m studying psychology, actually.”
“I might have guessed by your reading material,” I said, gesturing toward her book.
“I’ve always liked true crime,” Jessica told me. “I’m fascinated by what makes people tick — and not only bad guys. Good guys, too.”
“Really? I would think what makes us tick is pretty boring. Or maybe just obvious, I guess.” I adjusted my sunglasses.
Without missing a beat, Jessica teased, “So you’re saying you’re a good guy, huh?” She saved me from having to comment by continuing, “I see your point, Tristan, but even if good guys have a lot of motives in common, everyone’s different — different tastes, outlooks, dreams.”
“Fair enough,” I said. “Speaking of motives, and forgive me for this segue, but I was wondering — do you have a boyfriend?”