A FOOT CRANK’S CONFESSION - Part 03 of 37

CHAPTER TWO:

In 1986 I turned sixteen. By then I was sexually matured and had started to masturbate. The boys at the school hostel collected pornographic material such as photos and magazines and hid them in various secret places that the warden wouldn’t find. Most of the boys loved to collect picture of naked women and always talked about their breasts and pussies. But what turned me most were obviously their feet. Whether in her nude or not, I collected pictures where women’s feet were exposed; bare or in high heeled sandals. Women showing the soles of their bare feet while in a bikini or fully naked were my favorites. I’d bargain to do anything to own such pictures from my friends.

Soon, the boys of the hostel got to know about my major foot fetish. They found it very amusing and named me “Lick Foot Paa-pissa”. Paa-pissa in Singhalese means “foot crank”.

At home we usually left our shoes in the hall-way outside our rooms. There was a common shoe rack in between my sisters and my mom’s rooms. Most of the shoes that weren’t worn frequently by them were also kept in it. Which meant that most of my mother’s and sister’s high-heeled sandals that they wore only for special occasions were kept in it. They both wore the same shoe size and therefore they used such sandals in common.

Once I stated masturbating I got into the habit of sneaking freshly worn pairs of such sandals into my room at night and sniff them while masturbating. I would place the high-heels on my pillow and imagine them sitting on the bed head with their feet in those sandals. The musky smell and the smooth imprint of their feet in the shoes turned me on like mad. I was very careful not to get caught and replaced the sandals back on the rack before anyone woke-up.

I sat for my Advance Level Examination when I was eighteen. It was quite obvious I failed the exam with the kind of twisted mind and lack of concentration on to my studies. My parents wanted me to re-sit the exam the following year. I had to stay at home and study for the re-sit exam. Therefore I joined a few mass-tuition revision classes in Kandy. I had to travel from Pussellawa to Kandy by bus to attend those classes, which was almost about a one-and-half hour journey.

This gave me the opportunity to loiter in the city of Kandy a bit, and it also opened-up new vistas in my fantasy world. The town was full of beautiful ladies with gorgeous feet. I just spent time following them with a distance watching their heels go up and down. The most favorite place that I hung around was the Kandy Central Municipal Market. It has a large entrance lobby with two staircases on either side. The upper floor of the market housed mainly batik, textiles and other fancy item shops. At that time it was the only decent shopping mall in the town where the respectable ladies could do their shopping, all under one roof. I got use to stand in a corner and watch the ladies climb the stair case of the market. Whenever I found an exceptional pair of feet ascending the stairs I would follow them with a distance. I loved to watch those beautiful heels go up and down; turning from pale white to crimson red each time they step up and down, right inline of my eye level. Usually my underwear was soaking wet with pre-cum when I got in to a bus to return home spending a few hours in the market.

At this time came a political unrest in the country known as the 1988-89 rebellion, where young rebels with arms tried to gain control of the country. During this era about 60,000 young men and women were killed all over the country, by official and un-official armed forces in an attempt to suppress the rebels. The bodies of the killed were dumped beside roads on burning tires. It became a time that if was not safe to leave the home anymore and I gave up the idea of re-setting the exam, also because all the universities in the country were closed indefinitely.

About a year passed in such turmoil. Finally my father decided that I should study Business Management at the National Institute of Business Management. He said that it would prepare me take over the management of the estate once he retires. The best business management course regarded at the time was the three year full time Diploma course at this Institute in Colombo. We called the institute and inquired about the course. They said that lectures for a new batch were starting on the following Monday and there were still a few spots vacant in it. It was Saturday and we had only two days act.

We left Pussellawa early morning on Sunday, the 18^th of March 1990. It was my father who drove our station-wagon with my mother in the front passenger seat and me in the rear seat. My sister by then was living with her husband in Canada. She got married and migrated during the previous year; in 1989.

By about ten in the morning we came to the Institute and by eleven all the registration works were completed. The lectures were scheduled from Mondays to Fridays during the morning’s hours, I was told. Our next aim was to find a place for me to stay. We went to a restaurant and had some early lunch. While having lunch my father went through the Sunday newspaper and looked for possible rooms advertised for rent. We called a few rooms advertised from a coin-phone booth nearby. Most of the rooms had already been given out. We visited a few rooms that were available but they were not what they claimed to be. It was getting late and we were starting to panic a bit. It was then my mother remembered her old school friend; Aunt Hillary.

“Hillary is now a somewhat prominent social worker and she would have many contacts. She’s the only one I could think of who could help us right now” mom said. Though mom and Aunt Hillary had not spoken to each other in a long time, lucky enough mother had her number written in the small phone book she carried in her handbag all the time. We called her from an agency post office as we didn’t have cell phone back in those days.

Aunt Hillary had been my mother’s best friend at school and also had been roommates in the hostel. She lived in Wattala, a bit away from the city of Colombo. My mother explained to her the situation briefly over the phone. She had said she could look for a place but that it would take a few days. Until then she had offered to provide me a room at her place. Through “a bit far” she had said, I could catch a direct bus from her place to my institute. As I had no other option I agreed to stay at Wattala for the time-being until we could find a place during the next weekend.

Aunt Hillary’s house was on a sub road, a little off the Colombo-Negambo main road. It was a bit of an old fashioned house from the outset, but was well modified from inside. It stood in a clam and quite neighborhood with a large fore-court in front. It was almost turning dark when we reached there.

Aunt Hillary was in the front verandah to welcome us.—Oh! Madhu, so glad to see you girl! I think we meet after about ten years, Right? You know Karl; I always called her back then and informed her about our collage Old Girls union function. But she never showed any interest in coming and I just gave up on her. I’m so glad you finally came to see me. Oh, my God! Look how grown-up this guy is? I still remembered him as a little boy who I have carried˜ she said in between the hugging and kissing. She invited us in and made to sit in the living room.

Aunt Hillary was then forty seven years old then, the same age as my mother. She too was slim and petite like my mother and could have easily been mistaken to a thirty-five years old. She had a graceful gorgeousness of her own with black hair, dark blue eyes, pinkish-red lips and monotone olive skin. And then there were those feet !!!.

Aunt Hillary was seated with her legs crossed. Her right foot was dangling in the air while her other foot was firmly rested on the floor. She had the most perfect feet I had ever seen. The fair but tanned instep of hers feet molded out flawlessly from the shine across her ankle joint, which was narrow but well-shaped. A smooth looking pinkish heels padded around her ankle. She had perfectly formed toes with neatly clipped nails. She had painted her toe-nails with a glistering light pink shade of polish on that day. She wore a silver toe rings on the second toe of each of her feet and a thin silver anklet on her right foot.

Aunt Hillary was wearing a cotton blouse with a three quarter length flared skirt on that day. Her hair was in a loose plait. She wore a pair of reddish translucent flexible plastic thong type slippers, which had silver studs on its straps. Aunt Hillary was seated on one end of the three-cushion couch with my mother at the other end of it. My father and I sat on the arm chairs across the small coffee table. Aunt Hillary was right in front of me and I had a good view of her feet without the obstruction from the coffee table.

Aunt Hillary was twisting her right ankle, and wagging her foot rhythmically from time to time while chatting with my parents. Her slipper was dancing off her toes. I was not paying any attention to the conversations that were going on. My whole attention was on Aunt Hillary’s feet, and trying hard to hide the erection of my penis within my pants. My under-wear was already getting socked with pre-cum.