I've always known I'm not like other blokes: other blokes like tits and arse, right? Not me. I always knee this wasn't normal. And, boy, didn't Helena make sure I knew just how perverted I was.
My apologies, I jump ahead. Let me contextualise the story. Helena is my housemate: tall, beautiful and blonde. We make small talk daily, merely to pass the time and avoid any awkwardness. She's miles out of my league - think spotty teenager having wet dreams about Marilyn Monroe. Good Lorre, if only she knew the thoughts I had...
It's Friday. I finish cooking dinner and head upstairs. I hear Helena arrive home and head straight for the shower, ready to doll herself up for a night on the town. That's when I see them outside the bathroom door: her years-old, well-worn running shoes just lay there on the floor, stuffed with a steaming hot pair of dirty Nike white ankle - a foot fetishist's dream... |
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