AT THE FEET OF SOFIA

The same thing always happens to me, as soon as the heat arrives. I start to walk with my eyes pointing to the ground more than usual: I'm looking at the women's feet, which are beginning to be uncovered after the winter confinement. Observing the female lower extremities, and without realizing it, I think how that woman will be intimately. It's as if I undressed her from the bottom up, to then draw some conclusions that aren't even clear to me. I never have the impression of knowing a lady in any depth if I have not been able to covertly studying his feet.
And that was what disturbed me about Sofía, the new co-worker who arrived at our company one spring afternoon. She was charming, blonde and the owner of an innocent look. It didn't take long for us to hit it off, and after a week of knowing each other it was rare that we didn't go out together for coffee or lunch after each weekday.
It was a mutual fascination. We spent hours talking, and in less than a fortnight he had told me his entire young life. By the way, I had been just as confident, opening my heart like never before. Everything seemed perfect, and he was heading for a happy romance or one of those friendships that you rarely see between men and women. However, there was something that bothered me deeply.

Revelation

It took me a while to understand what it was, until one hot November day I found out: since I met her, I had never seen her feet.

By then it was normal for me to wallow, like every year, in the unconscious observation of the lower extremities of every woman there was.

But it was not the case with Sofia. I had never seen her without closed boots, or fine dark shoes, or with sophisticated slippers. But never bare feet. At first, I played down that matter. Likewise, he imagined them according to his tall body. They would have rather slender fingers, with manicured nails and heels like velvet. But the unresolved issue was still in my head. To do? Our relationship was maturing, and in his honey-colored eyes I seemed to notice that he expected something more from me than chatting over coffee and pleasant company. But it was almost impossible for me to think about making her my partner if I didn't reveal that last mystery first: her feet.
Everything precipitated at the beginning of December, when after having coffee outside the office, we walked for a while in the park.

The conversation was going smoothly, although she was tense, as if she didn't dare to tell me something. Finally, she managed to get to the point: she told me that she was in love with me.

An end on the feet

The first impulse I felt was to kiss her passionately. But something was stopping me. I knew what it was, but I refused to accept it. Finally, I couldn't contain myself: with my eyes cloudy, I crouched down and, to his stupor, practically ripped off his shoes. She was left barefoot and embarrassed, looking at me blankly and involuntarily displaying her delicate limbs, which were just as I had imagined them. I remained on my knees, contemplating his lower extremities, my eyes wide and my mind blocked. After a few endless seconds, she grabbed her shoes and started running. I didn't see her again.
The next day, a cold telegram informed us that he would no longer work with us. And I learned that in a phone call he told our boss that he didn't want to have deranged colleagues.
Maybe I have lost the woman of my life; I don't know. Now I do therapy, and my analyst believes that mine is not serious. But I guess he doesn't understand; Neither did Sofia. I keep looking at female feet as if nothing had happened.