Thursday, February 03, 2005

Gentle readers, I have a confession to make: I have a raging foot fetish. I like feet. I like shoes. I like pedicures. And I'm not afraid to say it.

Such a preference comes lately to my sexual self-awareness. It wasn't until the middle of high school that I realized my affinity for all-things-foot. My discovery was entirely accidental . . .

One fated evening, I attended an informal movie night at a friend's house. About a dozen of my peers attended, including one close friend who, at the time, declared himself to be gay. For some reason I cannot divine, he had the audacity to suck on my shoe-less feet, right through the stocking. The sensation electrified me. I felt as if my body had been waiting for this my entire life. I was hooked.

No words can fully capture the exquisite revelations that flooded my mind at the moment his mouth closed around my big toe. It was more than sheer eroticism. I wasn't so much turned on as tuned-in to a part of myself that I'd never before considered.

And from that day forward, I have devoted a significant portion of energy to figuring out the extent and parameters of my blossoming fetish. I have yet to find the limit in practice. I love giving and receiving foot worship, toe sucking, pedicures, and foot massages. I own a absolutely ravishing pair of patent leather fetish boots. (nothing beats the beauty of a delightfully bound and restricted pair of feet.

You'll have to excuse these erotic ramblings, gentle readers, but once my mind is thusly occupied, it is loathe to let the topic pass. I can't stop thinking about the statistics teacher, senior year, flipping her moccasins on and off as she lectured; the tipsy boyfriend who drank merlot from my mary jane slipper, the tattooed ankles of a flaminco dancer whose ballroom-heels clamored a mere 3 feet from my front-row seat, precisely at eye level. It is my life!

I wish more people were comfortable with their kink. The world would be a better place. Not only would everyone gain an extra degree of sexual satisfaction, but they'd be more comfortable with their true selves. When did we enter this culture of selective asceticism? Denial of self?

Maybe I'm just insane.

shiny objects