I couldn't see him from behind the paper, but I could hear him slide onto the floor, and the next thing I know he reached up and tickled the bottom of my foot, which I quickly jerked away and squealed as he said. "Are your feet ticklish mom?" "Yes!" I said, "but if you promise not to tickle them you can rub them for me, I could really use a good foot rub". "I think I can manage that", he said. With that I laid my head back and closed my eyes while Tom rubbed the soles of my feet, then his hands were all over my feet at once, rubbing my toes and instep, my arches...it was heavenly. He was bringing me right to the edge, but I didn't want him to know, so I controlled my reactions as best I could. After a while I pretended to be asleep. Tom's breathing became more rapid and I knew he wouldn't be able to control himself much longer. I felt his breath on my feet as he brought his face closer, then he pressed his face into the bottoms of my feet and slid his face up and down my feet. I had. Around dinner time I took a walk around the neighborhood. I walked and brooded and cried. I didn’t even know how far from my father’s house I was but at dusk I found myself sitting on the steps of a little community church. I heard a voice from behind me say, ‘May I help you?’ I turned to look toward the voice and saw a short, weather beaten old man with a mop in one hand holding open the front door of the church. His clothes said that he was the janitor but something about his face and smile said otherwise. He spoke again and said, ‘I’m Pastor Duvall. I sense you’ve got a problem. Is there anything I can do for you?’ Just like a week ago I didn’t think, I just got up, walked past the old man, and sat in the last pew of the church. I started crying. The old preacher put his mop down and sat beside me putting his arm around my shoulder. ‘Whatever the problem is you came to the right place for help. When you want to talk, God and I will hear you.’ I don’t know how long I cried but for.
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