How I found my Wife by Staring her Feet

I belong to an orthodox Muslim family. Even after spending over 25 years in America, I can see my mother or sister’s face only on special occasions. They are often covered with a burkha that not only covers their entire body but also the face. Some find it funny that we are still able to distinguish between the women of our family when all of them are covered in the same attire. Its usually the perfume they use, their voice or their exposed feet. Feet is a special part of the body for us. It’s how we gauge the beauty of any woman, from the look of her feet. That’s why, Muslim women unlike others, spend a fortune on a pedicure to make that exposed body part, most appealing for men who have a love for feet. Also, that’s how I found my wife by staring her feet.

When I turned 21, I was taken to my uncle’s house to meet my first cousin. I remembered her as a little girl who loved to play with us. It’s been 15 years to that tale and I haven’t seen her since then, till today, when I walk into her house to ask her hand for marriage with my parents. Like old times, most of the talking about our marriage was done our parents while I sat there quietly accepting my fate. Suddenly, I heard a voice across the room requesting for some private time with me. I tried to get a glance and all I saw was her beautiful feet.

A finely pedicured pair that had a red nail paint on her fair skin and alta around the foot. They walked towards me and stood right in front. She asked me in front of my parents, “Shanawazji, do you mind spending 10 minutes with me in my room, I would like to know the person I have been asked to marry a bit better”. The room was filled with surprise and an awkward silence. I raised my head to look into those blue eyes behind the hijab and agreed to it.

She guided me into her room and shut the door behind. I was nervous. She sat next to me and explained why she had to take this measure of talking to me in person. She told me all about her aspirations and dreams. I heard her quietly, all the while staring at her feet. She touched my arm and mumbled, “Shanawazji, I would like to request something if you don’t mind, can I?”, I nodded. She said, “My American friends say that you will know if you have found the right partner if he is a good kisser”, I was shocked, but I couldn’t control my giggle. While I was still staring at her feet, she twitched her toes in nervously and slide her feet under her burkha. I was turned on by the mere sight of them. I kneeled on the floor as if I couldn’t control my actions.

I pulled her feet out and kissed them. She gasped and I could hear the gentle chime of her bangles as she grabbed on the bedsheet in her palms. I lifted her burkha and continued kissing her legs, moving towards her thighs. She moaned in the name of god. I dug my head under her burkha and slide her panties aside to give her a gentle kiss. I could hear her gulp a lump of saliva. I smooched her between her legs and my tongue danced with her clit. It was delicious and I couldn’t get over it. She was a mix of sweet and salty, just how I like it, and smelled like sandalwood. I sucked her harder and dug my tongue into her vagina. She slowly adjusted herself and spread a bit wider. It got easy and ate her up, till she filled my mouth and our fetish romance came to an end.

I pulled my face out with sweat dripping from my forehead and a smirk across my lips. She looked at me, dazed, from behind the hijab. She croaked a little and said, “Shanawazji, I think my friends are right, you are a good kisser” and giggled. A knock on the door asked us to announce our decisions and a month later we said, “Kabool hai”.

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