Update: the new years resolution is going strong! Four days of no
sugar and no orgasms. But
it’s no fun to talk about the delicious sex and chocolate cake I'm not having, so todays post will be about something else entirely.
Here are a few excerpts from a
journal entry I wrote the night of my very first foot fetish party 5 years ago
when I was a baby ladyface.
Enjoy!
Alejandro:
Alejandro is a nondescript middle-aged
Asian man. He’s also evidence that
it isn’t just the women who use pseudonyms when they play. The session with “Alejandro” started out
pretty simple with the two of us sitting on the couch with my feet in his face
as he licked/sucked and kissed all over them.
Sometimes he’d close his eyes and
leave his mouth squished up and his tongue slightly out and have me move my
toes flirtatiously over that little oral anemone. It looked ridiculous and tickled like crazy but I got the
impression that “Alejandro” is the kinda guy who wouldn’t appreciate humor in a
session.
I moaned instead.
Arthur:
Arthur is a 60 year old, clean-cut
East Coast academic. He was the first of the guys to really worship. He
touched, kissed and licked my feet as if they were fragile. By the end of our
two consecutive sessions I was running my hand
through his hair while he sucked on my toes and stared longingly at me. Whenever my toes weren’t in his mouth
he was murmuring compliments. I
laid back and enjoyed his vocabulary.
Apparently I am a “resplendent seraphim” with “tantalizing” toes and
“luminous” eyes. I should have
been paying him for the GRE prep.
Dillon:
My last session of the evening was
with a 26 year old grad student from Prague named Dillon. He was well-dressed and kinda cute for
a boy. Since he was more into
tickling than oral play we got to talk throughout the session. And…I broke one
of my boundaries with Dillon.
(already! Oh geez.)
He asked if I ever do footplay with
boyfriends. I said no and he was
shocked. He kept inquiring and
after a moment of consideration I told him simply “I don’t date boys.” He got
all excited, stuttered, recovered and said in his cute Prague-y accent:
“Oh! So you understand! I like feet and you like girls.” Luckily he was tickling me or I might
have had to explain my laughter at his equating my queerness with his distinctive
fetish. The correct analogy would have been "I like feet like you like fisting" but I didn't go there. I don’t regret outing
myself to Dillon but I expect that it will become harder to negotiate to what
extent my work persona resembles actual me and where her truth ends.
In conclusion, the only nervousness
I experienced in the course of the evening was my concern that the teeth of a
toe-nibbling client might chip my toenail polish, but as far as occupational
hazards go that one is rather benign.
And I came home feeling sexy, powerful, at home in my body and untouchable. (I recognize the irony of that last
bit) I’m glad I made the decision
to do this for myself. Go me.
