Preferences, proclivities, and kinks. Whether they are mainstream or rare, subtle or gross, or gentle lovey-dovey to rough and nasty, they're part of us. This is the tale of when I embraced my foot fetish. I had developed it casually over time but didn't share it with anyone for fear of being labeled a freak. Today my freak flag flies like a motherfucker, bitch.
(Sorry, stoned)
Not entirely sure where it started, but I know exactly where it became part of my repertoire. It isn't all-consuming, but pretty feet are something I look for early. If I'm watching porn I look at a girl's feet and if she's cumming they curl downwardly it's enough for me to drop my load.
There's something about feet that's intimate while at the same time acceptable publicly. It's a contrast not lost on me and, like most men, I sexualized it. We do that, ladies. Think about that next time you're eating a banana or a pickle in front of a guy.
(Side note: my favorite was when a girl wrapped her lips around the girthier Push Up which resembled me except my dick isn't sherbert in texture or color. Now, back to our show.)
Diana and I met when we were twelve and had no romantic interest, obviously, but we did like each other and felt super comfortable together. It's like having a kid sister, but the same age. Weird, but cool. We somewhat drifted apart around sixteen and I didn't see her till I got out of the army, an eager wide-eyed twenty-three-year-old boy, still mostly clueless with more balls than brains and perpetually horny. I was a mess. What the hell, it's Lush Stories, I was more fucked up than a football bat.
In short, I gave a fuck about nothing; total punk rock anarchist who'd greet you with a smile and a hearty "FUCK YOU" then flip you off while handing you a beer.
When I saw Diana again at a relative's BBQ I realized I missed her and we were inseparable. Now I gave a fuck, I was such a fucking poser, goddammit!
She swore up and down she was an even five foot, but I didn't believe her. Very thin, but it worked on her. She was cute with shoulder-length medium brown hair, uniquely light brown eyes, and a fair complexion, but it was her absolutely gorgeous mouth that sealed the deal.
It's like God wanted to top himself in the area of oral cavity design and let her have the only prototype. I fantasized about that mouth meeting my dick, most men would, but I was captivated just watching her speak. The pout on her lips was so petite, yet so pronounced. Think Debbie Harry from Blondie, but narrower and prettier, kissing her, fucking heaven!
(Da'fuq this have to do with foot fetishes, Carlos? When we gonna get to those pretty feet? Relax, I owe you 10 little piggies and, like the Lanisters, I always pay my debts.
No, I choose the scenic route because that's the way I remember discovering it all. )
I enjoyed everything she offered and she loved me enjoying little mundane things she did. She said I made her feel special but also said I'm a weirdo for being so impressed by common shit. That was cool since I mercilessly made fun of her height.
She hadn't changed all that much physically and her personality was identical if a bit sassier. I was taken aback the first time her top came off revealing she was completely flat-chested. She always wore her clothes a little baggy to obscure her shape.
She was always rail thin, but it was as though puberty matured everything else, but forgot the tits. I know little about women's feelings towards their own bodies, but I have to think most 23-year-old women wouldn't be happy with zero boobage. True, we are all more than the sum of our parts, but society elevates body parts and eschews the complete person. How the fuck is she supposed to feel? I'm just glad, as a man, that our dicks are not on display as much as woman's tits are.She seemed to shrink in on herself, certain I wouldn't approve and went to cover as women who just lost their bikini tops do and I said, "No, I want to see."
She complied because of the trust we'd built up. The last person who would ever seriously ridicule her was me and she knew that. I don't think I ever saw her smile as bright as when I smiled and put my mouth too, well, her nipples.
They were beautiful and I told her so, putting on a show, pretending her nipples were Chapstick for my lips around and applying it before tugging them playfully. So outrageously sensitive, tonguing them rapidly like a boxer hitting a speed bag while humming was too ticklish. Shame, I fucking loved that shit. Two milestones of my sexual development were reached right then, I enjoyed flat chested women and them watching me enjoy.
We started making out on my mother's couch with her straddling me. We hadn't physically moved, but we felt a world away with the newness of it all. She wrapped her arms around my head and pulled me tight into her chest as though she'd lose the opportunity if she were too slow.
I thought that would be the last time she'd ever be embarrassed to let me see her body. I was wrong, but I was very surprised to find out precisely which one.
That day wasn't the best day for leisurely exploration as I'd moved back to mom's after my discharge and she'd be home from work soon. She had caught me with girls in my room twice before, neither time completely dressed so I wasn't allowed to have female company. We needed to be gone before my mother got home or she'd rat Diana out to her mom while burying a foot up my ass. Yes, I was a 23-year-old man, but it was still her home. The 'my roof, my rules' doctrine was in full force.
(Oppression!)
Not two weeks later, Diana's mom went with friends on an Iron Butt ride. It's a long-distance motorcycle riding thing so we knew we had both the time and place to finish what we had started on my mother's couch.
The moment that herd of Harley's rounded the corner, I was in her doorway kissing her phenomenally gorgeous mouth. Our tongues were dancing together again and all was right with the world ... until we heard the powerful rev of an unmuffled Hog.
(FUUUUUUUCK!!!!)
The horror in her eyes matched the horror I felt. The bike in question belonged to a neighbor sitting in his driveway and might not have sounded so loud had we bothered to close the front door before we started sucking face. We laughed about it after closing the door and collecting ourselves. Fortunately, the brief scare helped ease the tension and we relaxed, melting into the couch as we resumed our kissing.
I have no memory of our shirts coming off, but they did, our naked torsos tight against each other as we kissed, the rapidity of learning what felt good, the moans signaling a new discovery, the occasional tickle, the revenge tickle to pay back an 'inadvertent' tickle, this was paradise, population: 2
(Okay, 'Los, still haven't heard nothing about your little foot thing. Are you just bullshitting on Front Street? You sound like you're on dope or something.
I'm painting a complete picture to properly convey the experience. I half-ass nothing. I 'd be cheating my readers out of what I thought made my story special in the first place. And no dope. Just a little pot for ambiance.)
By this time, we were kissing very passionately and my hands had gravitated from her back to her chest and back again then slid my hands down the back of her panties, my fingers squeezing her sweet tender ass cheeks when they accidentally brushed against her asshole. She gasped and asked if I was going to 'make' her give me her ass.
Another milestone in my sexual education was written. A woman is rarely more enthusiastic about sex than when she is free to choose. I told her I didn't want to make her do anything she didn't want to do and if she changed her mind we'd stop. I wouldn't be happy about it, but I'd acquiesce.
The smile she answered me with was almost as big as the smile she beamed when she first topless before me. This, in turn, made me smile and gave me the confidence to touch her anywhere.
I guess my confidence was contagious because her hands stepped up their exploration, going from my face to my chest to my stomach and ended up squeezing my nipples roughly before attacking my belt buckle. Approving, I arched up to facilitate the removal of my pants.
(She'd have never been able to lift me)
It seemed like an epiphany from on high we could do this in a much more comfortable place. The mad dash upstairs to her bedroom must've looked like something out of the Keystone Cops of over a century ago, our playful smiles joined by lust. Now she gave me a little show that was definitely not mundane.
She pulled her panties down, teasing me before she left them on the floor and with a sweet yet lascivious smile she flopped down onto her bed with her eyes never leaving mine. She opened her legs so I could see her pretty little pussy, but now the expression on her face told me she wasn't worried I'd disapprove.
I unceremoniously lost my boxers as the tent I was pitching in them felt uncomfortable and watched the confident smile drain from her face. The first thing I thought was she was disappointed and hoped I was bigger. I was as insecure about my cock as the next guy, especially since Diana was only the fourth girl I'd been with and the previous three had given no indication that there was a problem. It seems my fear of not meeting her standards were unwarranted. Had I thought logically, mine was the first, who the hell could she compare me with anyway? Only two women in my life have ever used the term "huge" describing my dick, and she was the first.
(I set out to write a true story and allowing that last sentence out of proper context would feel wrong.
I'm not a giant dicked pornstar, but also not Needle Dick. Little longer-than-average and if you like the length, you'll love the girth. Comedian Martin Lawrence once said,
"I won't choke you but you'll get a mouthful."
From her perspective, the only thing she'd ever used was a finger, afraid to add another. Now I'm presenting her with an alien-looking meat tube she can't wrap her fingers completely around. Again, I didn't know a hell of a lot about female sensibilities, but this train had come to a screeching halt.
"What's wrong, isn't it ...", my voice trailing off, lacking the courage to complete the sentence.
"That's ... a lot", she whimpered.
Now, the amount of time between 'that's' and 'a' was a normal kind of pause when you don't know precisely what to say next and it didn't last any longer than any other similar pause, but because I thought she disapproved of my wandellier, it felt like an eternity. I actually had to let the words sink in and when they finally did I broke out in a big smile.
Then it dawned on me that she was afraid I was going to hurt her. Smiling about it might make me seem like an asshole. Her intact virginity didn't seem too outlandish as she had high expectations most guys interested didn't meet.