The reunion party ended on my knees before her

I met Renata in my last year of high school. We ended up in the same group almost by accident and, over the months, that closeness turned into one of those friendships that aren’t planned. We talked about everything, copied off each other on exams, and shared headphones during breaks. But there was something about her I never confessed.

Renata was petite, slender, not quite five feet three. Long, very black hair, always loose. And her feet. She had thin, bony feet, with long, close-set toes, that kind of pale foot that undid me without her ever knowing it. She never painted her toenails. She didn’t need to.

That year she almost always wore flip-flops. White Havaianas, worn down, simple. I would sit behind her in the back row just to watch her swing her foot under the desk, letting the sandal hang from the tips of her toes. If she knew what that does to me. She didn’t know. Or so I thought.

High school ended and everyone went their own way. College, work, the routine that separates people without asking permission. We texted every so often, less and less, until all that was left was Renata’s feet floating in my memory like an unfinished subject.

***

Half a year later, a classmate announced a party at her house. Her parents were leaving for the weekend, so she made a WhatsApp group and invited everyone: the reunion party. Renata wrote in the group, then wrote me privately, and suddenly we had months of catch-up conversations waiting to happen.

The day of the party was dry and cold. I put on a plaid shirt because the theme was country, grabbed some beers and a bottle of cheap vodka, and threw a jacket over myself. I arrived last, as always.

I saw her from afar and she ran over to hug me. Renata looked different. She had gained body, curves, a new confidence that showed in the way she walked. She was wearing a knee-length dress and some slim, high boots. A real woman. I was still the same idiot who didn’t know where to look.

The party went on the way those things do: bad music played on a guitar, warm beer, cheap smoke, people laughing too loudly. I went out into the yard to get some air and some friends joined me. Renata came with them. We caught up shouting over the noise, and I looked at her, looked at her too much, and she looked right back without hiding it.

There had always been a rumor that I liked her. I dismissed it for convenience: we were friends, in school I was with Carla, and Bruno, a classmate, had been circling Renata. It had all been reduced to compliments said too late. But that night, for the first time, I wanted to find out what was behind the rumor.

Little by little, people went back inside the house. The two of us were left alone in the yard, with the bottle of vodka between us. I took a long swallow and we started talking for real.

—You grew a beard —she said, looking at me sideways—. It suits you.

—Thanks. And you’ve got an insane body, with all due respect.

—I’m going to the gym.

—Squats, I’m guessing.

—Some —she laughed—. And you? Are you seeing anyone?

—No. Between school and work, I’m stretched too thin. An occasional kiss in a club, nothing more.

Renata grabbed the bottle, took a swig, and motioned for me to move with her to a darker corner, away from the door. She sat on the edge of a cement planter and patted the spot beside her.

—Let’s play a game —she suggested—. One question or a drink. Whoever doesn’t want to answer, drinks.

—Fine —I agreed, without measuring what I was getting into.

—I’ll start. Did you sleep with Carla?

—Yeah. It was good.

—Your turn.

—Why did you break up with Bruno?

—Because I didn’t want anything serious. Just someone to have fun with, and that was it.

We went on like that, drinks and questions, each one sharper than the last. Until the bomb dropped.

—Is it true you like feet? —she blurted out, staring straight at me.

I gasped. I was left breathless. Before I could improvise an escape, she got there first.

—You don’t have to answer. Your face says it all.

—How do you know that? —I stammered.

—There was a group of girls at school. Carla said you had that thing. But relax —she moved a little closer—, I’m not going to make fun of you. Your secret is safe with me.

I swallowed and decided to stop hiding.

—Well. Yeah. I like them. It’s a fetish. I don’t know how to explain it, it just drives me crazy.

—I knew it —she said, and there was something new in her voice, something that wasn’t tenderness—. I always caught you looking at girls’ feet when they wore flip-flops. You caught me a couple of times too.

—I always thought yours were beautiful —I admitted—. Especially with those white Havaianas you used to wear.

She smiled to one side, as if she had just discovered a weapon.

—What if I told you I brought them right now? I put them in the car of the girl who gave me a ride. These boots are killing my feet.

—If you need a hand... —I offered, and regretted it and didn’t regret it at the same time.

***

We got up. Renata went to get her friend’s car key and we walked to the street, where it was parked under a tree, far from the noise. Before opening the door, we passed the bottle around one more time, and then she grabbed my shirt and kissed me. It was a hot kiss, shameless, with a bite to the lip included, the kind that leaves you off balance.

We got into the back seat. She rummaged through a bag, found the white flip-flops, and showed them to me like a trophy. Then she stretched out her legs, rested her feet on my lap, and put the Havaianas in my hand.

—Do the honors —she ordered.

It wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order, and that voice set me on fire. I slowly unzipped the first boot, carefully, as if I were unwrapping something fragile. Still with the sock on, I felt the heat of her foot resting on me. I took the sock off slowly and, without thinking, brought her foot to my nose.

—Would you look at that —she said, amused and in charge—. Now you like my socks too.

—You have no idea how long I waited for this —I answered against her skin.

Renata extended her other foot toward my mouth.

—All yours.

I put it in my mouth whole. It was so small it fit completely, every toe. I sucked them one by one, ran my tongue over the sole, licked every crease. It was soft skin, unbelievably soft, as if it had never touched the ground. All the while, she watched me with the calm of an owner.

—I love seeing you like this —she murmured—. So obedient.

She guided my hand until I pressed her other foot against my crotch and made me move it to her rhythm, not mine. I kept devouring, she kept setting the tempo. She enjoyed the control; you could tell by the half-smile, by the way she tilted her head so she wouldn’t miss a thing.

Without ever letting go of me, she opened my zipper and slid a hand down. She started to touch me and, at the same time, pressed the sole of her foot against me, squeezing, pressing, measuring how much pleasure she could wring from me. Then she picked up one of the flip-flops, held it in front of my face, and waited.

—Kiss it —she said—. Where I put my foot.

I obeyed without hesitation. I kissed from the sole to the footbed, slowly, while she sped up the movement of her feet over me. She asked me to put the Havaianas back on her, and then she wedged everything between the sole and the rubber footbed and set a slow, firm rocking motion. She was driving me insane and she knew it. She loved it.

—Tell me my foot is beautiful —she demanded.

—It’s beautiful.

—What else?

—Soft. Perfect. The best thing I’ve ever tasted.

—Open your mouth.

I thought she was going to give me another foot. Instead she kissed me hard, and while she kissed me she pushed one of her socks into my mouth. Then, all at once, she stopped everything. She left me teetering on the edge, shaking, unfinished.

—We’ve been out here a long time —she said, smoothing down her dress as if nothing had happened—. Let’s go back to the party. Let’s save some of this heat for later. Maybe later I’ll need a foot massage.

***

We went back as if nothing had happened, though half a dozen complicit looks followed us from the doorway. Renata reappeared with two beers and sat among the classmates like a disguised queen. The party was dying; it was after four in the morning when she came over to me.

—Hey, if you don’t mind, can you take me? I’d like to go back with you.

—Of course. Just tell me the way.

She let her friends know, got her things from the other car, and we left. On the way, we were loose, shameless, laughing about what we had done.

—I liked it, you know? —she said—. What you did. Carla forgot to mention you were good at that.

—I liked it too. You seemed like you had practice.

—I like to give orders a little —she admitted, and stretched her foot up to rest it against my mouth while I drove—. And it looks like it goes well with what you like. Speaking of that, do you want a little more?

I sucked the side of her small foot without taking my eyes off the asphalt. With my other hand I opened my pants, and then both feet came together and started again, this time hungrier. Renata spit on me so the skin would slide better, and adrenaline ran through me head to toe.

We got close to her house and I pulled over under a tree. We kissed again, and in one leap she moved to the front and settled on top of me. I pushed the seat back, slid her underwear aside, and let her come down slowly. She dug her nails into my neck while we kissed without air.

Without losing control for a second, she stretched out her arm and grabbed the flip-flop again. She showed me the footbed and I, already trained, started licking.

—Clean it all —she ordered, moving harder over me—. Get all the dirt off it with your tongue.

Those words finished lighting me up. I thrust with everything I had, she set the rhythm until the end, and a moment later we came almost at the same time. She collapsed into the seat beside me, we rolled the windows down because of the heat, and I gave her a foot massage as a way of thanking her, dotted with soft kisses.

***

After that night, Renata and I kept seeing each other often. She wanted to learn more about foot fetishism and about giving orders, about domination, and I was the happiest student in the world. In time she became an expert: she knew exactly when to squeeze, when to stop me at the edge, when to make me beg.

Routine, as always, ended up pressing in. Renata met a guy, something serious began to take shape, and before we said goodbye we had one last meeting. She gave me her white Havaianas and a pair of socks. Her feet never had any smell, never did, but I liked rubbing those flip-flops over my face and remembering the night she stopped being my high school friend and became the owner of my secret. Maybe that goodbye will end up becoming another story.