It all began with an innocent comment one day, as I was out for a long bicycle ride on a hot August afternoon.

She had a habit of calling me with a sense of perfect timing. Never when I was just sitting in one spot, waiting for a call, but usually while I was gliding along at 30 kilometres per hour. I usually had my cellphone set to vibrate, but when I went out for a ride, I turned on the ringer to its loudest setting, knowing I would hear her call me.

That was important to me. Our friendship had blossomed the first time she called me when I was on a ride, and I stopped and took the call. Just to help her with a computer question. She was touched that I would stop my favourite activity just to help her out. And from there, our friendship just took off.

So the long story short is that I would look forward to stopping in the middle of a ride to take her calls. They became increasingly personal and intimate, and no topic was off limits. Nothing was too graphic. Nothing was too revealing. It was all fair game.

We flirted with each other. We wrote each other intimate and erotic emails and texts. We shared details that most friends don’t share.

And then one day she shared with me something new. She told me that she loves foot massages. She told me that they take her to “another place”. Hmmmm, I thought. What if...?

Fast forward a month and we got together to meet for dinner.

Wait. I forgot to mention. I am a married man, and she is now about two months into a serious relationship. So we had kept our hands off each other. We exchanged a lot of words, but that was all we exchanged. So the dinner was just two friends meeting for dinner.

Except she confessed that on her first or second date with her boyfriend, when he kissed her for the first time, she was thinking about someone else at the time.

She had been thinking about me. But I was married, and that was forbidden territory for her.

Or the time I wrote her an erotic story, and she ended up reading it while alone, out in a field in a park, and ended up masturbating out in the open, reading my words to her. And then she wrote back to me. Wondering if...

Wondering if I was as hard writing to her, as she was wet reading what I wrote to her. Yes, I guess I was. No. I definitely was.

But I was married. End of that fantasy. Another case of blue balls.

Back to dinner. We went out for dinner and sat across from each other in a booth. Mid-way through the dinner, I looked down under the table and noticed her boots. I think some women call them the “come fuck me” boots.

Very sexy.

Did I dare? I hesitated, but not for long. I reached down and grabbed one of her feet, by the boot, and stretched it up toward me.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Trust me...let me just have your foot for a second.”

“What for?”

“I want to see something...I remembered what you told me that August afternoon...about foot massages...”

“Oh...yeah...but –“

“No buts. Nobody will see under the table in this location.”

So I slipped off her boot and found her bare foot in my hands. The hell with eating, I brought both hands to the tasks and proceeded to give her a long and sensual foot rub. Very long. Maybe twenty minutes.

Her eyes closed. Her breathing became slower and deeper. Her eyelids fluttered. She was smiling and couldn’t speak. She really was in another place.

So I removed her other boot, reaching back down under the table, and started to give her other foot the same treatment. I don’t know who enjoyed this more, me or her.

Then I felt something. Okay, to be honest I felt something much earlier – I felt myself growing hard, my cock straining at my pants. But now I felt something on my cock. It was her foot. The first one I had massaged. And she was rubbing it up and down the length of my erection. She was giving me a foot job through my pants and her foot was exploring every inch of my hard cock in great detail. I was probably only a minute away from erupting inside my pants. Maybe less than a minute based on how hard and primed I was.

And then just as quickly as it all started, it stopped. We looked at each other, and I acknowledged with a raised eyebrow that I felt what she was doing. And she came back down a bit from her “other place” and composed herself.

We both realized we had taken it a bit further than intended. Maybe further than we ought to, since I was off limits, and she had a boyfriend.

But it happened. And it felt so incredibly intimate and sexy, maybe even more than if we both had shed our clothes and made love.

I did it because it gave her pure and selfish pleasure. My friend. She deserved to have her desires satisfied. And a foot massage? Maybe it was just an innocent massage. Maybe there was no sexual intent.

And me? So she played with my cock for a few minutes with her foot. Maybe that’s all it was. Play. A little different than a game of tennis or shooting some hoops, but play nonetheless.

That’s it. We were playing.

I’ve spent the last year and a half convincing myself that we were just playing.

I’m still not convinced.