The Color Of Honey
February, 2003
Because we were friends. "He'd had years to put a move on me but hadn't. So when he asked for a foot massage, I didn't take it as a come-on. I sat on the arm of the couch, skirt draped between my legs, and I cradled his foot. He shot me a lascivious glance, then began caressing my calf with his other foot. It felt good. I looked at him. 'Shh,' he whispered. He slipped his free foot up my leg, under my skirt and along my thigh. I looked at him again, surprised but smiling. 'I want this,' he...
