After pouring my friend her third cup of coffee, the waitress turned to me and asked if I wanted some more as she tilted her head to one side and smiled in a half-rehearsed way. I moved my cup across the table closer to her and nodded quickly with my eyes closed, in a mildly condescending manner, as if saying “don’t even ask; you know I always do”. With hundreds of customers coming in every day, she probably did not know but, indulging my ego, I will assume that she did and only asked out of politeness. We were a group of six or seven friends who had developed the custom of sitting out rush-hour traffic at the smoking section of one of those chain restaurants that came to replace traditional diners. This was back when restaurants still had smoking sections. We all came from different backgrounds and had become friends more by chance than because of any other reason, but we became a great group of young adults who, for a couple of hours every day, would talk about everything and nothing at the same time.
She had been introduced to the group only recently by one of the girls and had done the whole coffee-and-cigarettes-at-five ritual only a few times, but it was evident that she was an exceptional and memorable woman. Very befitting to her personality, she would drive in on a green Volkswagen Beetle from the old kind. She had gorgeous curly brown hair, but that time it had been straightened down to her waist and she had colored it pink and blue the night before. She didn’t look like a freak. On the contrary, she looked exotically beautiful and the hair framed greatly her free spirit. She was very skinny but she had gorgeous curves that she moved very slowly and with confidence when she walked. Her brown eyes had the look of intelligence and her full, soft, round lips hypnotized everyone as she talked. At least, I remember they hypnotized me. She worked as a radio host and she had developed a deep mellow voice that could turn any insignificant subject into a pleasant conversation. But she was by no means a conventional person, and thus, her chosen topics were by no means conventional.
That day she told us about a party she had attended the weekend before, and which had taken place at a house with a swimming pool. At the beginning of the party she met a man with whom she began what she thought to be an incredibly interesting conversation. They talked and they drank; they ate, and all along they flirted with each other. At the suggestion of the host, everyone had brought bathing suits with them so at some point they moved into the pool. The atmosphere created by the music, the warm evening, the good conversation was so inviting that they started touching each other teasingly and started playing with each other’s feet below water for well over an hour. After some time most people came out of the water, but remained standing close to the pool or sitting at the nearby tables. The two of them remained in the water. They both had become aroused by their incessant play, and very discreetly he started caressing with his foot up her leg underneath the surface. He kept going up, and up, until finally he reached between her legs. She didn’t think twice and skillfully pulled her bathing bottom to one side and managed his big toe inside of her. She was in the middle of this account when she stopped abruptly, clearly thinking hard about something. We were all captivated by her erotic narration of the incident and almost demanded her to continue. “You know what,” she said matter-of-factly, “I hadn’t even thought about it, but in the aftermath someone will say: she had many men in her life; many men and one foot!”
Hugo R. Vargas