Lori and I had been married about a year when she made a suggestion that completely changed our sex life. Her proposal seemed pretty innocent at first. I remember it was a beautiful day in early May. Spring had been cold and rainy, but suddenly we were gifted with a run of sunny, unseasonably warm weather. We had just enjoyed brunch at our usual place downtown, and we’d both noticed a number of lovely young women out for the day, jogging and walking their little dogs, while working their phones and generally looking gorgeous. There were hot young girl-boss types in well-cut suits and gleaming black pumps, punkettes in carefully laced boots and boho hippie chicks in flowing, flowered dresses that grazed the tops of their sandaled feet. It made for a wonderful show.

“You were sure having a good time scoping out all those young gals,” Lori remarked, as we settled down for a lazy Sunday afternoon. Neither of us is much past 30, but we’d both noticed a growing tendency in ourselves to think of our fellow city-dwellers as “young folks.”

“What can I say?” I shrugged. “It’s a perk of living in the city.”

It is. I won’t say people-watching is the only reason I’ve never wanted to move to the suburbs, but it definitely has played a part in that decision.

“Yeah, especially when sandal weather starts,” Lori added with a knowing chuckle.

My love of female feet was no secret between us, and my wife rarely missed a chance to tease me about it.

“Speaking of that,” I said, reaching for her ankle, “you look like you’re about due for a fresh coat of polish.”

Lori’s feet are beautiful, slender and high arched with long, tapering toes. A lot of times my foot fetish takes the form of caring for her feet, polishing and trimming her nails, as well as administering the occasional massage.

Then it happened.

“Why don’t I polish your toes instead?” Lori asked. I gave her a questioning look, not sure at first what she meant.

“I’ve told you before, you have seriously nice feet for a guy.” Suddenly, the tables had turned. Lori was holding my foot in her hands, examining it carefully. “I bet you could paint your toenails and put on a nice pair of heels, and they’d pass for a girl’s feet — no problem.”

At first, I wasn’t sure what I thought of the idea. She was just kidding, right?

But the more I mulled it over, the more I liked the idea. Hell, it turned me on. I never really thought about guys’ feet before; to me, it was always women’s feet that were beautiful, almost magically so. And what Lori was proposing seemed like a spell that could convert my feet into a girl’s. The idea was a little odd, yet it affected me the way any new, sexy idea would. I had experienced a foreshadow of it the previous summer, when Lori suggested I get a pedicure, like a lot of her friends’ husbands did. At the time, I laughed off the comment. Now, I felt my cock getting rock-hard in my jeans.

Lori, for her part, was already sold on the idea. Before I knew it, she had fetched the shallow plastic footbath she used when I gave her a pedicure and filled it with hot water. A moment later I was soaking my feet, a little nervously, while my wife happily picked out nail polish, files and various other accoutrements.

The whole process didn’t take long. My feet were shaved and lotioned and generally pampered. Lori talked to me in a soft voice about this and that as she applied the bright red polish she had chosen. It was a kind of attention I’d never experienced before — casual, yet very intense somehow. I felt like I was the center of her world and wondered if women felt the same way when they went to get their nails done.

Finally, Lori spread her hands and said, “Ta-da!” By that point, I was in a strange state of excitement — partly sexual, partly something I couldn’t put my finger on. Lori set her own pretty feet next to mine, as though for comparison. There was now surprisingly little difference I could see between them. My feet were just a little larger than my wife’s, a little broader. Really, that was about it. Her eyes glinting with mischief, Lori leaned over and kissed my toes. A bolt of arousal ignited under my skin, and I couldn’t help myself. I took her feet in my hands and reciprocated, kissing her soles and ankles again and again. The glimpses I caught of our feet being mutually worshiped registered on my fevered mind like one of the fetish videos I had spent so much time viewing before my marriage.

In time we ended up in bed, fucking enthusiastically. I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of wonderful world I had, with Lori’s help, stepped into.

For the next month or so, Lori took good care of my feet, while I took to the internet and explored another remarkable new world — that of the foot-conscious cross-dresser. I discovered online shoe stores specializing in larger sizes, shops dedicated to vintage stockings and elaborate anklets and other foot jewelry. I didn’t go crazy — at first. But I couldn’t resist making some purchases — with Lori’s approval, naturally. However, I exercised considerable restraint in my selections.

I felt no particular interest in the shops I found that sold wigs and makeup and dresses, though I was often impressed by how beautiful some of their wares were. Over the next few weeks, Lori and I took in some local drag shows, and I was likewise startled by how lovely and sexy the “girls” were. However, my eyes kept slipping down to their stiletto-heeled pumps and sandals, every bit as avidly as I would have inspected the shoes of the gals in our neighborhood. The objects of my gaze seemed to sense my interest, even if they didn’t realize exactly what part of them I found so intriguing.

But my fascination with my own “transformation” began and ended below the knee.

Then one day at work a few weeks later, I got a call from Lori. She sounded very excited — as in aroused. Of course the throaty laughter in her voice stirred more than my curiosity. Had I taken Lori’s call someplace more private, I might have slipped into the bathroom for a little self-pleasuring.

“You got a package,” my wife told me. Believe it or not, it actually took me a moment to realize what she was talking about. Then it hit me.

“The shoes?” I asked, remembering the order I had placed a few days earlier.

“And stockings. I hope you don’t mind, I couldn’t resist opening the package. And oh, they’re beautiful! You’re going to look so hot in them!” She paused a moment, then whispered. “Can you get off early?”

“I think I can manage it,” I said.

“Getting off” certainly figured into my plans for the rest of the day. I told my secretary I was feeling under the weather, though my flushed cheeks and slight stutter may have told a different story. She smiled perfunctorily as I quickly headed for the elevator. I could only smile myself. While she might be imagining some hot and heavy afternoon tryst between Lori and myself, she would be very surprised if she knew what form that would take!

By the time I got home, Lori had arranged my purchases on the couch, so they were the first things to meet my eye as soon as I stepped over the threshold. There was a pair of gorgeous maroon pumps, a classic style in just my size, and several pairs of black silk stockings — including one very sexy pair of fishnets.

Lori had also set up the soaking tub and varnish so she could give me a fresh pedicure. The first time she’d pampered and polished me, I’d been a little tense, wondering what it would be like. This time, I settled into the warm water with real pleasure, knowing exactly what to expect.

Lori had carefully removed any trace of dead skin from my soles and heels, rendering them smooth and silky-soft. When I ran my fingers over them, I gave an involuntary little gasp at the sweetly ticklish sensation. I had touched many pairs of lovely feet in my time, but to be able to take part in the sensation was a whole new thrill.

By the time I smoothed one of the pairs of stockings up over my legs, my feet looked absolutely amazing. It was hard not to think they belonged to some supermodel, out on the town for the evening. My toes gleamed with freshly dried coats of cherry-red polish; I spied them through the silk stockings, sparkling like ten rubies. I was tempted to put on the fishnets so I could feel my fingers sliding over the skin revealed by those diamond-shaped openings. But I decided to hold off on that for the moment, reminding myself that we had plenty of time to explore all my package had to offer.

Lori took me by the shoulders, carefully maneuvering me back onto the couch and settling my stocking feet on cushions she’d piled on the coffee table.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Look,” she said, pointing to the mirror on the opposite wall. And there were my silk-sheathed soles, beautifully displayed like twin works of art. I found myself keeping my eyes down, rather than letting myself take in the way my upper body in my regular clothes contrasted with my feet.

With gleaming eyes, Lori leaned over and kissed my feet in those beautiful stockings.

With that, she climbed onto my legs and put her arms around my shoulders, pressing her soft lips against mine. She let her house slippers fall to the floor, and I slid my hands over her own lovely, bare feet, squeezing her toes and ankles.

As our kisses grew hotter, and Lori began toying with my belt buckle, I reflected on how very lucky I was to have such a wife. One who was not just understanding, but sympathetic in the best possible way. It’s one thing for a partner to tolerate your fetish, but to find one who’ll enthusiastically share it is truly remarkable.

“Before we take this to the bedroom, I think you’d better try on those heels,” she told me, as though sensing my thoughts. “You’ll have to break them in sooner or later. This way, if they’re a little tight, I can give you a nice long massage.”

“I thought I was the one with the foot fetish in this marriage,” I told her with a grin.

“Well, I have a feeling you might have a little competition,” she replied. “Those girls downtown had better watch out.”

I slipped my feet into the pumps and felt magically transformed — and aroused. Lori led me into the bedroom, where she stripped off my clothes — save for my stockings and heels. She climbed aboard my ramrod-stiff cock reverse cowgirl, and she pistoned herself up and down my shaft while admiring the sight of my feminized feet. It didn’t take long for her to climax. Her spasming pussy and thoughts of our next fetish adventure carried me to my own plateau, and I filled her with my cream.

I knew then that we’d taken a step in the right direction.