Sole Man

I met my first foot fetishist — fetisher? — fetishee? online a couple of weeks ago. I’d say it was extremely enlightening.

I am pretty open-minded when it comes to all of the various facets that people have regarding sex. What turns them on. Some make me giggle. Some make my face do this thing that is sort of an astonished grimace, where my eyebrows go as high as my mouth goes all silly putty like low. Some make me squirm in a good way, and other makes me squirm in a positively bad way.

As for feet? Not my thing, but I do find it interesting. Harmless really. I’d never be a good – partner(?) for it, because I am extremely ticklish and I can only see that scene from 40-Year Old Virgin where Steve Carell kicks the girl in the face and breaks her nose when she attempts to suck his toe. I am THAT ticklish. I don’t even enjoy a good foot massage during a pedicure.

Initially, I had no clue about this guy’s proclivities. His profile didn’t mention it. His name may have had a play on the word, but I don’t recall exactly, and it definitely did not set off any weird warning bells. Trust me I have those bells. It was just an ordinary Saturday morning, I was catching up on social media and the news. Checked my recently reactivated online dating account and saw a message from him.

His profile was nice. Nice pics. Sort of ordinary to the nth degree. Nothing particular jumped out negative or positive. I responded back politely to his message and he immediately responded back.

The conversation picked up a little speed, which helps, because I bore easily talking online.

We bantered with some sarcasm (my way of flirting at times). He was charming, but not cloying and overboard. We decided to take the chat to a messenger service, because talking on the site was annoying as hell. Overlapping messages, that recquired a secret decoder ring to decipher which message was being responded to. I generally hesitate to take it to messenger services because that usually leaves one open for dick pics, but it was too soon to text. Plus I was about to learn showing me his penis wasn’t high on his list ….

We were talking when he suddenly asked me if I had nice feet. I’ve had men ask if I had a nice ass, or boobs, or even once a washboard stomach (Ha!), but never had anyone asked me if I had nice feet. It was good we were not face to face to face, because I giggled. But, truth be told I was also curious and intrigued a bit, so I let the conversation go on. I asked him to define nice feet, because to be honest at best I think I’ve been told I had cute feet. The only reason for that is usually because I can flex my toes out and position them at an angle to look exactly like the tiny little embroidered Hang Ten logo that was so popular when I was growing up.

I don’t think that is what he meant.

Honestly what I have is best described as maybe average feet. Albeit way to wide and with little Vienna sausage toes. While I am far from the gnarled Shrek-type feet of Cameron Diaz, I doubt anyone is going to ask me to be Miss Decembers layout in Toe Lovers Digest.

So I told him it was subjective, but they weren’t bad.

And then it came. He asked for a pic.

A picture of my feet.

I looked down and my vanity immediately surged. It was pedicure time, and there was no way I was sending him a picture of that morning’s feet. Polish was very slightly chipped here, and last nights jacuzzi left me a little dry there. I hemmed. I hawed. Finally I asked him if he had a thing for shoes too, thinking it might be like lingerie to a foot guy. He said the right shoes on the right foot — and bingo. I love me a nice sexy pair of heels, and I just happened to have one handy (or footy if one is doing a play on words – hahahahah! I crack me up!), of my foot in this recently purchased very sexy high strappy sandal, with my foot in a pose that would be tantamount to a woman leaning back with her back arched high, or so I imagined. I sent it to him.

I was officially foot sexting, if there was such a thing. My mother would have been so ashamed.

He liked it, so I sent another. Slightly tamer. I love my shoes, and have a habit on particularly boring days to take pictures of them. We were a foot-loving, shoe-hoarding dream couple for about 15 minutes.

In those 15 minutes I asked him some questions; some intimate, and some not so intimate about foot fetishes. Learned that loving feet isn’t any weirder than loving boobs. It’s just not as common. He didn’t do anything weird with them (and for the record, he wasn’t into sucking toes. That’ll save a nose.). He actually preferred pics of the soles of the feet. In fact if you were someone who enjoyed a good foot massage this could really work both ways.

But as I stated, I don’t. I let him know the same. Truth be told, even minus the foot thing, he was too young and too far from what I would consider geographically desirable for dating, anyway. But it killed some time on a boring Saturday morning.

And it most certainly gave me a soleful education.




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