For foot fetishists — of which I am one — summer is the perfect season.

There are so many reasons to go without shoes, so many places for bare toes and soles. The beach. The backyard. Poolside. A garden barbecue. Summer is my dream-come-true time of year. Sadly, when the weather changes, when the winter comes, opportunities grow scarce. At least, they always had in the past. Then I met Julia, my girlfriend, and told her exactly what turns me on the most.

“Just bare feet?” she asked me.

“Bare feet,” I agreed, nodding. “Minus the ‘just.’ Bare feet turn me on.”

We were in bed while we spoke, and Julia raised one leg in the air and wiggled her toes at me. “So that turns you on?” She seemed completely charmed by the concept.

“Oh, yes,” I said. “Especially with a pretty pedicure like yours. I don’t care about the color. Blue. Pink. Red-and-white stripes. But I love the glossy look.”

I grabbed her foot and moved to gently bring her toes to my lips. She sighed as I licked each one, and I could see from the glaze in her eyes that she was starting to understand why having a foot fetish could be a good thing.

All summer long, she let me make love to her feet. She cradled my dick between the soles of her bare size-7 narrows and milked me with gentle jerks. Every pair of shoes she wore from May to September seemed to have my name written on the sole. She indulged in pedicure after pedicure, and her feet were always soft to the touch, her nails always matching her outfits. The two of us worked together with mutually explosive results.

And then fall hit.

Julia lasted as long as she could. I’ll give her credit for that. But ultimately, the change in temperature made open-toed shoes a thing of the past. There’s no call for flip-flops in October, no reason to wear gladiator flats when snow’s in the forecast. I said a sad so long to her sandals, and I looked forward to next summer.

Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait that long. I suppose, knowing Julia, I shouldn’t have been surprised when I walked home one wintry November to find sand in the foyer. Golden, shimmery, tiny sparkles of sand, trailed in a path along the hardwood floor, all the way down the hall to the bedroom. It wasn’t only sand that awaited me. It was that smell of the beach — the salt in the air, the suntan lotion. What strange occurrence was this? I followed the scent, breathing in deeply the whole way and wondering what I would find when I reached the end.

I should have known.

I ought to have guessed.

There she was. There she stood. Not naked — because naked would have been too simple, and Julia — my beautiful Julia — is complex to her molten core. She was wearing a bright pink polka-dot bikini. Her long dark hair was up in a messy bun. The heater was on. She had created a beach nirvana for us. There was an inflatable float on the floor. Beach balls in a basket. Terry-cloth towels on the bed. And Julia, all slicked up with suntan oil, gleaming in her gorgeousness.

“I licked and sucked her toes one by one into my mouth.”

I took a moment to really admire her effort. She had brought the summer to our small apartment, as if she had the power of the ancients within her. I saw the bronze gleam on her cheekbones, the hothouse flowers tucked into her hair. Then I saw her feet. Her toes were painted show-stopping fire-engine red. I wanted to kiss each one, wanted to lift her in my arms and spread her on a blanket in the sand. I sucked in my breath and won that whiff of summer. Summer in November! I grinned and lunged. She put up a hand to stop me, then pointed toward the corner of the bed. There were my board shorts. I barked a laugh. Julia turned and pressed a button on the stereo. Beach music bombarded us. I took off my work gear and pulled on the Hawaiian-print shorts.

They were instantly tented by my erection.

“It was such a bleak day,” she explained as she came into my arms. “The slush and the gray sky. I missed June like you wouldn’t believe. So I went to the salon.” She used one foot to trace up the inside of my thigh. “And I got a pedicure.” I lifted her in my arms and carried her to the bed, then set her on the blue terry towel and grabbed her feet. I admired the expertly polished toes while she continued her tale. As she spoke, I caressed the contours of her feet, brushing away the grains of sand that clung to her perfect peds.

“That just got me started,” she said. “I decided I’d wear my bikini for you. But a bikini in November felt so out of place. I needed a bit of summer, to bring the summer home. So I went and bought a bag of sand… ”

As she explained the amount of trouble she’d gone to create this exhilarating scenario for the two of us, I started to make love to her toes. I licked her ankle first, then traced the delicate arc of her arch. I palmed her heel in both of my hands, and I brought her right foot to my mouth. As I kissed the tips of her toes, she used her left foot to stroke my boner through my board shorts.

On the most mundane of days, Julia’s feet thrill me. I worship them in sandals. I miss them in boots. I crave them padding bare down our hall. But that day, surrounded by summer in winter, was something too spectacular to fathom. As Julia ran one foot up and down my erection, I licked and sucked her toes one by one into my mouth. She squealed and squirmed at the sensation. My girl and I have desires that intermingle and overlap. Everything I love to do to her feet, every ounce of the attention I bestow on her ten toes, delights Julia like nothing else.

As I rounded my tongue to tickle her pinkie toe, I knew that her pussy was growing wetter by the second. In fact, I thought I caught a whiff of the ambrosia of her pussy juice even over the aromatic scent of the suntan oil she’d spread over her long limbs.

I swapped feet then, working to make sure I divided my attention evenly. Julia started to touch herself through her bikini bottom, as if she couldn’t wait, as if there was nothing she could do to keep from strumming her fingertips over her hidden pussy lips.

Pausing in my adoration of her feet, I leaned forward and tugged her bikini briefs to the right. Then I placed my tongue at her core and sopped up some sweet wetness. Julia went wild, thrashing on the bed while I orally worshipped her snatch. I didn’t get her off. Not yet. I wanted to make her wait. Yet I raised the stakes by plunging my tongue into her slippery depths.

At least, I didn’t plan on letting her come, but Julia had her own agenda. She gripped me with her thighs and raised her hips off the bed. She started to shout out my name as the orgasm broke in her like waves hitting the ocean shore. “Oh, fuck, Tim. Tongue me like that! Lick me… just like that!”

Then she nearly swooned back against the towel-strewn bed, and I was left to look at her with nectar-glossed lips, my tongue tripping from the heady taste of her very essence.

Thankfully, she hadn’t forgotten about what I like best. She brought her feet up for me to continue admiring. I stroked them. I petted them. I spent as much time as I could until my cock started to demand attention of its own. Sensing my dilemma, Julia pulled off her bikini and spread herself open for me. She put her legs in the air with her knees bent, so I was able to fuck her while touching her feet, while turning my head from side to side to kiss each one.

I came as she had, with the pleasure crashing all around me. And as snow started to fall outside, I thanked the heavens for my wildly creative girlfriend, who’d brought a slice of summer home to me.