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Lori, I read with great interest your notes. A couple of years ago I helped an artist girlfriend, Terri, make a plaster cast of a lady friend of hers for a project at the Chicago Art Institute school. We plastered this lovely young lady from her shoulders down. She was completely spread-eagled, it was supposed to be a statue of someone falling out of an airplane (don't ask). After the plaster set, we had to very carefully cut the cast away in twelve sections. We started with the sides. After we got these pieces off, Terri said, "You ALWAYS have to start here." And when I asked why, she replied, devilishly, "because these are the ticklish parts." And she proceeded to give her friend a tickle up the ribs to her underarms. The model, Maitie, went crazy. I'd never been into bondage or tickling or any of that, but it was so weird, suddenly seeing this as an appealing new turn-on. I even took the opportunity to run a finger along Maitie's ribs, and she begged me not to do it again. I was dying to grab her boobs, but of course this wouldn't have gone over very well with either gal.

Terri announced a minute later, gleefully and evilly, "Now we do the feet!" We sliced the cast around the tendon area, slowly peeled back the two pieces, and Maitie was saying, "C'mon, you guys..." but Terri flashed her sharp fingernails around Maitie's bare feet, then teased her toes, not really tickling her but giving her quite a torturing. Terri told me it was my turn, and I took it. I gave Maitie's bare soles a severe tickling for about half a minute. Her feet were SO ticklish. It was something that's always stuck with me.

Lisa and I answer phones for Joey, for the last year. Joey's good to us, pays well, doesn't hit on us, and remembers birthdays. Joey just has one quirk: he likes our feet.

Lisa and I sit behind large oak desks in front of Joey's office, from where he has a clear view of our tootsies. Like a lot of other working girls, if nobody can see, and the office is casual enough, I slip out of my heels once I'm at my desk. On my first day, I noticed Lisa was in her stocking feet, so I did the same. When I got up, I slipped back into my shoes, then kicked them off again once I sat back down. But I noticed Lisa padding around in her stockings, not seeming to care. I didn't want to appear that comfortable that soon, so I refrained.

On my third day, Lisa wanted me to accompany her to the supply closet, down the carpeted hallway. I sat down and stooped over to fish my shoes out from under my desk, but Lisa said "Don't worry about it." So we just walked down the hall in our stocking feet to the closet, got what we wanted, and headed back.

"You sure Joey doesn't mind us walking around barefoot?" I asked.

"You kidding?" Lisa replied. "He loves it."

And that's when Lisa described to me some of her experiences with Joey. Joey would hang out by her desk, sometimes squat down while talking to her, and if she had her shoes off, he'd skip eye contact and just stare at her feet. She noticed that if she wiggled her toes, she could transfix him completely. Painted toenails showing out from sheer stockings apparently really get him going. I had thought over the first couple of days that the shocking pink on Lisa's toes was a little ridiculous, but now it made perfect sense. And on occasion, if she had one foot tucked under the opposite leg, he might give her sole a quick stroke.

"I'm ticklish as hell, and it always makes me jump, but my Christmas bonuses are outta sight. So what the heck," Lisa said once.

Thursdays are apparently Joey's favorites, because those are filing days. For the first half of the day, our call logs are spread out on the floor, and we kick off our shoes and kneel over all the paperwork, alphabetizing. Joey hovers constantly, because, as Lisa explains, he has a good view of the bottoms of our feet. Fridays are casual days, and during a busy week, filing gets put off til Friday, when it's loafers and no stockings, so Joey gets to enjoy our feet completely bare. He really digs completely bare soles on girls.

After my first month there, I stayed the weekend over at Lisa's. She laughed and told me, "We're going to set you up for a big, fat Christmas bonus.." And then she sat me down on the couch, pulled off my socks, and painted my toenails deep purple. We drank some wine, joked about the whole thing, she told me some more stories about Joey gazing upon, touching, and tickling her feet, and I wiggled my bare, painted toes in amusement. When they were dry, Lisa slowly, wickedly plucked the cotton from between my toes, examined her handiwork, then drew the nails of her index fingers up across the bare bottoms of my feet. I jumped and shrieked; I hadn't had my feet tickled in years. "Joey's gonna love you," she laughed.

The following Monday, I tried out my newly-polished toes. I had to access some files in the bin over the copy machine, so I got out the stool, stepped out of my shoes, and stood up on tip toes to reach them. Joey came out to "make sure I didn't lose my balance." He watched raptly as I stepped back down and slipped back into my shoes. Success.

That Friday I went in with coulottes and strappy sandals; Lisa came in in flip-flops. She actually left them next to the ofice door when she walked in, and spent the whole day in her bare feet. Joey took us to lunch. I thought Lisa was pushing her luck, but Joey just eats this stuff up. It was an outdoor cafe, and over coffee, Lisa again kicked off her flip-flops and put her bare feet up on the chair next to Joey, and wiggled her toes toruously at him. He was squirming like mad. He gave her sole a quick stroke with a cocktail straw at one point. I got up to use the restroom, and as I was walking back, I saw him again tickle her foot, and she giggled at him and told him laughingly to stop.