Bucket List

Fuck it, I'll just ask her.

"Hi, my name is John (I'll show you a picture of myself later). I am what they call a devotee, and I have no idea if you're open to me texting you. I'm just going to be very bold here and share with you what I would like because I have a question. I live in another country, but I wonder if I could spend time with you and maybe fulfill a long-time fantasy of mine. I can explain more if you're open to it. I'm not a bad-looking guy. I'm 41, and I've been following your pages for years. I am single and not looking for a relationship. I regularly book an escort service, but it's never what I truly want because I have a foot fetish and a wheelchair fetish—a difficult combination. My question to you is if you are willing to meet with me and have a foot session, just like I would typically book an escort. I'll pay you for this, and I hope we can plan a date soon. Hope to hear from you, and if you're not interested, I completely understand."

Two days later, he received a reply.

"Thank you for your message. That's an interesting request. I thought about it, and I think I'll be open to this."

A few weeks later, he was on his way to the airport. He had one bag with him and brought his laptop. As he boarded the plane, he had never felt so excited before. He couldn't believe he was doing this—traveling abroad to meet the woman in a wheelchair he had dreamed about for so long.

After his flight and drive to the hotel, he texted her to let her know he had arrived, sending along a photo of his suite. He had booked a spacious suite to ensure they were comfortable while spending the day together. He was nervous but excited.

That night, he couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t wait for the morning. She had agreed to arrive around noon, before lunch. He went downstairs, and the only way he could try to calm his nerves was by taking a shot. He sat at the hotel bar and ordered a drink. The glass was not deep enough, so he ordered another.

He had brought a magazine with him, which he had bought at the airport, and inside, he had hidden an envelope with a couple of hundred dollars. He wanted to do this right. He had also bought a perfume at the airport, beautifully wrapped in floral paper. He placed both the magazine and the perfume inside a gift bag, which now sat on the barstool next to him.

He checked his watch again. Five more minutes. Any time now, she could arrive. He kept glancing at the hotel entrance, visible from the bar. His heart was pounding. He had been in many nerve-wracking situations, but this was in his top three. The thought of meeting this beautiful woman in a wheelchair, with long legs and delicate feet, had been his fantasy for years.

Recently, he had switched jobs and decided to make some lifestyle changes, including quitting alcohol and training for a marathon. This was the time to cross this off his bucket list and embrace new experiences.

His ex-wife had made his life miserable for the past decade, but now he was moving on, starting fresh. He ordered another glass of whiskey. Every minute felt like an eternity.

Then, behind two elderly ladies, a beautiful woman in a black dress rolled out—not from the entrance, as he had expected, but from the elevator. Her long hair cascaded over her chest, and she scanned the bar, looking for him. She hadn’t recognized him yet.

He stood up from the barstool and told the bartender to put the bill on his room number. He took a final sip of whiskey and walked toward her. She stopped near a seating area next to the bar, just as she pulled out her phone—probably to text him.

"Hi," he said.

She looked up. "Oh, hi! I didn't see you there. How are you?"

He went in for a hug, and to his surprise, she accepted it. He inhaled the scent of her hair before letting go.

"I'm so happy you're here." He sat down in a chair right next to her. She turned her wheelchair toward him, and for a moment, he just looked at her, his hands trembling with nerves.

She smiled. "Are you okay?"

He murmured, "I'm okay, just nervous. I got you a gift," he said, handing her the bag.

She accepted it. "Thank you, that's thoughtful."

He added, "The money is inside the magazine."

She glanced inside and said, "I'll open it upstairs in the room."

He nodded, unsure what to do or say next. Her hair, her eyes, her legs, her dress, her heels—he was obsessed.

She suggested they go for lunch at the hotel restaurant before heading up to his room. She didn’t seem too bothered by his nervousness.

He tried to control his heartbeat. "How was your flight?" she asked.

"Oh, just fine. Happy to be here."

"How’s the room? Did you sleep well?"

"It’s nice. Like I showed you in the photo. Spacious, with a great view."

"That’s nice. I've never been to this hotel. It seems like a good one."

The waitress seated them, and she rolled her wheelchair under the small table, just big enough for two. He sat across from her on a cushioned bench, comfortable but slightly anxious. The waitress handed them menus.

"What do you usually have for lunch?" she asked.

"I don’t have a good routine, honestly. It varies depending on where I am. Usually, a sandwich."

"I think I’ll have a salad," she said.

The waitress returned to take their order. The restaurant was nearly empty.

"It’s probably a bit early for lunch," she said.

"Is this your first time with a woman in a wheelchair?" she asked.

"Yes, it’s my first—and a big dream."

His nerves slowly began to calm.

"It’s my first time meeting a dev. I was quite nervous driving up here, but I’m okay now."

"What’s your job?" she asked.

"I’d rather not talk about work. Can we talk about you being in a wheelchair instead?"

She squinted slightly but agreed. "Sure, that’s fine. What would you like to know?"

"How long have you been using a wheelchair, and how do you manage daily tasks?"

"Well, it's not easy at all! I've been in it for six years, and I do my best to live as normally as I can—work, drive, be social, etc. What do you mean by daily stuff?"

"Like dressing, putting on shoes. I noticed you wear heels—you look amazing—but aren’t they uncomfortable?"

"I can’t feel if they are uncomfortable, but I care about how I look. And heels look good, right?"

"Yes, they do," he replied, just as the waitress brought them water.

They talked for two hours, enjoying their meal. Time flew by.

After lunch, they explored the hotel—the spa, the garden, the rooftop.

"Can we hold hands?" he asked.

She held onto his hand, allowing him to push her as they browsed around. The hotel was large, with many floors. Eventually, they decided to go to his room.

Inside, he took off his shoes. She rolled toward the sofa and transferred herself onto it. He watched, captivated.

"Should I help you take off your heels?" he asked.

"Yes, please."

Kneeling before her, he carefully removed her shoes. "Wow, this is amazing. I’m sorry if I’m too obsessed."

She simply watched him, intrigued.

Then, he picked up her feet, placing them in his lap. He could feel himself harden, but she likely didn’t notice—or couldn’t. He didn’t care. He picked up her left foot and kissed her toes, then the sole, then massaged them gently.

"Can I suck them?" he asked.

She nodded.

He passionately sucked each toe, savoring the moment. His dream was finally real.